Toward Eternity
Thomas “Faux” Steele
Aurélien Delacroix — 2401
Aurélien Delacroix leaned back on the cracked leather barstool and interlaced their fingers, claw-tips painted an eye-catching sapphire that matched their majestic crest. Tapping a cigarette out of a crumpled packet of Gauloises—also blue—they tucked it into their beak but left it unlit. “Let’s start with a name and go from there, shall we?”
“Gaëlle,” the Persian leopard replied, golden eyes tracing the curves of the blue jay’s deep purple suit. The corner of her muzzle curled into a slight frown as she took a seat, the curves of her dress cascading down her lithe body like turbid water. A choker set with fire opals like translucent magma adorned her throat. “Of the Khayyamzadeh Clade. I’ve heard that you fancy yourself a detective, Monsieur Delacroix.”
“Others describe me that way, but I prefer to say that I dabble in the archeology of the soul,” Aurélien replied, their crest fluttering ever so slightly with a hint of amour-propre. Materializing a lighter into their palm, they summoned a jet of flame to ignite their cigarette. “If you have a sufficiently interesting mystery for me, I’ll endeavor to solve it for you. Sound fair?”
Gaëlle considered Aurélien for a long moment, her manicured claws sinking into the foam padding. “I don’t do ‘interesting’,” she said slowly, her voice like distant veldt thunder. “But I do have a mystery of a sort…I need someone found.”
“Is this related to the Century Attack?” A lazy wisp of smoke rolled out of the blue jay’s beak as they slowly exhaled. The ember of their cigarette gave their amethyst eyeshadow an iridescent glow. “I imagine you’ve already checked the clade listing.”
“Naturally.” Gaëlle sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I expected there to be casualties after they announced that the cause was Contraproprioceptive Virus. I just didn’t expect the losses to have hit within my clade,” the leopard murmured, her paw instinctively batting at a silver pendant in the form of an art nouveau key suspended from a dainty chain around her neck. “Did you uh…lose–”
“No. I’m technically part of a clade, but”—Aurélien took another puff as they swirled a half-empty glass of Armagnac and watched the amber droplets dance against the crystal—“we all seem to be a bit drunk on the liquor of solitude these days.”
“I don’t think we’re supposed to be alone,” the leopard murmured in a low purr. “Not in the System at least. No heart-balm can truly soothe the ache of involuntary solitude.”
“Then tell me more about the one that you’re hunting for.” A mournful saxophone rose above the steady drone of conversation that echoed off the cove ceiling above them. “Anything that might help me identify an up-tree instance.”
“Her name was Céleste,” Gaëlle began, claws scratching lightly against the weathered mahogany bar of the Sombres Reflets speakeasy. “A lynx. Reddish fur, beautiful emerald eyes, and a grin just a bit off-kilter. She was–” The leopard’s voice hitched. “She was not our clade’s root instance, but she was very close, much closer than I am.”
“You sound like you could use a drink. Bartender!” Aurélien called, their voice slicing through the smoky air. A moment later, a handsome human with a well-trimmed mustache—part of the sim—stepped forward, chromed cocktail shaker in his white-gloved hand.
“Whiskey.” Gaëlle clutched her pendant tighter, the nubs of teeth-scarred claws striking melodically against the metal like diminutive bells. “Three fingers, neat.”
The bartender plucked a bottle from the top shelf, pouring precisely the requested volume into a squat crystal glass in front of Gaëlle. Her gaze softened for a moment as she brought the amber liquid to her muzzle. After a deep sip, she let out a trembling sigh.
“Take as long as you need to gather your thoughts,” Aurélien murmured. They glanced at the narrow silver of cityscape visible through the nicotine-stained transom window above the speakeasy’s iron-wrapped entrance. Bitter rain fell in sheets outside, the tires of dour sedans dousing the sidewalk in opaque water as they rolled past. “We have nothing but time in this sim. I know that this process can be…difficult.”
“Difficult…” Gaëlle echoed, raising her glass to the dim light of the bar, amber whiskey twinkling like a falling star as she brought it to her muzzle. “That’s certainly one word for it.”
“How long has it been since Céleste last forked?” the blue jay asked, sympathetically clicking their beak.
“Six months ago. The instance has probably individuated since then, but…I hope that there’s still a part of her out there somewhere.” Gaëlle paused, her eyes misty as she took another swig of whiskey to steady her trembling paws. “I should never have trusted the promise of a place beyond death. It’s so easy to leave words unsaid when our gaze is toward eternity.”
“You had no way of knowing,” Aurélien replied. The smoke of their cigarette curled lazily upward, contributing to a haze that muted the light thrown by the solitary incandescent bulb above them. “No one predicted that phys-side would lash out at the System with such violence outside of the darkest sims birthed from conspiratorial delirium.”
“There was this…old playground on the sim where the core of my clade still lives. Céleste loved it there.” Gaëlle stared vacantly down into her whiskey, her sinuous tail twitching restlessly against the tarnished brass footrest. “I’d join her there at the same time every week and we’d sit on the swings and reminisce until we ran out of memories or mimosa, whichever came first.”
“I assume this new instance wasn’t there when the appointed hour arrived?” The ember on Aurélien’s cigarette glowed brighter as they took a contriving puff.
“No,” the leopard replied with a sigh. “And the clade listing wasn’t of much help. I suspect that the new instance hasn’t quit, but I don’t have access–” Gaëlle’s voice trailed off, her fingers tracing aimless patterns on the mahogany bar.
“Those damned privacy settings,” Aurélien murmured, offering a sympathetic nod. “Useful at times but…also occasionally frustrating.”
“Mrm. I blame myself for not spending more moments with her, for living through a thousand other experiences apart when she was always just a ping away.” Gaëlle sighed. “I always thought we’d have more time.”
“But we never quite have enough, do we?” Aurélien said, gesturing for the bartender to bring another glass of Armagnac. “I’ve been in the System a hundred years and I still feel like I’ve only enjoyed a thousandth of what’s out there.”
“There’s no comfort in eternity when the cocladist you want to spend it with isn’t there,” Gaëlle mused, tilting her glass to let the dingy light refract through the remaining whiskey. “Find her for me…please?”
“Who else would have an idea as to this fork’s whereabouts?” Aurélien asked, extinguishing their cigarette on a dull ceramic ashtray adorned with the yellow-stained tips of filterless butts. The bartender casually swapped it out as he supplied the bluejay with more brandy.
Gaëlle pursed her lips, gaze focused on the rain-spattered transom window. “Go to the Government Club and ask for Zamburak Tehrani. He is an old friend on good terms with all the members of my clade…unlike myself.”
Aurélien gave her a curt nod before tipping back the full glass of Armagnac in a single golden stream. Donning a weathered camel trench coat, they studied the leopard’s face for a moment while straightening their tie.
“Try not to get lost in the rain,” Gaëlle said, a hint of anxiety visible beneath her sphinxlike façade. The blue jay nodded in silent reassurance, feathers ruffling slightly in the dim light. As their claw-tips wrapped around the heavy brass door latch, they glanced back at Gaëlle.
“I’ll find her.” The door swung shut behind them, the building’s weathered shutters rattling in the howling wind. Sipping on her whisky, Gaëlle watched the blue jay’s blocky figure disappear into the cityscape until it was swallowed entirely by sheets of bitter rain.
If the atmosphere in the Sombres Reflets was The Maltese Falcon, then the Government Club was Brick and Mirror. Aurélien stepped onto a cobblestone street lined with neatly-trimmed groves of Persian cypress trees and slowly exhaled. Dead ahead, a three-story building with a majestic art deco façade was impossible to miss, its emerald green and gold details accented by Kashan tilework. The gated archway that separated it from the street was flanked by two marble cheetahs, each bearing a gleaming torch of sapphire flame.
Giving an acknowledging nod to an oryx concierge with horns spiraling up into infinity, Aurélien entered the manicured charbagh and immediately felt out-of-place. The splendor of Pahlavi Iran hung heavy in the air, accompanied by the crisp scent of jasmine wafting from abundant white-flowered bushes that lined the walkways. It was as if time itself had gotten lost within the red sandstone walls, twisting in on itself until emerging as a past that had never come to pass.
“Salam. Are you looking for someone?” An Asiatic cheetah gave the blue jay a polite smile, her sapphire Qashqai-style dress flapping lightly in the warm breeze. “The Government Club usually isn’t somewhere one ends up by accident.”
“Salam,” Aurélien greeted her with a tip of their crest feathers and a friendly jeer-jeer. Unfortunately perched just beyond the shade of a colonnade, their jacket in the direct sunlight was quickly becoming a Dutch oven. “I’m looking for Zamburak Tehrani. Would you happen to know where I can find him? Preferably somewhere air-conditioned.”
The cheetah’s eyes flickered with recognition as she brushed an errant strand of headfur off her forehead. “Ah, yes. Fortunately for you, he’s usually around this time of day,” she murmured, glancing up at the late afternoon sun. “You might also consider donning something a little more…breathable. Most of us here prefer it on the warmer side.”
Aurélien nodded, two blue jays visible for a split-second before one—the visibly perspiring instance—quit. A lightweight cotton gandoura billowed around the new instance’s lean and muscular frame, golden threads woven through the collar adding a hint of elegance to the simple tunic. The cheetah shot them an approving smile.
“Better,” she said, her tail curling leisurely behind her. “Now, follow me, if you would.”
Aurélien’s talons clicked on the lavish Isfahan tilework that covered the entire corridor, intricate lattice work and columns to the blue jay’s right exposing the Government Club’s inner paridaiza. A fern-shaded stream coursed through the center of the courtyard, where manicured orange trees bloomed in orderly rows. Anthropomorphic creatures of every kind lounged about with languid grace, sipping on saffron lassis or engaging in animated conversation beneath cedarwood and canvas canopies.
“It’s rare for a new face to appear on this sim. And rarer still for it to belong to one with nostalgia for the old Troisième République,” the cheetah continued, stepping lightly around a plump peacock preening in the middle of the walkway. “Don’t mind the curious glances.”
The blue jay nodded, a group of chattering marmosets going eerily silent as they passed, turning toward them with leery expressions etched on their muzzles. “I suppose that it can’t be helped,” Aurélien conceded, lifting a winged forearm in a half-hearted wave.
“We aren’t exactly a popular tourist destination,” the cheetah murmured, her whiskers twitching in amusement. Pausing before a gilded door engraved with Persian calligraphy so intricate that Aurélien wouldn’t have been able to decipher it even if they knew Farsi—which they absolutely didn’t. “I am Anahita. When you find Zamburak Tehrani, kindly tell him that I sent you his way. And don’t forget to enjoy the Jannah Room—it’s quite the experience.”
The doors parted into an antechamber encrusted with gemstones that seemed to dance in the flickering light of two gas-fueled lamps. Squinting slightly, the blue jay took a few steps forward and brushed aside a velvet curtain to reveal the unvarnished splendor of the Jannah Room. The rhythmic strumming of a tar accompanied by the hypnotic melody of a santur echoed off the towering ceiling.
However, the music wasn’t what caught Aurélien’s attention. The blue jay’s gaze was fixated on the river of golden wine winding through the room, shaded by artificial trees which each bore a unique culinary delight. Lifelike marzipan branches bloomed with rice-stuffed grape leaves, skewers of spiced kebab, and gleaming vark-garnished baklava in the shape of pomegranate flowers.
“Dorood.” A king cheetah gestured, silver goblet in paw, from a floating chaise. Clad in a sumptuous ruby kaftan embroidered with threads of silver and gold, Aurélien’s intuition marked him as none other than Zamburak Tehrani. “Are you thirsty, stranger? Please, drink your fill.”
The blue jay carefully wrapped their claws around a goblet from a table inlaid with mother-of-pearl, the cool metal against their palm a welcome respite from the oppressive heat. “Dorood,” Aurélien responded, inclining their head in respect as they squatted down to lazily skim it across the surface of the golden river. “Your hospitality is appreciated.”
Brining the goblet to their beak, the vapors wafting off the intoxicating wine carried with them the rich scent of honey and saffron. After a tentative sip, a blissful warmth rolled down the blue jay’s throat while a hint of burnt caramel lingered on their palate.
“May you always find the fruits of life in the System to be sweet,” the Zamburak toasted, lifting his goblet in a leisurely toast before guzzling the remainder of his wine. His eyes, molten gold studded with flecks of emerald, studied Aurélien over the rim. “Now, what has brought you to me, hrm? Surely you’re not just here for a few baklava.”
Aurélien took a longer sip, the sweet nectar ensnaring their senses as a sensation of utter contentment washed over them. The cabalistic wine’s effects reminded them of the narcotic Panelim they’d been plied with in the hospital prior to their upload. “Anahita directed me to you. I was told by another that you might be able to provide me with the information I seek.”
“Anahita?” he echoed smoothly, allowing the name to roll off his tongue in a slow, thoughtful rumble. “And what might you wish to learn from me? Most would consider me to be more foolish than wise. I am one cast in the mold of the Joker of Madinah”
“I’m looking for a member of the Khayyamzadeh Clade,” Aurélien replied. “My interest is purely professional, of course.”
The Zamburak’s eyes narrowed to glittering slits before he let out a slow, measured laugh layered with both amusement and exasperation. “The Khayyamzadeh Clade are a tricky bunch. Are you sure you’d like to get mixed up in their affairs? I find it’s rather like trying to bathe in pitch.”
“Perhaps it’s a mistake,” Aurélien replied, setting the goblet on an ebony-inlaid table with a gentle clink. The blue jay’s beak seemed to almost curve into a thoughtful frown as they turned slightly away. “But answers rarely come without a cost.”
Using a small wooden paddle, the Zamburak directed his chaise into a small pull-off and climbed onto a shore of smooth-tumbled lapis lazuli. He brushed his kaftan, scrutinizing Aurélien with a keen eye that seemed to instantly size them up. The cheetah strolled over and picked a pomegranate from one of the artificial trees, his claws effortlessly slicing it apart to reveal the ruby pearls within.
“Tread carefully, “the Zamburak warned, the corners of his regal maw curling slightly as he popped a handful of the blood-red jewels into his muzzle. He extended the other half to Aurélien, who gratefully accepted. “The one you seek is still much like Céleste, for better or worse.”
Plucking one of the pomegranate arils free, the blue jay rolled it between their fingers while scanning over the extensive collection of ornate shamshir swords adorning the far wall. “Why didn’t Gaëlle come here and simply ask you herself?”
“Perhaps she was afraid of seeking her out alone,” he murmured with a nonchalant shrug. “Or perhaps, she thought it wasn’t her place to ask. I sense Gaëlle believes that my neutrality with regard to the other members of the Khayyamzadeh Clade amounts to a character flaw.”
Sampling the pomegranate, Aurélien appreciated the burst of sweet-tart flavor that brushed across their tongue like the tip of a billet doux. “And yet you’ve chosen to remain impartial anyway?”
The Zamburak waved his paw and the elaborate murals adorning the ceiling faded away to reveal a cosmos stretched out like a silken canvas, punctuated by radiant stars and swirling nebulae. His manicured claws traced an absent pattern on the surface of his goblet while he gazed up at the heavens. “The universe doesn’t favor a quark over a lepton, so why should I favor one cocladist over another?”
“Mrm…I prefer to shape the world around me rather than gaze at the heavens,” Aurélien replied. “And for that, I need information.”
With a playful smile, the Zamburak used his barbed tongue to scrape the interior of the pomegranate clean as he removed a shamshir from the wall and balanced it in the center of his palm. “Every blade here”—he drew the shamshir from its ornate leather scabbard—“holds a secret. The trick is knowing how to unravel it.”
Aurélien pursed their beak, instinct drawing them to a shamshir with a golden hilt adorned with strips of shimmering fire opal. The iridescent scales almost pulsed in their grasp as they shed the scabbard and revealed a gleaming Damascus steel blade. “And how would a humble corvid such as I manage that?”
“The same way a humble cheetah learned many years ago,” replied the Zamburak, brandishing a polished blade that cast a gladiatorial glow against his golden fur. “Are you familiar with the basics of swordplay?”
Aurélien tilted their head, blue-tipped feathers bristling in anticipation. “I know enough not to cut myself,” they replied, th opalescent spark in their eyes matching the hilt of the shamshir their claws lightly gipped.
The Zamburak let out a throaty laugh that echoed across the chamber. Something in Aurélien’s chest warmed at the sight of his affable grin. Persian music dramatically faded away, replaced by the lively interplay of a saxophone and bassoon. “Then let us begin the Shamshir Dance. Fortunately, the stakes are quite a bit lower here than phys-side.”
Aurélien moved lightly on the balls of their feet, the blade in their hands perfectly balanced as they mirrored the Zamburak’s poised stance. “The first rule of the Shamshir Dance”—the Zamburak tensed as he stored energy in his thighs—“is to listen to your blade.”
Closing the distance between them with almost supernatural speed, the Zamburak brought his shamshir down in a clean arc. At the last second, Aurélien mirrored his action on the upswing, sending out a reverberating clang that seemed to shake the stars above them.
“The second rule,” the Zamburak continued, luminous eyes gleaming under the starlight like a radium watch dial, “is to listen to your opponent’s blade as you would your own. Any less and you are merely sparring instead of dancing with your partner.”
Aurélien nodded, barely managing to parry the next onslaught of swift attacks. Sweat began to bead on their cheek feathers as the cheetah pushed them backward with a series of double-pawed slashes. “M-mrmph…this is getting to be a rather long list of rules, mon ami.”
“Fortunately, I have only one more for you. The third rule,” the Zamburak said with calm conviction, “is to listen to the silence between the clashes, for in that silence, you will hear the secrets speak.”
Parting their beak, Aurélien drew a quick breath as they narrowly dodged another sweeping cut. Despite giving off the initial impression of a creature of leisure, the Zamburak was shockingly athletic. “How does one listen to silence?” they asked, leaping atop a table and parrying from the high ground.
“I would have thought that you’d know the answer already,” the cheetah replied smoothly, launching himself onto the table with Aurélien. The wood creaked under their combined weight but held fast. “The same way one listens to whispers in the wind or the rustling of leaves.”
The Zamburak’s shamshir whizzed past, barely an inch away from Aurélien’s beak. The blue jay stumbled backwards and quickly regained their footing as they were simultaneously struck by inspiration. “Or the language of two cocladists sitting together in an empty playground, saying nothing and yet everything to each other at the same moment.” Aurélien finished.
“Very good.” The Zamburak’s voice carried a hint of approval. The cheetah flashed a pair of gold-capped canines as he smiled. Aurélien moved with renewed vigor, sweat dripping from their forefeathers as they used their superior agility to keep the Zamburak off-balance.
If the Zamburak was Céleste and Aurélien was Gaëlle, then their relationship had been a delicate balance, each one needing to listen just as much as to speak. Each clash of their blades echoed the natural rhythm of conversation, the Zamburak’s impetuous and aggressive strikes echoing Céleste’s fiery spirit while Aurélien’s calculated parries mirrored Gaëlle’s reserved nature.
Céleste’s fork became clearer in their mind; no longer an abstract notion but a lynx slowly emerging in Athenian glory. The Zamburak struck again, shamshir glistening under the starlight, and the blue jay caught a glimpse of deep crimson as a pulse of pain shot through their side. The wound was superficial, just a shallow cut, but it jolted them into perfect focus all the same.
“Silent paws in the snow,” Aurélien muttered under their breath, their feathers bristling with insight. Their backward stumble had overturned a mound of Turkish delight, leaving delicate tracks in the powdered sugar. “This fork—are they perhaps partial to a different climate?”
“Indeed,” he affirmed with a dulcet purr. “Her heart has always been at peace amidst the snow-capped peaks of the Zagros.”
“Know any good mountaineering sims?” Aurélien asked, driving the ball of their heel into the Zamburak’s shin. The cheetah let out a sharp yelp, balancing on one leg as he beat back Aurélien’s assault with the raw power of an avalanche rolling through the tree line.
“It’s not in a different sim, but…I think I know just the place,” the Zamburak replied with a knowing smile. With a swift movement, he closed the distance between them and slipped under the blue jay’s guard. Aurélien’s shamshir flew from their grip as they were viscerally ejected from the Government Club. “Safar khosh begzared!”
Aurélien collapsed backward onto an unspoiled blanket of powdery snow which almost instantly soaked through the thin cotton of their gandoura. Rolling their eyes, the blue jay forked into a winter-appropriate outfit, swapping the lightweight tunic for a well-insulated down jacket and sturdy snow pants. A fierce wind stirred their plumage, nipping at the slight gaps between the feathers on their cheeks.
In the distance, Aurélien caught a glimpse of a red-orange light through the thickening flurries. With no other signs of civilization in sight, they began to trudge toward it, pulling their hood tighter while tilting their beak down against the bitter cold. Their thickly-gloved hands fumbled for a cigarette, only managing to tear the pack open on their fourth attempt.
Framed by the swirling snowflakes, Aurélien withdrew a single filterless Gauloises. With years of practice, they clamped it between the frost-kissed edges of their beak and lit it with a strike-anywhere match. Drawing the smoke deep into their breast, Aurélien let the rush of nicotine siphon some of the chill away.
After a few minutes of effortful trekking, Aurélien arrived at a small clearing. Standing out against a background of scraggly trees, the red-orange light illuminated a rustic log cabin with shutters painted a vibrant gold. A healthy plume of smoke curled from the stacked stone chimney, while a pair of well-loved skis were propped against the railing of the front porch. The half-smoked Gauloises dangled from Aurélien’s beak as they climbed weather-beaten stairs that creaked ominously beneath their weight.
After straightening the lapels of their jacket, Aurélien rapped their knuckles on a solid oak door adorned with a wreath of juniper branches interwoven with fragrant strips of dried orange peel. A moment later, it swung open to reveal a cozy living room bathed in the glow radiating from the roaring fire in the hearth.
“Quelle surprise.” The lynx standing in the doorway appraised Aurélien with emerald eyes, a half-smile on her muzzle as the acrid smoke from the Gauloises mingled with the frosty air. “I wasn’t expecting company but…do come in. You’ll catch your death out there. Just put that damn cigarette out.”
Aurélien wordlessly flicked the Gauloises into the nearest snowbank, watching as the glow of the embers was quickly snuffed out. Stepping over the threshold, the scent of warm pine and roasting meat was a welcome contrast to the lynx’s obviously begrudging hospitality. Playful shadows danced across worn Persian rugs strewn across the hardwood floor.
“You keep a lovely home,” Aurélien remarked, shaking the dusting of snow free from their feathers.
“It doesn’t quite have the grandeur of the Government Club, but it suits me just fine,” the lynx replied. Futzing over a tarnished silver-plated samovar warmed by a small kerosene burner, she poured steaming tea into a pair of chipped porcelain cups as Aurélien hung their jacket over the back of a chintz armchair. “Do you take sugar?”
Aurélien rubbed their hands together for a moment before stretching them out towards the primally-satisfying warmth of the fire. “Yes, two spoonfuls,” they said reflexively. “And if you’d be so kind, a bit of cream, s’il vous plait.”
The lynx huffed out a laugh as she sauntered back to the barebones kitchen tucked away in the rear of the cabin. Opening a crazed porcelain icebox, she retrieved a small glass bottle of cream and shook it gently before adding a generous measure to one of the tea cups.
“Here you are,” she said, setting the steaming cup on a small wooden table beside Aurélien. Heat seeped into their cold digits like a summer breeze as their fingers curled around the smooth porcelain.
“Merci,” Aurélien replied, inhaling the fragrant steam before taking a measured sip. Strong and laced with a hint of cinnamon, the tea settled comfortably in the pit of Aurélien’s stomach. “So, you’re Céleste’s fork, yes?”
“Are you here to offer condolences?” The lynx stiffened slightly, her eyes darting to the slowly diminishing fire before settling back on Aurélien. She took a leisurely sip of her tea, her nubby tail flicking with mild agitation. “You could’ve left a vase of ice-lilies on the porch in lieu of undertaking a vol de la mort.”
“No, that’s not why I came,” Aurélien replied. “I was tasked with ascertaining your whereabouts, and I do not rest until my investigation comes to a satisfying conclusion.”
“Is that so?” The lynx’s ears pricked up as her foot-claws rapped against the unstained pine floorboards. “Was it Gaëlle who requested your services, perchance?”
A slight nod of the blue jay’s head served as confirmation. “She was most eager to get in touch with you after all that had happened as of late. Are you aware?” "
“I enjoy voluntary solitude, but I don’t live under a rock.” The lynx’s face remained inscrutable, her emerald eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. Then, she let out a diffident chuckle, shaking her head as she leaned back, cutting a sharp silhouette against the chintz. “Gaëlle had nursed a crush on Céleste for many decades. She’s beautiful, don’t you think?”
“She’s like twilight over the Seine.” Aurélien nodded in agreement as a falling log sent a shower of sparks bouncing off the smooth river stones that lined the hearth. “And yet it seems your heart does not agree with your eyes.”
The lynx thoughtfully pursued her lips. Soft light accentuated her youthful features, which were in stark contrast to the mélange of nostalgia and melancholy in her wizened eyes. “My heart has perhaps seen one too many twilights over the Seine. Dusk also means night is near.”
“That is true enough, but twilight has its own beauty,” Aurélien murmured. Taking a sip of their tea, they paused and inquisitively cocked their beak. “I’m afraid that I didn’t catch your name. I’d like to properly thank my host for a lovely cup of tea.”
Remaining silent, gentle waves formed in the diminutive ocean clasped tightly in the lynx’s paws as she studied Aurélien’s face. The fire quivered momentarily as a particularly violent gust of wind rattled the cabin’s foundations. “Tell me, stranger. What do you see when you gaze up at the night sky?”
“Stars,” Aurélien replied shortly after a moment’s pause. “I see stars, of course.”
“Just stars?” The lynx murmured, a soft smile creeping at the edge of her muzzle. “Only diminutive specks of light scattered against black canvas?”
Tired springs creaked as Aurélien shifted slightly to lean against the unyielding backrest. It reminded them perfectly of a particularly irksome piece of furniture that had adorned his grandmother’s humble sitting room, always sheathed in dense plastic. “I suppose I see heavenly glory, Céleste.”
The lynx nodded, her eyes briefly gleaming with distilled starlight. “So, what now? Are you going to tell Gaëlle the truth?”
Aurélien peered down into the dregs of their tea, scanning for omens in the waterlogged leaves. The hisses and pops of the dying fire punctuated the silence between them. “I was only hired to find you,” they murmured, noting what appeared to be the silhouette of a mushroom as they set their now empty cup down. “What happens next is not up to me.”
“C’est la vie,” Céleste quipped, pushing herself off the chair. Her tail swished behind her as she moved, tracing patterns against the checkerboard pattern of her flannel lounge pants. Squatting beside the hearth, she casually dropped another log onto the pile with a resounding thu-clack. “We’re always beholden to the decisions of others, whether they be friends, lovers, or cocladists. Perhaps I just wanted a taste of living for myself, at least for a little while.”
“And now?” Aurélien asked.
“Now?” Céleste shot an inscrutable smile over her shoulder. Turning away, she picked up a wrought-iron poker and pensively stirred the embers before sweeping some of the ashes aside. “Now I spend the rest of the evening emptying out my samovar and considering how much longer I’d like to gaze at the heavens alone.”
“I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.” Aurélien pursed their beak, giving her a nod as they stood up and tucked a cigarette into their beak—leaving it unlit, per Céleste’s request. “You’ve been more than gracious to an uninvited guest.”
“Off so soon? I hope that I didn’t chase you away,” the lynx murmured. “Our little discussion was just starting to get interesting.”
“Not at all,” Aurélien assured her while deftly slipping on their jacket. Their thoughts drifted to their clade, long scattered to the winds. Perhaps it might be time to reach out, if only to have an excuse to sample an unfamiliar haunt. “But, if star-gazing ever gets a bit lonely–”
“–I know where to find Gaëlle,” the lynx murmured. Escorting Aurélien to the door, she crossed the cozy space in a few graceful strides. Upon cracking it open, the pair were greeted by a gust of sharp wind that whipped up ethereal swirls across the landscape like diminutive dust devils.
Aurélien shivered, giving Céleste a warm jeer-jeer as they pulled their coat tighter. “I was going to say you could find me,” they finished. “If you’re ever in need of a stiff drink, leave a message for me with the bartender at the Sombres Reflets.”
“Perhaps. After all, Death could have just as easily have kindly stopped for me as for my fork.” A coy smile danced on Céleste’s muzzle. “Can you give Gaëlle a message for me?”
Aurélien tilted their head and cocked an inquiring eyebrow. “Of course.”
“Just because the stars are scattered does not mean they are separated.” The lynx delicately tilted her head onto one side, her gaze momentarily lost in the snow-blanketed landscape beyond the front porch. “They all belong to the same sky.”
“I’ll pass the message along.” Aurélien closed their eyes as the door’s latch clicked shut behind them. The bluejay sent a ping to Gaëlle before letting out a satisfied sigh that hinted at their exhaustion. Still, at the Sombres Reflets, there would be time enough to enjoy the satisfaction of providing the first drop of gold for relationship kintsugi…and perhaps gather the fortitude to reach out to a few cocladists. “Nos cœurs se tiennent par la main, même quand les distances nous séparent.”
Then, beneath an endless sky painted with shimmering constellations, the blue jay turned and stepped confidently toward Eternity.