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﹒  ◠  METEMPSYCHOSIS    ⊹    ﹒
— “ reincarnation ” !
The pleasant books, that silently among our household treasures take familiar places, and are to us as if a living tongue speak from the printed leaves or pictured faces!
★ . Henry Wadsworth Longfellow » +

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝐀𝐑𝐂 𝐈 ⠀ᰋ

Berlin
31st of August 2004, 18:00 PM

          The library of Galateya's manor felt like a world unto itself---timeless, peaceful, and bathed in the golden hues of autumn’s fading light. Outside, the crisp fall air rustled the leaves that had gathered in small heaps against the tall windows, their burnt orange and golden colors flickering like fire under the gentle breeze. The last traces of daylight painted the sky with soft purples and blues, the inevitable promise of dusk creeping closer.

          Inside, however, the air was warm and still, carrying the faint scent of old books and the earthy aroma of the wooden shelves that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. This library was the heart of Galateya's world, a safe haven where the bustling of the manor beyond its doors felt like a distant echo, far removed from her quiet, sheltered existence. And in this space, she was not alone. Seated at the grand oak table with her, poring over a series of thick medical texts and simpler primers, was Raphael.

          Raphael, her guardian, her tutor, and her doctor, was always close. His green hair framed a youthful, handsome face, while his sharp, violet eyes were full of life---ever watchful and endlessly patient. His presence was a calming one, a steady rhythm to the slow pace of her days. Today, like many others, they had spent hours together in the library, working through Galateya's lessons. Though she was only three, her mind was quick, sharp for her age, yet her body---frail and delicate---struggled to keep up. Her pale skin, almost translucent in the soft light, seemed to make her appear even smaller, more fragile, as she sat huddled in an oversized chair, her small hands barely able to grip the pencil she was holding.

          "Let's go over this one more time, my Lady," Raphael said, his voice soft but encouraging, as he pushed a small book closer to her. His fingers tapped gently on the cover. “No rush. Just read it at your own pace.”

          Galateya nodded quietly, her large, blue eyes flicking up to meet his for just a moment before she returned her gaze to the open pages. The book before her was a simple one, filled with basic letters and numbers---a child’s primer. Despite the simplicity of the content, her brow furrowed in concentration. The letters swam before her eyes, blurring together as fatigue began to weigh on her mind, but she did not want to disappoint Raphael.

          She managed to read the first few words aloud, her soft, delicate voice echoing in the stillness of the room. Raphael smiled as she stumbled over a few sounds, his gentle corrections guiding her through the tougher parts. He never raised his voice, never expressed frustration. In his presence, Galateya always felt secure, like she could take her time without fear of failure.

          “You are doing wonderfully,” Raphael said, his voice almost a whisper, and Galateya felt a swell of warmth in her chest at his praise. She was always so eager to please him, so determined to show that she could be strong despite her frail body.

          Raphael’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, his eyes softening as he noticed the fatigue starting to creep into her movements. Her tiny frame seemed even smaller today, her skin pale and delicate under the fading light. He often worried about her---how her sickness seemed to sap the energy from her young body, leaving her perpetually on the edge of exhaustion. But he knew Galateya would never admit it. Even at such a young age, she was fiercely determined, stubborn in a way that often made him smile.

          After another hour of study, the time seemed to stretch between them, both of them settled in a quiet, almost meditative rhythm. But the strain of the long day was beginning to show in Galateya’s posture. She shifted in her seat, her small shoulders slumping, and her eyelids fluttered with growing heaviness. She fought to stay alert, gripping her pencil tightly, but it felt heavier in her hand now, almost too much to hold onto.

          Raphael glanced at the clock and then at Galateya, who was valiantly trying to focus on the page in front of her. He closed the book gently, a soft thud signaling the end of their session. "Let's take a break," he suggested with a kind smile. "You have done more than enough for today. I will be right back, I need to step out for a moment. Do not go anywhere, alright?"

          Raphael rose from his chair and reached out, brushing a stray strand of silver hair away from her face before standing tall and stretching. His presence, usually so constant and reassuring, felt like a tether being loosened when he moved away, but Galateya managed a small nod.

          "Okay," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

          Raphael smiled once more and turned toward the door, his footsteps soft as he crossed the room. The door creaked slightly as it closed behind him, and the silence that followed felt thicker, heavier, as if the walls of the library had absorbed all sound. Alone now, Galateya looked down at her notebook, her fingers absently tracing the edges of the paper. She tried to distract herself, to keep her mind focused, but the familiar weight of sleep was beginning to pull at her consciousness.

          Her pencil slipped from her hand, rolling slowly across the smooth surface of the table before it fell to the floor with a soft clink, but Galateya did not bother to pick it up. Her hands were too small, too tired. She leaned back in her oversized chair, letting her eyes drift toward the large windows that framed the garden outside. The trees swayed gently in the evening breeze, their branches bare, save for the last few clinging leaves of autumn. The fading light made the world outside look soft and distant, like a painting.

          Galateya’s eyelids grew heavier, the weight of the day pressing down on her. She was so tired, so very tired. She shifted in her seat, her small hands clutching the edge of her notebook as if holding onto it would keep her awake. But the warmth of the room, the quiet hum of the fireplace, and the soft rustle of leaves outside lulled her into a dreamlike state. Her head began to droop, her pale cheek brushing against the cool surface of the table.

          Her last thought before sleep claimed her was of Raphael---his kind eyes, his warm smile, and the way his voice always made her feel safe, no matter how tired or sick she was.  The library grew silent, save for the soft crackling of the fire and the whisper of wind against the windows. Galateya's small frame relaxed completely, her breathing becoming slow and steady as sleep wrapped around her like a warm blanket. Outside, autumn's chill deepened, but inside the library, all was still, save for the gentle rise and fall of her chest, lost in the quiet and comforting embrace of sleep.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ 𓈈 metempsychosis