AVIS IN BETWEEN (Lesbian)

Part 23 (II) AVIS GIVES THE ORDERS

Nota bene: the chapter features mature content!

Before leaving, I look at my reflection in the mirror: I put on my normal clothes, but no matter how hard I try to return to my old style and way of thinking, I could still see Avis in that very black dress in the darkness of the mirror.

I go out onto the balcony. It is still very early and cool: the air, in spite of the rich summer vegetation around, seems to be somehow hard and crystal cold.

I sigh, swinging my leg over the balcony railing, and carefully place my foot on a sturdy white branch. Remembering my childhood, I carefully began to step over it, holding to the upper branch for support. Reaching the trunk, I tenderly hug it and take a breath. Then, without any mishap, I slide down, leaning on convenient branches, as if they were created for climbing.

This is probably how little Cygnie and her brother had fun when kids.

The closer I get to Herbarium, the more restless I become. I hesitate at the very entrance: I didn't want to meet the main herbalist mage, that's why I call one of the little servants:

"Could you call for Cygnie? You must know her; she works in one of the greenhouses," I say.

"She has not been seen today, and nobody saw her yesterday at the Black Night party."

For some reason, his words scare me in earnest. I understand that this may be just a coincidence, but the anxiety persists. I ask the boy how to get to her house and depart immediately.

I walk along the bank of the silvery river as the servant told me to do. Just like he said, soon I reached the poorest area of the Hare Rivulets.

Offal Court!

For some reason, I remember Twain when I approach the place I need. Poverty, emptiness and devastation reigns everywhere. Like after a plague.

The servant was right telling me that I would immediately find her father's fishing cabin. It is the only one that rests partially bending over the water, the only things that prevent it from falling are several piles that stand in the water like crane's legs. The roof, unlike the perlaceous ones, is covered with leaky rolls of straw. Naturally for this place, the cabin is not adorned with exquisite weathercocks or beautiful flower gardens.

"Excuse me!" I address an elderly man who is sitting on an overturned boat. He looks up, and I understand that he is not an old man at all. He is Cygnie's father: same white hair, same asthenic physique, same slightly rounded large eyes. He is probably forty years old, but he looks sixty: hard work, the death of his wife, the escape of his son, and alcohol did not spare his appearance, although his sinewy arms and strong neck remain the witnesses of old times when he was a strong man. He looks at me with unseeing eyes: probably drunk. "Excuse me," I repeat. "Do you know where Cygnie is? She has not shown up at work today and no one has seen her since yesterday. I'm really worried about her."

He laughs in response. "Worried? You don't care about her. Go where you came from. Cygnie is gone."

"What do you mean by gone?" Unlike to him, it's not a joke to me. A small shiver runs through me, and my knees begin to tremble.

"What is it to you?" he speaks as if his tongue is tangled. "My sweet girl ran away, left her old man all alone!" He covers his wrinkled (too wrinkled for his age) face with his hands.

"Can you properly explain what happened here? Where did she run away to?!" I am almost screaming.

For a couple of seconds, he is silent, as if to deliberately get on my nerves, fueling my fear.