THE ARCHAIC SKY

CHAPTER: THE LITTLE GIRL'S ARCHAIC SKY

Stilbon

The proclaimed reincarnate of the ancient spirit, Baal. Though he is not a primordial god. His spirit and divinity will forever belong to the ancient ones. The first who stepped on this world's land and brought upon their commandments to the people of Veteres.

To the little girl, the sky was like a canvas of bright blue that was waiting to be painted, to her other relatives in the house of Araceli, it was her source of power, a reminder that so long as they are under the sky, they are born to be saints to the people of this world.

That was why, Amara never felt like she belonged.

Spending her days alone in the estate, the only view in the greatest town of Leidenshaftlich that was ever-changing was the sky, and wished dearly to be its painter. But to ask her what she wanted to paint in the ever-spinning firmament was a different ordeal.

And to everyone else, they didn't need a painted sky since to them the sky was only a burden that hindered them, especially when it rained that evening, the evening when the festival of Feier began. This was awful, Amara heard from the mouths of the town folk on the streets at the foot of her home, after all, how can one enjoy the music and celebration the country boasts of if one is rained upon?

Loud, she thought, they were loud. Annoying. A bother. The whole reason she started the storm. Now no one can be outside, just like her. at least until her mother wins the argument against her father, only then she'll be allowed out to the festival... and only then she will lift the veils of fog and rain that she forced on the city.

She watched and heard their footsteps on the hard stone streets disappear slowly into the night as the dimly lit road was engulfed in the storm. She could see the streets flood, the lightbulbs from the streetlamps casting reflections on the thin waves.

Amara sighed, pulling her hand away from the glass, with the string of mist that tied her, and the storm cut, the rain starts to settle down only to rage on again. She grumbled. Useless, she thought as she saw her transparent hands, now hidden behind her silky gloves.

The little girl jumps off the window still, walking past her desk, decorated with loose papers, and opened books. One of them being the notebook where she had written down the aspirations of her family. Their aspirations for her. The eternally hopeless one. "To be a saint, to be an Araceli, is to bring gifts selflessly to all corners of this world" Amara mumbled. "tsk" Then past her wardrobe, filled to the brim with coats and dresses for her to wear.

As she walked down the hall to reach the top of the stairs, she heard her parents fighting softly. She tried to listen in, only for a finger to be flicked on her forehead. "Little girls should be asleep at this time, not listen in to others' conversation" her brother's voice teased her.

"you're not asleep either, so why should I be" Amara huffed, looking at the shadows cast by the light from the fireplace and her parent's figures. She didn't even bother to look at him. Not now.

She hated that he looks like her father, but she looked like her mother.

"that's because I'm not twelve nor am I hugging Mr. Wolke like my life depended on it" her brother kept teasing. Amara hugged the cloud-shaped doll the size of her torso tighter as she huffed, stomping her foot.

"What are they arguing about?"

her brother stood up; their matching eye level is now gone. "I don't think that's any of our business."

"I heard my name" Amara pursed her lips.

"...it's about the festival, mother wants tomorrow to be an exception to the rules" Amara smiled slightly. "Satisfied?" Ivan teased, rubbing his hand on her head, tangling her hair.