Aurotone

II

"It was an accident."
"What?"
"We didn't see what happened: we don't know what happened. But if we, theoretically, did see what happened, it was an accident."
"Oh, um..."
"I'm protecting you."

FOUR WEEKS BEFORE AUROTONE

With every step she can feel the mud. It squelches and rise in between her toes. Her feet are stained brown.
The white dress she wears flows majestically in the wind. She has an aura about her: one that makes everybody in the town square halt their going-abouts to stare.
She watches someone enter a building intently. She's never seen such community before.
An impact to the back forces her onto her knees.
"Ohmigods," a voice from behind her, "ma'am, I am so sorry."
She stands up and brushes herself off, managing to smear the mud into her dress.
"It really is fine," she responds. She turns around to meet a young boy. "Elliot, you mustn't fret."
Elliot reaches out his hand.
"Do I know you?" He asks. She accepts his gesture and shakes his hand comfortably.
"Not yet, kind sir, not yet."
Elliot looks at her.
She knows him, yet he does not know her. She allows him to look, she allows his eyes to linger upon her breasts. She knows it is not out of lust, as Elliot is in love with another.
Besides, her mission does not yet involve him. She needs to find someone else.
"Do you live around here?" Elliot interrupts. "I cannot remember seeing you before." They let go of their hands.
She remains poised and composed.
"I've come a long way to get here," she answers kindly, showing Elliot a smile, "something big is near to happening."
Her voice is soft and authoritative. She speaks with certainty and assertiveness.
"Auratone is almost a month away," Elliot corrects.
She understands that he thinks she's early.
"No, no," she allows him to have a little of her knowledge. Why not indulge the young boy? "I have no interest in that travesty of a celebration."
Elliot thinks about this, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Well then, you're out of luck. Aurotone is the only celebration we turn into an extravaganza."
She tries not to laugh at the boys closed mindedness.
"It's not a celebration I'm here for," she looks about for wandering eyes, "there's something bigger. Something sooner."

^

Smith could feel someone watching. Someone is always watching. In this village there's a stigma around women.
They don't have the mind of men, they cannot work as well.
Men are better at doing more things at once.
Women are slow learners and slower teachers.
Such was heard everywhere. Every time Smith turned her back. People were always whispering about her.
She can bake and she bare no children? Are you sure she's a woman?
Men are wary of women that surpass them. Smith has come to accept that. That's why she fled her town where the Trials had just grabbed ahold, to come to the sacred village that hosts the Aurotone festival. It's been almost twelve years and Smith still hasn't made much of an impact. She's tried to make friends, but the girls all think she fancies them and the boys are all disturbed by such a manly woman.
She doesn't fancy the girls, however there is one boy she fancies. She sees him all the time: he's always around the town. She tries not to stare but it's hard when you're in love.
Who would ever love you?
She tries not to become too attached, no one is attached to her so why should she become attached to them?
You fucking disgusting whore.
She tries also to ignore the memories. After all, memories exist as lingerings of the past. Her past is behind her: that is why she moved.
She closes the bakery door behind her. She's established herself as a good baker after all these years. She at least feels she has a comfortable stream of customers. However inhospitable they may be.
She leans against the hard door and breathes a sigh of relief.
"Excuse me, Generé?"
Smith freezes. It's been a while since she's heard that name. She opens her eyes and straight in front of her is a girl, dressed all in plain white with mud smudges on her dress.
"Do I know you?" Smith asks.
The girl giggles to herself, and turns her back to Smith. She weaves herself amongst the aisles, the aroma of fresh bread gently wafting into her nose.
"That must be a common greeting around here: third time I've heard it today." The girl responds.
"Does anyone know you?" Smith asks.
The girl stops waltzing about the bakery. Her smile fades and she looks Smith dead in the eyes.
"Congratulations," she says, "you have asked a question worth response."
The girl glides towards Smith.
"Light of the Night, from Ghostly Gallows." The girl extends her hand.
"Smith?" Smith grabs her hand. "Smith of...Smith bakeries? I don't know I'm thinking of franchising."
Light stops Smith from shaking her hand.
"No," she says, "while franchising is very forward-thinking, you must formerly introduce yourself. Use your real name, honey."
Smith flinches as if Light had struck her.
"Generé?" Smith asks. "I don't really go by that name anymore. Too much has happened to Generé. They call me Smith. Baker Smith."
"I can respect rebirth, and I apologise for making you explain yourself," Light shakes Smiths hand, "greetings Baker Smith. I have a good feeling we'll get to know each other very well."

AFTER AUROTONE

"Has anyone seen the Stranger of late?"
"The only time I saw her was the first time everyone saw her."
"Elaborate my fair man."
"Surely you have heard? The ungodly Baker and the Stranger were in cahoots. Perhaps they worked together?"
"It has been confirmed that the murder was committed by two individuals and no one can be certain whether or not the Stranger was as ungodly as the Baker."
"No no, calm yourself villagers. What was it you were saying about the first time she was seen."
"Aye, everyone knows of it. Were it any other day I'd be asleep. Yet when I walked into that town and saw the Stranger doing such unspeakable things..."
"The bush has been beaten, dear locals, speak to the point."
"Blood. Blood everywhere."