Lysara was looking at me. She had drunk in turn. And she was smiling—a true smile. That of a child tasting light for the first time.
I drank again, slowly. The wine flowed down like a river of warm ashes. I was in no hurry. I had time.
And then, the feast began.
Twenty minutes passed before the waiter returned with the starter.
The silence between Lysara and me was gentle, almost sacred.
— Here is the Soup of Old-Root and shredded Abyssium fillet.
He set the black cup down before me, steaming, fragrant. Fine glitter floated there like glyphs.
— An infusion for lucidity. The heat soothes, but also awakens what we hide. Drink slowly, it is alive.
I took a spoon, tasted it.
The taste… was strangely clear. As if each aroma wanted to speak. I felt my thoughts arranging themselves, my memories lighting up.
Lysara dipped her lips in hers, then closed her eyes.
— It reminds me of… a morning I've never lived, she murmured.
I served her a bit more juice. She drank it gratefully.
