marigolds on the bank

Trinket considered how best to phrase the thoughts tumbling around in her head. "You're very...still."

She looked the woman up and down. "Most people hurry all over the place. Their lives are very boring. So I make them more interesting. And then they have a day that is different from every other day of their lives."

She looked around the path they were walking. Everything was still. Quiet. Unmoving. Boring. Except for the woman.

"You're very still. You aren't hurrying. That's boring. But you don't care that it's boring. You aren't trying to hurry along to something more interesting, like everyone else does. So I don't know how to make things more interesting for you."

There was, perhaps, more behind her glassy black eyes. But she wasn't sure how to express it. So she distilled it down to the most direct question she could think of.

"Why are you so still?"

Lena

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul

Still.

That hadn’t been the word Lena would’ve described herself with – because she always found herself busy. Sometimes purposefully avoidant of quiet, hushed proportions, for then thoughts of other things came hurtling back. Her sister. Her family. Wars. The painstaking process of horror unraveling before her eyes and not being able to do much of anything to stop it.

So her brows furrowed vaguely – not in anger or rage, but confusion. “I don’t find my life boring at all,” and she shrugged her shoulders, indifferent to how the youth viewed her world – for this child of Ludo had never lived in Lena’s shoes, and vice versa. “And it’s not your responsibility to do anything for me.” Why a child would find that a necessity rankled some finer edges, and the Caretaker found herself shaking her head, stride proceeding across the stones. “I would argue that I’m not. Why are you worried about it?”

and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all

Trinket stared at the woman for a long time without speaking, without blinking. She considered the woman's words. She found that she didn't have an answer to the woman's question. Curious.

"I don't know why I'm worried about it," she said, though there was no hint of concern or emotion in her voice. "But I want to make things more interesting. Make things different than they are. Why isn't that my responsibility?"

She had never considered "responsibility" before. She knew the word, like she knew all words. But it seemed to be an irrelevant concept. People could choose to do things, or not to do them. She chose to do things to see what people would choose to do in response. She wasn't sure if that counted as responsibility or not.

"I don't know how to make things different for you than they are now."

Lena

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul

A child should be allowed to be a child, but Lena didn’t say it. Unaware of any goals or notions pushed upon the young demigod, she glanced over again, before swinging onto another portion of the stony path – listening to the ebb and flow of wind brushing and rushing along.

The final statement caught her a little, because the Caretaker was content with her lot in life – even if it had been tragic and dismantling at times. She still had a home. She still had a role. She still had pieces she wanted to fill, places she wanted to go, curiosity to enable her into cycles of movement and motion. The world was open, fresh, and new, in some portions. She couldn’t have her sister back, and she’d accepted it. Her voice took on a kind, but stern note, the arch of her brow remaining. “Who is to say I want my life to be different? That’s not up to you."

and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all

"Of course it's up to me," Trinket said, following along the stone path, aware of but ignoring the roughness against her bare feet. The wind tousled her hair, but she paid it no mind. She had other concerns occupying her attention right now.

"I made your day different by being here. If I'd gone to the city instead of the woods, you would have finished drawing your bird, then went on your way. Instead, you're talking to me."

She looked up at the woman, her face blank. "Everyone makes each other's lives different every day. Unless you live alone and never see anyone again. And that's boring."

She hopped down a stone step that was a bit too tall for her short legs, holding her doll carefully against her chest so she wouldn't drop it. "So really, it's not up to you whether your life is made different. Lots of things happen that you don't choose. Lots of things in your past happened to make you who you are now. That's how the game works."

She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "So I'm making your life different in one way or another. But I don't want to do it in a boring way. That's no fun. It has to be interesting. But I don't know how to make things interesting for you."

Lena

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul

“Hm. I believe I did that anyway.” In a counter point with a child, Lena could only shrug her shoulders, pondering where all the wisdom and maturity lingered within a youth’s mind, and if it was her demigod status that gave her far more complexities. For here they were – she’d drawn her bird, and they were headed towards the Celestine.

Tilting her head, but not engaging into the fundamentals and nitty gritty niches, she turned along another gravel-lined road, listening to the stones beneath her feet. “Then why do you ask, if you’ve already claimed to change my day?” An arch to her brow, and her hands tightened over her basket, giving it a little swing as they approached the overarching gardens. “Everyone has different opinions on what is interesting or boring to them. What you might consider dull, others regard as fun.”

and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all

"I changed your day in a boring way," Trinket said. The gravel pinched and poked at her feet. She was aware of the pain, but ignored it. It was irrelevant. "I need to do it in an interesting way. Not just talking."

"Lots of people don't find things interesting the same way I do," she continued. "Sometimes people get scared. That's interesting. But they don't like it. Sometimes people just get confused. Or angry. But they're always different than they were before."

"It doesn't have to be fun. Just interesting. Different. Usually I don't explain this to people." She glanced up at the woman. "I just do it. People don't ask me why. They just scream, or laugh, or get confused. Lots of times they don't even know I did it. If they do, they yell at me. But that's interesting at least."

She considered the woman in silence for a moment. "I don't think you'll yell at me."

Lena

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul

Lena wondered about this one’s creation as a whole. Had Ludo made and molded them for the sheer purpose of intrigue, curiosity, and nearly inscrutable alterations? She didn’t say as much, not while they meandered and she strode along the path with her sole purpose of returning to the animals in her care. But she grew quiet again, listening as the youth explained her resolve on the matter at hand.

Her head only tilted as the gardens lingered overhead, as a familiar wake paused along her shoulders, as she visibly relaxed in the threshold of the Celestine. A faint smile flickered again, before she stepped within the confines of the zoo. “No. I won’t yell at you.”

and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all

"That's what I mean," Trinket said with a tiny nod. "You're too 'still' to yell at someone. If I could find a way to make you yell, at least that would be interesting."

She was silent for a long moment as they entered the Celestine. She showed no reaction to the sight that others would describe as beautiful. Beautiful wasn't interesting.

"I've been trying to think of ways to scare you. But I don't think it will work. Or I could try to make you mad, but I don't think that will work either. You're hard to change."

"What about the animals here?" she asked, looking around. "You take care of them, you said. Would you get mad if someone hurt them?" She didn't particularly want to hurt the animals, nor did she particularly care not to hurt them. Doing so would just be a means to an end. But not, she thought, the end she was seeking.

"I think you would get more mad if someone hurt the animals than if someone hurt you."

Lena

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul

The question struck her as bizarre; and she could feel herself growing taut and rigid. “I would.” She’d defended them before, time and time again – those downtrodden, sick, feeble, incapable of helping themselves, placed in the Celestine to be under her watchful eye, in her care. Her hand clenched harder over the rim of her basket, and while her eyes had taken on a forged, steely mannerism, the gentleness in her tone didn’t fade.

Her strides carried her along the entrance, going down along winding paths. The last sentence made her gaze narrow. “You’re probably right.” But no one had ever aimed to strike at her. Not her sister, long since gone now. Not her family. Not her friends. Lena had been the seraphic sort, effervescent and bright, kind and obliging. Selfless.

and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all

Trinket watched the woman's reaction. The tension, the tightened grip. Curious. She wondered how the woman would react if Trinket did in fact harm one of the animals.

"You're less still now," Trinket said, her dark eyes moving from the woman's clenched hand up to her eyes. "That's how someone would change your day. Make your life more interesting. Hurting the animals. Maybe stabbing a deer with a spear. Or shooting a unicorn with a bow."

She pondered it for a moment, her head tilted to the side.

"I don't have a spear. Or a bow. So I guess I can't hurt the animals today."

Pity. She was rather curious to see how the caretaker would respond. Perhaps next time she visited the Celestine.

Lena

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul

She swallowed hard, pushing the bile suddenly clasping over her throat back down, down, down, at the child’s words. Whatever possessed the youth to say such things didn’t compel the Caretaker – it wasn’t her job to ensure this demigod understood ethics - instead her resolve hastened, blistered, until she could feel the tension building in the palm of her hand. “Then they will face consequences for doing so.” Though not necessarily by her own machinations – never violent by any measures – but it was Frey’s wishes for those animals to be placed within.

To be safe. To be whole.

The threat the child made though caused her jaw to clench, and she had no notions of continuing or engaging in the veil and vein of the horrendous, deranged conversation. “I must return to work.” And with that, she moved away, shutting the Celestine gates behind her.

{FIN}

and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all