ELDARYA

The calling.

Erika wakes up startled. She takes several deep, noisy breaths. She looks to the side. Nevra is still asleep. She gets out of bed. Her feet touch the cold floor. The room is well-lit by the moon. The bluish light gives a majestic aura to the teddy bears displayed as trophies on the room's shelves. She feels around the floor with her feet until she finds her slippers and puts them on. Her toes sink into the fluffy fabric of the slippers.

She leaves the room, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort. She walks through her parents’ dark house. She looks at the paintings she knows so well. She had refused to remove them when she took possession of the house. Her mother always liked art. Some of the paintings were her mother's. Nevra didn’t mind.

Erika hadn’t understood abstract art before. She had seen these paintings and considered them foolish—just meaningless brushstrokes bought by wealthy idiots to spend their accumulated money. A shallow and unfounded thought.

Her mother gave her a different perspective on them. It wasn’t about the rich idiots who bought them merely to spend their money. It was about the artists. About their feelings. It was like those strange clothes worn by runway models in fancy shows. The point isn’t to be aesthetically pleasing. It’s expression.

They were like feelings. They didn’t fit neatly. They had distinct forms. They were messy. They were real. They were the representation of what has no appearance.

Even if their intent wasn’t beauty, they carried the beauty that feelings have. They were free. Intense. Expressive. They had vibrant colors. They were like Alice. Alice Calluna.

The thought saddened Erika. Now, those paintings didn’t seem as vibrant as they once were. She still remembered her mother painting on blank canvases. The sun illuminating the room. All the walls, furniture, and decorations of that room were completely white before coming to life through Alice’s paintings. She remembered her father. Vague and distant memories of a time when he was still a father. She remembered herself as a child. Her little hands, aged 3, imprinted in various colors on the walls of the room. Her father holding her so she could reach high places. Alice’s smile. Alice’s laughter. She could see all her memories with Alice.

She remembered spending hours staring at the paintings, trying to decipher the facets behind each brushstroke. What they meant. What they wanted to express.

Erika took a glass from the cupboard. A warm cocoa drink would give her the comfort she needed to go back to sleep. Suddenly, she saw a shadow outside. At first, she thought it was just her imagination. Nevertheless, she approached to investigate.

As she got closer, she saw Ophelia standing outside the kitchen, staring at her. Ophelia was the little girl, the incarnation of the Oracle, a deity who should have disappeared two years ago with the Great Crystal. But she hadn’t disappeared. She was there, face to face with Erika.

Once again, Erika felt that sense of having lived a lie. That she couldn’t believe in anything anymore. Once again, something that should have disappeared had not. Had not disappeared.

The little girl turned and started walking away. Erika left the glass on the counter, opened the door, and began to follow Ophelia, not caring about anything else. She spoke to the little girl while walking quickly behind her, with no answers.

Deep down, she didn’t want answers. Ophelia never answered anything that was asked. In fact, she didn’t have any real purpose in doing that. She hadn’t thought about it. She just spoke, without expecting anything. Perhaps she felt that keeping it to herself was wrong. Or maybe the silence bothered her.

Ophelia entered the forest. She walked calmly among the trees. She didn’t even look around. She walked perfectly in the center of the paths between the trees. She seemed to know exactly where she was going, as if it were part of her body. As if the forest were an extension of herself. As if she had memorized the path she was following.

She arrived at the portal. It shone in a light blue. It illuminated all around it. Spirals spun in the portal. White sparks flew from it and fell slowly to the ground, like Peter Pan’s magical dust, dissipating before even touching the grass.

Ophelia turned to her. Her gaze was a call. Her childlike face was expressionless. Her blue eyes shone with the reflection of the portal’s light. She turned and vanished into the blue glow.

Erika tried to follow but hesitated when she remembered the apple experiment. She imagined herself sliced on the ground. Her blood flowing from those deep, thin cuts on a body that once belonged to her. She stared at the portal for hours. For her, it had only been minutes.

She took a deep breath and crossed the portal. She saw a blinding white light. Her eyes burned. She closed them quickly as she felt her lungs closing.

She tore through a veil of plasmatic matter and saw the ceiling of her temporary home's room.

It was a dream.