Today, Mom and Luisa went to the market square. Louisa invited me to come along, but for obvious reasons, I politely declined.
I spent the entire morning in bed and was still in my pajamas. Then again, there was nothing surprising about that. You could rarely find me in anything else. I was probably something like a Christmas tree—only dressed up for special occasions. That is, if the term "dressed up" was even compatible with me at all.
Sitting in the kitchen with Father and secretly eating the leftover chocolate behind Mom's back, I suddenly became curious: was today a day off? Or was every day like this for Father?
Although there were times when he'd leave the house and return by evening, Father didn't give the impression of being a busy person.
I grabbed another piece of chocolate before Father could eat it all and popped it in my mouth. With things like this, it's better not to hesitate.
Questions could wait, but chocolate—well, no.
The shell was sweet, but inside was something fruity and slightly bitter.
Not that it mattered, though. It was edible, at any rate.
"Tell me, Dad, can you do anything besides making your body warm and drawing with fire in the air?"
Although the question might have seemed tactless, I decided to ask anyway. Despite his sturdy build, he didn't strike me as particularly admirable.
No, wait. That's not what I meant. I wanted to say...
Well, whatever.
"Hm?" He turned toward me, blinking in confusion.
"It's just... I've never seen you with a weapon, like adventurers have, for example," I explained, waving my hands from side to side as if holding a sword.
"Adventurer?" He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. "You think a grown man should spend his time on adventures?"
I couldn't help but agree with him. The adventurer's life was more suited to teenagers. That period of life when your every action practically screams for you: "Notice me!"
Hmm... Come to think of it, didn't Father behave exactly the same way at home? Maybe he didn't want to become a serious family man at all?
Well, I was getting ahead of myself with "serious," but we'll skip that.
While I was pondering my answer, Father kept looking around and tensing his body, as if showing off his muscles. He was probably trying to demonstrate that the whole house rested on his shoulders. But no matter how much I thought about it, I couldn't understand why.
It seemed to me that if I said something obvious or cliché, it would be better to stay silent altogether. So I decided to take a different approach.
"So you just sit here while Mom does all the housework?"
"And?.. What's wrong with that?"
He answered without batting an eye. Not making excuses, not joking it off—just like that, as if there really was nothing unusual about it.
It seemed I really was getting bogged down in trying to make things more serious than they needed to be.
"Actually, I do a lot of things, you just don't notice," Father suddenly said, as if he'd decided to explain himself after all. "For example."
He pointed his finger at the floor, prompting me to follow his gaze.
What met my eyes looked like a pile of charcoal that had spilled out of the fireplace. Uneven, blackened pieces lay right on the floor, as if someone had carelessly shaken out the ashes and forgotten to clean up. I distinctly remembered that when I came here, this wasn't there.
It was undoubtedly charcoal.
And what was he trying to say with this? That his household chores consisted of making a mess? I felt like I could handle that just as well.
No. Let's forget about this.
A crackling sound interrupted my thoughts. I flinched and instinctively gripped the edge of my seat—for a moment it seemed like the chair would collapse beneath me.
But the sound wasn't coming from below.
It was coming from that pile of black wood.
The air around it became dry and warm, as if I'd been moved closer to a hearth. My mind reacted too late—my foot moved toward the charcoal on its own. The heat touched my sole, and I jerked it back sharply.
As if the dead wood had suddenly decided to remember it had once been alive, the charcoal began to move. At first—awkwardly, with a crumbling rustle, then more confidently. From the general mass emerged paws, short legs, and a rounded head.
Flames flared up inside the form, filling it from within, and tongues of fire lazily stretched upward, making the outlines blurred.
Born from fire... a teddy bear.
It looked soft—almost comical—but the heat from it was very real. Even at a distance, I could feel the skin on my face tightening from the warmth.
The realization that I'd somehow managed to name this creature didn't help me understand what any of this was about.
"Well? What do you think?" Father asked, placing his hands on his hips and sticking his nose in the air.
That was an excellent question. What did I think? What was I even supposed to think about an animated children's toy? I didn't understand at all.
It seemed to me that I'd need superhuman effort if I ever decided to solve the puzzle that was Father.
The more intently I peered at this strange creature moving its flaming limbs, the more my head hurt. It felt warm, so much so that I questioned whether it was really winter.
"So... do you put on theatrical shows for children? I don't understand," I shrugged, shaking my head.
"Exactly. I'm a magician."
Puffing up with importance after his declaration, Father immediately returned to eating the chocolate and finished the last piece. I pretended not to notice.
In his understanding, this was probably also part of the "magic tricks."
"But what about the gui—"
"The Magicians' Guild."
He answered so quickly that I wasn't even sure if he'd heard my question. And yet the answer was too fitting—as if he knew in advance where this was going.
Like it was one of those questions adults expect from children. For example: "Where do babies come from?"
What was surprising was that I already knew where they came from, but Father was something like an interpretive puzzle. No matter how I put him together, I couldn't see the whole picture.
I came to the conclusion that Father had simply decided to brush me off. And honestly, I didn't care anymore.
As for the bear... well, he was cute.
It was hard to understand anything from the expression on his face. But the way he jerked his head sharply, examining his fiery-plush limbs, gave the impression that he was impressed with himself.
Maybe he also thought himself cute enough?
Actually, such behavior was characteristic of Father, so it wasn't surprising that the plush had picked up this trait of his.
Unfortunately, his existence didn't last long. As soon as the front door opened, announcing Mom and Luisa's return—he vanished, as if blown away by a draft.
.
After several attempts, I finally learned to go down the stairs by myself.
This achievement, of course, didn't lead me anywhere.
Just like yesterday and the day before, I was lying in bed again. However, this time there was no noise around me—Luisa and Mom were downstairs, and Father... well, wherever he was.
Not that I didn't love the atmosphere Luisa brought with her, but after her spontaneous outbursts, I had to spend the entire next day recovering just to regain even a sliver of energy.
For example, yesterday she dragged me outside again to throw snowballs. The result was the same—I was buried under snow, frozen, and exhausted.
I climbed into bed with the book that Louisa and I usually read together. I knew it by heart and could recite it without opening it, but I kept reading anyway.
Practice is practice.
I'd become such a diligent girl, hadn't I? So much so that if my parents saw it—they'd shed a tear.
I wish I could say that.
But reality turned out to be far less touching. When Father looked into the room to listen to me read, he wasn't even surprised. He simply nodded and said:
"You have an excellent memory. When you learn to read, we'll talk like adults."
After which he left, laughing cheerfully.
In other words, my achievements didn't impress him.
Not that I was trying.
Sometimes I began to miss the moments of absolute unity with Louisa. It seemed that the more I learned something, the less time she spent nearby.
It reminded me of the story about the fishing rod. While they're giving you fish—you're always together. But when they give you a rod, you can supposedly manage on your own.
Maybe I should have taken longer to learn?
"No, definitely not."
Life went on, and change was inevitable. We still had one place in common—where we invariably met every morning and every night.
I lazily stretched upward like a cat basking in the sun's rays. The only difference was that the amount of light penetrating the room wasn't proportional to the amount of warmth coming from it.
Simply put—beyond the blanket, it was cool.
Suddenly the door to the room slammed against the wall with a crash, making me involuntarily jump and turn toward it. I wasn't even surprised to see who this disturber of peace was.
I wanted to ask her to burst in less dramatically, but I realized that wasn't important right now.
This natural disaster named Luisa looked so agitated that I started to worry a bit. Despite the external coolness, sweat was streaming off her as if we were in completely different dimensions.
Running up to me, she laughed triumphantly.
"I did it! Look, look!"
It wasn't clear to me where I was supposed to look, given that my head was stuck in her chest when she hugged me tightly. I felt like my nose was about to be flattened. And it wasn't even that long.
I tried to push her away, but my efforts had no effect on Luisa. She wasn't going to give up. In the end, I gave up.
"Hey! Did you fall asleep or what?" she looked at me indignantly when my arms dropped.
I tried to answer something, but my mumbling into her chest didn't resemble either words or thoughts. It seemed she wasn't paying much attention to the situation.
Apparently, in Luisaland, it was normal to talk with fabric in your mouth.
"You're so weird. Okay, just look. I did it!"
She repeated once again, but I still didn't understand what exactly she had done. Suddenly attack? Flatten me? What?
Finally she pushed me away herself, and I immediately hurried to catch my breath. Even though this was normal, I wasn't thrilled about Louisa's hair on my tongue. She really needed to put it in order.
Without further ado, she opened her palm, prompting me to look into it. As expected, there was nothing in it. An ordinary palm that I'd seen a hundred times already.
This reminded me of a dream I'd had the other day. I don't remember exactly what it was about, but I think it all ended with shiitake.
I don't know what Luisa's palm has to do with anything. Well, who cares.
I heard a noise—no, not noise. It was like a sigh. At first I thought Luisa wasn't succeeding, but it didn't belong to her. The triumphant smile never left her face.
The air stirred, scraped against the walls, as if someone was running claws along them. I knew the window was closed. I knew it. And that made me uneasy.
In all these inexplicable events, only Louisa remained calm. Except her breathing was noticeably getting heavier. So I looked into her palm again.
The blow hit me right in the face.
A stream of air threw my hair into my eyes, puffed out my cheeks as if I'd stuck my head out of an airplane window. I shook my head, recoiling backward. It seemed the air was gradually disappearing and becoming dry, as if being sucked up by a vacuum cleaner.
And then something burst from her palm.
An olive-colored spot, elongated like something from a stimulus chart. It soared to the ceiling, spreading out as it went, and only then did it become clear that these were wings.
A bird.
I immediately remembered the snowballs. And Mom's Grandala.
So that's what they'd been doing together.
While I was trying to figure out how to properly react to the appearance of living air in the room, the bird descended onto my shoulder.
My body tensed on its own. I was waiting for claws, pain, a scratch, or something else. But nothing happened.
Its feet were warm and soft, almost unreal. As if it wasn't touching me but passing through—through fabric, through skin. Streams of air spread across my shoulder and neck, making goosebumps run down my spine.
It was... strange.
And even pleasant.
I extended a bent finger toward the bird's neck to try petting it. Unlike Father, Louisa didn't stop me. It seemed her magic was quite tame and less dangerous.
The air I touched had an unusually soft foundation. Not that I'd ever managed to touch air before, but still.
It wasn't a cold draft, not a dry breeze—rather a light, warm breath. Under my finger it trembled like the finest spider web, giving off a faint glow at the point of contact. As if the bird was breathing—not with its chest, but with its whole self, every particle of its transparent feathers.
It wasn't heavy. Not at all.
When I ran my finger along its neck down to its chest, the air yielded—dispersing its form for a moment and gathering back together again. The feathers—if you could call them that—stirred, letting my finger pass through them, and immediately closed again, leaving behind a light tingling sensation—as if thousands of tiny sparks of light ran across my skin and dissolved.
The bird tilted its head, as if asking to be petted.
I noticed that I'd held my breath for a moment. As if afraid that one exhale would scatter it. But it didn't disappear.
One thing I could say for certain: like Louisa herself, this air bird was the embodiment of fluffiness.
Although her progress was truly impressive, one question kept bothering me: why a bird?
Wasn't that, how should I put it... too obvious? I think anyone who looks at the sky would imagine a bird. Did she really want to become like my mom that badly?
I was also curious why olive-colored? Why not emerald, like Louisa herself? I think that color suited her much better.
And yet, from the list of questions, I settled on the first one.
"Why a bird?"
"Don't you like it?" she asked, frowning.
"No, it's amazing. It's just... a bird and air—it's kind of..."
I couldn't find the right words, so I just shrugged, hoping she'd understand me.
"But you were so amazed by your mom's bird. You even opened your mouth..."
I could see her shoulders dropping, as if she was exhaling too much air to maintain the bird. Now I couldn't help but feel guilty about my words.
And yet, even if through imitation, Luisa was trying to break out of the flow of everyday life. And it seemed to me that the direction of her movement was directly connected to mine.
"Well, a bird made of water was unusual, probably that's why. Maybe you should try something else, since this already worked?"
"Something else?"
"A whale, for example. Or maybe an octopus."
Judging by how her eyes widened, this mammal and mollusk had completely different names.
"Let me draw them for you."
I petted the bird one more time before it disappeared. Perhaps this was the first and last time we'd meet. Therefore, I wanted to be sure I wouldn't have any regrets.
But even so, when the bird dispersed into the air just as it had appeared, I felt a strange shade of sadness.
Its disappearance noticeably affected Luisa's condition. She hunched over, catching her breath as if after a long run that hadn't actually happened.
The sky was painted red, though Luisa was even redder.
I immediately crawled over to her, trying to support her and drag her onto the bed. Not that my efforts helped too much. Louisa wasn't heavy, but my physical abilities weren't enough even for this.
After climbing the stairs, I decided to start drinking milk—to at least strengthen my bones.
As it turned out, I was lactose intolerant.
Louisa fell onto the bed, covering her eyes with her hand. Her bright red face contorted into a forced smile, as if she was using her last strength to hold back tears.
Was she really feeling that bad? What should I do? Mom. I need to call Mom.
I moved to get off the bed, but felt my T-shirt stretch, holding me in place. I glanced over my shoulder, noticing Luisa's hand gripping it.
"I'm such a failure..." she suddenly blurted out.
How did she come to that conclusion after what happened? Compared to that small whirlwind, Luisa had lasted noticeably longer. That meant she'd put in considerable effort to achieve this. Wasn't that enough?
"...I tried so hard and it was all for nothing," with these words, she let go of me, lowering her hand onto the bed.
For nothing? What was she even talking about?
This was the first magic I'd been able to feel so closely. Not a bird that flew past, protecting me. Not a teddy bear that wasn't actually plush. But a living creature that I could touch, pet. For a moment it even seemed to me that I had a pet.
No, wait.
Was it about me?
I just wanted Luisa to find her own image. Not imitating my mom.
But the more I replayed this in my head, the worse it became. Even the creatures I'd suggested lived underwater. So I was still pulling her to the same place. Just by a different path.
I didn't understand where exactly I'd made a mistake. I didn't want to hurt her.
Maybe that was the problem. I spoke—without understanding. I advised—without knowing. And now Luisa was lying on the bed, squeezing her eyes shut, as if I'd pushed her somewhere she didn't need to be at all.
I didn't know what this was called. But I felt it—I'd touched something important. And I couldn't pretend nothing had happened anymore.
There was nothing wrong with starting with imitation. We learn to speak from an existing vocabulary, learn to walk through a prepared chain of actions. And I... shamelessly devalued her efforts by suggesting something completely inappropriate without properly explaining anything.
What should I do right now?
Maybe I should hug her? But why? Then pet her? Well, that's kind of...
Then what? Take her hand?
That seemed like the safest option. So I placed my hand on top of hers, and immediately her fingers passed between mine, squeezing my palm.
This wasn't quite what I'd expected. And at the same time, I didn't try to remove my hand.
Her palm was warm, or rather hot, and also... damp. This only showed more clearly how much effort she'd put into creating and maintaining that bird's existence.
Of course, not the best time to think about such things, but it really was uncomfortable for me to bend my wrist like this and hold her palm. So I lay down next to Luisa, resting my head on her lap and continuing to hold her hand.
"You know... your bird was probably the best of all the ones I've seen."
"Liar," she snapped.
"I'm not finished."
Her remark was fair, though premature. After all, I was to blame for expressing myself incorrectly.
But how to choose the right words in that case? The best of those I'd had the chance to touch? In fairness, I'd never touched others to compare.
Nobody likes it when people meddle too much in their life. And at the same time—when they're not interested at all.
Parents were the only people who could accept such selfishness. Only now did I realize how important it was to notice that children are torn between these contradictions and teach them how to cope with it.
But Luisa didn't have that opportunity. She had to try too hard just to be noticed at all.
And at that moment, Luisa had intended to impress me—me, and no one else. To show what she'd learned. And I was looking the wrong way.
I still didn't have a solid understanding of what I should say. And the more I thought about it, the less I understood what I should do.
So I really wanted her to overlook some inconsistencies in my arguments.
"You see, I don't see you as a bird."
"Then what? Some kind of whale and another strange creature?"
Of course, she didn't.
It turned out that a couple of careless words were enough to ruin everything. And now, after several wrong attempts, I had to be more careful—I didn't want to find out that attempts run out altogether.
"Um, no. That was also a mistake."
I was sure my explanation wouldn't be sufficient for her, but still Luisa fell silent. Every time sweat rolled down her forehead, she frowned. And she also started tapping her fingers on the back of my palm, as if hurrying me along. Honestly, it didn't help much.
In my understanding, Luisa was just Luisa. Neither good nor bad. Not complex and not simple. Just—Luisa.
I didn't want her to become like my mom. Or like someone I didn't even know. I needed her. Just as she was.
But I knew that answer wouldn't suit her. So I started going through animals in my head again. As if finding the right one would make everything easier.
But the longer I thought, the clearer it became: one word wasn't enough to describe a person. It would be easier if I could suggest a chimera.
But most likely, she would've been even more offended then. Although, come to think of it... that was the most harmless option.
In retrospect, a velarin would've been the most suitable option—fluffy, playful, and with a cunning look. But again, that was too obvious. And, no matter how you look at it, again not mine.
Hmm... Don't I myself think of Luisa as a cat? Brazen yet vulnerable. Fluffy—and yet with claws.
If someone thought a cat was a harmless creature, then, like Luisa, it could easily turn into something bigger. A tiger. Or a lion. For example.
"A cat," I declared, looking at her face.
"What—a cat?" she asked, frowning.
"You—are a cat."
For some reason, her neck and shoulders immediately tensed, making some inhuman sound. It seemed like all the air from her lungs moved to her cheeks, making them bulge out so much that she looked like a hamster. Maybe I was wrong about her characteristics after all?
No, wait. Maybe she doesn't know what a cat is? Or did I say it wrong somehow?
"You're the cat. And what's that about anyway?"
So she did know what a cat was. It seemed I really expressed myself vaguely.
"Cat suits you."
Looking at Louisa's even more bewildered face, I realized my explanation hadn't gotten any better. How difficult it is to convey your thoughts properly.
"Is this some kind of euphemism?" she asked suspiciously.
It seemed we'd now switched roles, as I stared at her with wide-open eyes.
For me, words meant what they meant. I really didn't understand how she came to that conclusion.
How did it happen that an ordinary dialogue turned into some kind of "finger wrestling"? Could it be that a cat was some symbol of disaster or something else, and I just didn't know about it? Complicated.
I tried to strain my brain to figure it all out, but nothing except associations with butterflies came to mind. I sighed and shook my head, making Luisa's leg twitch beneath me.
I realized I should have said much more than one word. Even if I cast aside my shame and tried to sincerely squeeze out the words, I doubted my mouth would obey. This was a condition I suffered from.
Realizing this made my heart ache. I really had pushed myself to the limit of my capabilities.
"You're just... warm, fluffy, and homey." I wasn't particularly comfortable looking at Louisa right now, so instead I focused my gaze on the ceiling. "You sulk like a cat. Sometimes, just as brazen. But without you, the house wouldn't be home anymore. Something like that, probably."
It really was difficult for me to say this out loud. And even harder to formulate. At such moments, it seemed my tongue didn't get along too well with my brain.
"How terrible. You're so weird."
And that's all I got after so much effort? Not that I had the right to complain after doing the same thing, but still.
At first I wanted to pretend to be offended, but I noticed that the back of her palm was red. This prompted me to shift my gaze to her face, where I discovered that her lips were trembling, barely holding back a smile.
And also, even under her hand, I could see a reddish tint on her ears. There was something about that color that reminded me of autumn.
.
"Mom, can you create a cat?"
We didn't come to this question immediately. Of course not. It took Luisa almost two days to recover from using magic.
For some reason, everyone thought that using spells left only positive effects. As practice showed, they were in the minority.
Mom wasn't home until midday, and Father hadn't returned yet, so the first floor was quite chilly. Even halfway down the stairs, I felt a sharp contrast, as if summer and winter were battling there.
I felt the temperature of my T-shirt dropping, and it seemed to dig into my skin. Not much time had passed, and my ears were already ready to fall off.
How convenient that it was winter now. You could blame your bad mood on the season, not what actually caused it.
Periodically exhaling translucent puffs of steam, I noticed that Louisa didn't share my feelings. However, she was dressed for the season. I really regretted that after washing, I hadn't bundled up again in warm pajamas.
With such thoughts we reached the kitchen, where Mom was sorting through bags—or rather, a bag. I wonder how long she'd been using these magic pouches? And if always, then why, when we went together, did she have regular bags?
Probably I should've offered to help first. But usually I did more harm than good. So I didn't even try.
"A cat, huh?" she tilted her head to the side, thinking.
I didn't particularly like the way she clarified. Why does everyone react to that word like this? I was genuinely puzzled.
"Well, why not." She shrugged and agreed.
I heard a sound—as if someone had dropped a drop into the sink. But the faucet was off.
I caught myself awkwardly looking around. Louisa looked no less puzzled than I was. For some reason, every magic used in the house was accompanied by a special sound effect, as if I were in an immersive space.
And then, in front of my face, a drop fell. Then another.
I raised my head.
Water was dripping from the ceiling.
Not a stream or rain—individual drops, too sparse to be a leak. They fell on the floor and didn't scatter, but remained there, gathering into something whole.
I instinctively stepped aside. This prompted Luisa to move after me.
The water stretched across the floor, connecting into one elongated, uneven line. Too long for any cat I knew.
"What is this?..." I pointed at the floor, looking at Mom incredulously.
"A cat," she answered imperturbably.
"You don't say..."
At that moment the line lifted. Sharply, as if from a floor fountain. The streams didn't fly out or splash, they concentrated inside the form, as if the creature were being poured into a mold.
What met my eyes went against all my ideas about cats. No matter how you looked at it, they had nothing in common.
The creature had a back. And perhaps only that. No paws, no tail—just an elongated shape, like an ordinary plank.
And then part of it turned. I immediately understood that this was the head.
I almost collapsed on the floor when two dark slits turned toward me. The water in them was different—dull, dense, and from that gaze you wanted to look away first.
Luisa hid behind my back, clutching my T-shirt. This was probably the first time I felt like an older sister. True... realizing this didn't help calm the trembling in my knees.
The creature no longer moved. It simply was.
And that was enough to make me want to run out of the kitchen and hide behind my room door.
"This is a baby," Mom declared, crouching down and patting the creature on the back. "A full-grown one, I think, is about the size of a house."
"Huh?..."
Her words seemed so absurd to me that I immediately wanted to erase this image from my head forever.
What house? How can this monster's child be a cat? And most importantly... and I characterized Luisa with this? I turned out to be even more inhumane than I thought I was.
The creature's head moved closer to me. Because of this, I felt Louisa crouch down behind me. Honestly, I would've liked to as well.
But then it reached toward my hand, as if asking to be petted. Its skin—if you could call it that—passed in waves through my fingers, leaving a light moisture on them.
I swallowed. Despite the initial fear, now I wanted to pet it myself. Probably due to Mom's control, the creature behaved quite friendly and even... affectionate.
"So, why did you need a cat?"
"Oh, actually, no reason anymore."
I was once again convinced that my memory was, how should I put it, quirky. Now I wasn't even sure I'd wanted to compare Louisa specifically to a cat. Perhaps I'd gotten the name wrong myself.
"Hmm? Okay."
Mom didn't seem at all confused by my explanation. If she accepted it so easily, maybe this creature really was friendly by nature, despite its frightening appearance.
And then Mom nodded, and with that the creature simply vanished, not even leaving moisture on my fingers. As if it had never existed.
This allowed Luisa to finally leave her hiding place. Even if not the most reliable one.
Did she really believe it would take such a creature long to swallow me? Very naive of her.
I wondered, if magic reflected a person's feelings, then didn't the fact that this entity reached for my hand mean that Mom herself lacked physical closeness?
No. Of course not. I don't think Mom cares about such nonsense.
Although magic itself was amazing, I was more impressed that it left no traces behind. Even the wet spot that spread across the floor with the cat's minimal movements disappeared along with it.
"In that case, I'll work on lunch. And you two... can go back to your room for now."
With these words, Mom took something resembling chicken from her bag and placed it on the table. Although I'd already dismissed it, I couldn't completely shake the feeling that Mom might be lonely.
"Maybe I can help you with something?" I offered.
Turning her head toward me, Mom looked genuinely puzzled. I understood that this wasn't like me, but to this extent.
"Better not," Mom answered shortly and turned away, as if to make it clear that this was the end of it.
Well, that was quite rude. Though deserved.
Of course, I wasn't a master at cooking, but I could at least... no, I couldn't.
Leaving Mom in the kitchen, Luisa and I headed to our room. Now that the stairs were, well, much less of a problem than before, I no longer needed adult help. Even if deep down, I still wanted to use minimal effort and not climb by myself.
Well, be that as it may.
Left alone with Luisa, I once again felt that my life was becoming Luisa-centric. In other words, I felt I should explain myself to her to dispel any possible doubts.
"You know, that's not what I meant."
"What are you talking about?"
"Calling you a cat." I noticed my voice gradually quieting as I spoke.
Let's agree that I was just out of breath climbing the stairs. Yes, that sounded reasonable.
"Really? You petted it so much that I got a different impression."
She looked carefree when she said this, but some part of me felt she was a little hurt.
I really wasn't good at explaining myself with words. Then, maybe...
Standing on the step, I beckoned her with my finger, and this made Luisa frown, but still obey. When she bent down in front of me, hoping to hear something, I placed my palm on her forehead and moved it upward, combing through her hair.
Luisa flinched slightly when my hand touched her. Lowering her head, she remained motionless, as if silently asking me to continue.
"See? You're not that kind of cat."
"See what? Your explanation hasn't gotten any better."
So that didn't help, huh?
I was about to remove my hand to think of a new way to explain. And when I started to remove it, Luisa leaned forward herself, as if her forehead was glued to my palm. I worried that she might fall this way, so I continued petting.
I must say, I wasn't a multitasking person. Simultaneously focusing on Louisa's condition and my own thoughts was slightly difficult.
"You offered to draw," Luisa said, continuing to hunch in front of me.
"Oh!"
It often happened that after Morpheus's embrace, I completely forgot what I'd been thinking about before. It seemed I should've done this from the very beginning, rather than asking Mom to destroy my image with reality.
Interrupting the petting session, we went upstairs. Actually, this simple action helped me catch my breath, and I was able to successfully reach the top without looking completely pathetic.
Entering the room, I moved the chair to the table and climbed onto it, settling in. I didn't have a sketchbook or anything like that, but Luisa had enough blank paper, which I used.
Reaching for the pen, I moistened its tip in ink and began to draw.
A line. Then another. Another. And...
"Are you going to stand over me while I draw?"
"Yes. I'm interested," Luisa nodded, continuing to stare at the sheet of paper.
Not that she was bothering me, but I felt slightly uncomfortable being watched. No wonder the lines came out so crooked.
I sighed and returned to my sketches. Under Luisa's scrutinizing gaze, my hand trembled. It was already hard to tell whether I had no talent for drawing or was just too nervous.
On the first attempt, I got something like a donkey, only with cat paws.
"Um, is this it?" she pointed at the animal on the paper.
"No. I didn't manage it," I muttered, crossing out the drawing.
Then a dog. More precisely, something between a corgi and a dachshund.
"So this one?"
"Your comments really aren't helping."
Luisa snorted in displeasure but didn't leave. On the contrary, she got even closer. Her elbows pressed on my shoulders, and her breath was directed right into my ear. If before it was only difficult to concentrate, now it was simply impossible.
I heard her every breath so distinctly that it seemed hearing had suppressed all the other four senses. Even the weight of her body on my shoulders was no more than background noise compared to this.
Was this some new form of mockery? I caught myself thinking that I already regretted hinting that she should be quiet.
"Well? Are you going to draw?"
My head instinctively jerked when her breath washed over the entire right half of my face. But it seemed Luisa wasn't at all concerned about my reaction.
"Y-yes."
Luisa simply left me no choice. I felt like a mouse frozen at the threshold of its burrow while a cat held me by the tail.
I focused all possible strength on completing the drawing. It no longer mattered how inaccurate the lines were, the main thing was that in the end they could convey my thought to Luisa.
Unfortunately, motivation alone wasn't enough to learn to draw. It took me a couple of attempts—maybe more—to finally get something resembling a cat. A real cat, that is.
I exhaled and leaned back in the chair. It felt as if I'd just finished some dangerous adventure that could have cost me my life. Of course, the situation wasn't that critical, but the feeling conveyed something similar.
Although the drawing was finished, Luisa continued to be silent.
"Come on, have a conscience, say something!" I wanted to say, but restrained myself.
I turned toward her, as if to hint that I'd finished, and swallowed. My nose almost bumped into her cheek when I simply turned my head. The scent of her skin, which already haunted me every morning, distinctly hit my nostrils.
But she didn't even notice. Her gaze was focused on the drawing.
Was it really so terrible that she was speechless?
"It's a vesperia."
For obvious reasons, I was uncomfortable looking in Luisa's direction, so I didn't know what face she said this with. I didn't get a specific reaction; instead, I was given a brief course in zoology.
"Aand?" I persistently drew out the sound.
"You draw terribly."
Although technically this was an answer, it didn't answer my question at all. Moreover, I didn't even notice when my cheeks puffed up from her "assessment."
I understood perfectly well how my efforts looked, but when it's shoved right in your face—it's not a pleasant feeling. I wanted to pull her ear to teach her a lesson, but before I could, she continued:
"I like it."
"Nonsense," I muttered.
"Not the drawing. That you see me like this. But I hope not this ugly."
After that, Luisa laughed, causing her elbows to dig deeper into my shoulders. I wanted to object, push her away, but instead I just gave up.
It seemed to me that with silence I could say more than with words. Well, probably.
.
Ever since news came that Euriel would return in three days, Luisa had been acting very strange. Although she'd always been strange, and therefore this characteristic wasn't enough to describe what was happening.
I was already used to her using me as a pillow, but usually she used my stomach, not my neck. My body, as it turned out, objected to such experiments.
I wasn't grateful to her for this discovery.
And also—she was looking at me. I know it doesn't sound like something special, but whatever anyone says, waking up under a scrutinizing gaze was far from pleasant.
In these two days, she'd erased all the places where I could be alone. In just one leap, she'd crossed the bar from "Luisaland" to "Luisaspace."
Maybe she decided to annoy me so much that I wouldn't miss her?
Our relationship had a clear limit from the very beginning, which I'd started to forget. As soon as Euriel returns—this will end too. In the scale of life, this stage occupied quite a small part, but for some reason felt quite significant.
Countless things happened during this month. She taught me to read, write, climb stairs, showed me the differences in magic and... how pleasant it can be to let someone into your personal space. This doesn't mean she made me leave my comfort zone—rather, she expanded it and became part of it.
And yet... this is about to end.
Perhaps I'd initially misinterpreted the situation, and Luisa wasn't trying to bore me, but filling everything with her scent, like a Golden Retriever?
Hmm. No. Even for her that sounded too crazy.
On the other hand, how was I supposed to interpret Luisa's current behavior? Why was she gnawing on my arm? I don't understand anything.
It all started... not that long ago, actually.
"Someone once said that people's biggest flaw is that they wither slowly. The process was slow decomposition, starting from the deepest depths, inaccessible to the eyes. And when you start to notice it—it becomes irreversible," Father said, standing in front of the mirror and examining a small bald spot above his forehead.
Although he'd confused me with Mom when he said this, I got worried: what if I'd go bald with age too?
I wasn't sure how genetics worked, but I still decided to share my concerns with Luisa.
"Uh-huh. Exactly, exactly."
Hearing her careless response, I looked at her with wide-open eyes. What exactly did she mean by that? That I'd soon be bald?
Not that this topic interested me at all—especially at my age—but our conversation clearly wasn't going well.
"Well, thanks so much."
I tried to be sarcastic, but she wasn't even listening to me. And what was I here for, might I ask, wasting my breath? Though her gaze was focused on me, her ears seemed to be detached from her head.
I sighed and turned my gaze to the window. Outside it was quite bright. I could no longer remember the last time I'd watched the weather before noon.
The world on the other side looked completely white. It seemed that at such moments, even the white puffs of steam escaping from one's mouth became invisible.
But despite this, after hundreds of similar landscapes, it was already hard to surprise me—the world looked boring. And at the same time, I wasn't in a hurry to change anything. I simply didn't have the motivation for the necessary effort.
"Give me your hand, please."
My hand, huh?
My first impulse was to ignore her in retaliation, but how quickly my gaze shifted to her betrayed that I was listening.
"Why?"
"I want to try something."
Formally—this was an answer, but it gave me no explanations. Not that I minded extending my hand to her, but I was really curious what was going on in her head.
"What?"
"I saw older kids do this at the orphanage. I wanted to do it on the neck, but that's a bit... scary. What if it hurts."
And again this notorious orphanage. Last time, she tried to share food with me that was in my mouth. And now, this could also cause pain.
What the hell was she going to do to my neck?
Despite conflicting feelings, I still extended my hand to her, and she immediately grabbed it.
My body instinctively tensed when she ran her hand along the inside of my forearm, as if preparing for an injection.
But it wasn't an injection.
Her teeth clenched on my skin, slowly digging deeper. It seemed like just a bit more—and they'd go right through. I cried out, but the pain didn't go away.
"It hurts! Stop!"
Luisa pulled away in fright, confusedly examining my forearm. The mark left moisture and stickiness, which involuntarily made me wince.
I jerked my hand from her hands, starting to rub the bite mark, as if trying to wipe off dirt. No matter how hard I tried, pulsating indentations remained on my skin, refusing to disappear.
Of course, the pain wasn't as strong as if I'd slammed it in a door, but I didn't want to feel even this.
"I always knew that one day you'd hunger for human flesh," I said, frowning.
Luisa blinked, and with that her head slowly sank into her neck. Her face also gradually reddened.
"Sorry. It's not... it shouldn't be like that."
"I really hope not."
Extending my hand to her, honestly, I didn't think it would come to this. The awkwardness of the situation now affected me too. It seemed not only the mark remained wet, but my back was too—only from sweat.
What was she actually trying to do?
"Can I try again?"
"Bite?"
"No! I guess..."
Her voice sounded less confident than before. However, she couldn't be blamed. Apparently, she herself didn't know what she was trying to do. Nothing new, actually.
I don't know what moved me, but still, I extended my hand to her again. Meanwhile, I noticed I was trembling slightly. As if subconsciously afraid it might hurt again.
When her lips pressed against my hand—I flinched. She raised her eyes to me, as if trying to make sure she wasn't hurting me.
For some reason at this moment, I didn't particularly want to look at Louisa. It seemed the warmth from her breath rose from my hand to my chest, warming every breath.
Apparently, her bite had still managed to break through under my skin. Not literally, of course.
Her teeth dug into my hand again—this time barely perceptible. She pressed slightly, then released. Like a child who's teething.
If it continues like this, I think I can survive it. But why did she need to gnaw on my hand?
Her tongue touched my skin, making me flinch again—it was an unpleasant sensation. I quickly lowered my gaze to Louisa. Her face was getting redder, as if it was hard for her to breathe with my hand in her mouth. And that was scarier than the bite.
Suddenly, she sucked in the skin, as if trying to inhale it. A quiet sound rang out, similar to...
When I realized what Louisa was most likely trying to do—not bite, but suck—the process was already in motion. I could still stop her—but I didn't.
If I let her know that I understood, it would create a number of unnecessary problems in the future. Which, honestly, I wasn't ready to face.
As long as we both pretended nothing was happening, this could still be left as something childish. A mistake. A misunderstanding. Anything—just not to give it a clear definition.
I was perfectly aware of how irrational and flimsy my arguments sounded. However, when it came to Luisa, I rarely used common sense.
She bit, sucked, gnawed—again and again. The area above my wrist was so wet, as if I'd left it in the rain. I began to feel that soon her saliva would become part of my skin.
Realizing this didn't make me happy.
In any case, no matter what the motives were. If I didn't stop her now—the result would be more trouble than I'd like.
"Hey, that's enough," my voice sounded calmer than I expected.
When Luisa raised her head, wiping her lips, I saw a distinct red mark on my hand.
It wasn't painful or unpleasant—rather, sticky and a bit... gross. So, nothing terrible happened, right?
The mark slowly spread, breaking into uneven petals, too neat for a teeth mark. Was my skin really so tasty that she latched onto it like a kitten to a mother cat's breast?
No, wait. They're called... Never mind.
Although winter usually evoked mixed feelings in me, now I loved it a tiny bit more. I could wear long sleeves without raising unnecessary questions. After all, it really was cold enough.
"There. Now you won't forget me."
Although I didn't want to devalue Louisa's efforts, this mark didn't resonate with anything deep inside me. Even in adults, the memory of it dissolved as quickly as it did itself.
I wasn't sure I'd have good memories of what happened. But in a sense, I was forced to agree with her.
I doubt I'll ever experience anything like this again. Mostly because I didn't like this feeling. And that's exactly what will leave a mark in my memory.
"I don't doubt it. But don't do it again."
"Why?"
Luisa's voice sounded offended, as if I was disgusted by her action. That wasn't far from the truth.
"It's blue. It's like you hit me," I said, pointing at the mark.
"Oh... Is it supposed to be like that?"
"Don't ask me."
Although Luisa tried to leave an imprint on me so I'd remember her forever, there was something scarier than any mark—time.
I couldn't shake the feeling that tomorrow, everything between us should end.
As long as we were within arm's reach, we could easily get along, quarrel, make up. But once she leaves with Euriel, the world will change for both of us.
I knew myself well enough to say with confidence—I wouldn't go visit her. Not in winter, at any rate. And during that time, we could irreversibly grow unaccustomed to each other. Make new friends.
Not me, of course.
After everything, I doubt either of us would have the desire to reestablish the connection.
Of course, Luisa could come to me, but... how long would her motivation last? One day she'd get bored with it too.
Despite the fact that the thought of parting used to scare me, now, oddly enough, I perceived it quite calmly. I wanted to believe that tomorrow I could accept it the same way.
I got off the bed and went to the closet to find my pajamas in it. Fortunately, it didn't take me long. If you compared the mountains of things: mine and Luisa's—it was like Jingshan and Everest.
Looking at the mark one last time, I suddenly wondered: to whom could I file a complaint about the orphanage caretakers? They were clearly negligent in their duties.
While Luisa's father seemed to protect her from everything possible—the orphanage taught her everything that wasn't allowed.