As the days passed, the tragedy that had befallen Elise faded from the town's conversation. Excitement for the Fall Festival consumed everyone. Traders flooded the streets, setting up colorful displays, while magicians and dancers practiced tirelessly in preparation for their performances. The air buzzed with speculation about the inauguration of the new Priestess.
"I heard she's Isechellie herself," one person would whisper.
"No, I've heard she's a distant descendant of the Great Priestess," another would add.
"But how could Isechellie have descendants? Wasn't she sworn to chastity?" someone would ask.
"Well, I heard she had a lover, and they had a child before she died," came the reply, fueling the rumors.
Soon, the whole town was abuzz with talk of Eden—who she truly was, why she had been chosen as the next Priestess, and whether she was truly the right choice. Eden, uncomfortable with the gossip and the constant attention, confined herself to the house more than ever. She hated the way eyes followed her—those of curious admirers and skeptical onlookers alike.
Elise, on the other hand, spent her days quite differently. She found herself tossed into drunken brawls at the local pubs, only to be thrown out with a bruised pride and a sore backside. Still a child, far too young to be flirting with the bittersweet haze of liquor, she couldn't resist the temptation to be part of the chaos. Lady Ymir would've chastised her if she knew, but these were days Elise could feel free—no work, no weaving, no gathering herbs in the forest. She wanted to do everything while she still had the chance.
Amid the town's frenzied preparations and her own reckless pursuits, Elise's memories of that stormy night had grown hazy. The haunting melody that once echoed through her dreams had faded into the recesses of her mind. She had convinced herself it was nothing more than a distant fantasy—a blurred line between waking and dreaming. The song had become a memory, locked away in some forgotten corner of her mind.
"I never thought this town could be so loud," Sampson remarked one day as he approached Elise, who was sitting in the center plaza watching performers practice their flips and tricks. Zuzu waddled behind him, his small legs struggling to keep up.
"I kind of like the hustle and bustle," Elise replied, her gaze drifting toward the chaos. "Except for those rowdy people from who knows where who can't stop talking about Eden."
"There's always two sides to every story," Sampson mused, scratching his chin. "Take my father, for example. He's beloved by many in this town, but I've always felt we could use some fresh blood in leadership someday."
"Ruff ruff," Zuzu barked, echoing Sampson's sentiment.
"Well, I think your father is doing a terrific job," Elise countered with a grin.
"I'm not saying he isn't," Sampson replied with a shrug. "But sometimes it's good to have change. We need to give someone new a chance. That's all I'm saying."
Elise smiled at his words. "It won't be long before you take your father's place, so I guess you'll get to see that change firsthand."
Sampson yawned widely, stretching his arms above his head. "Yeah, but that's still a long way off."
"How's Eden? I haven't seen her around lately. She shouldn't let the gossip get to her," he said, concern creeping into his voice.
Elise sighed and chewed on her fingernail. "She knows, but she doesn't like all the attention. You know how she is."
They sat in silence for a while, watching a young man in tights twirl his partner round and round.
"So," Elise said finally, her voice tentative, "are you going to ask anyone to dance at the festival tomorrow night?"
Sampson raised an eyebrow, and Elise pretended to fiddle with the ends of her hair, glancing sideways at him.
He smirked but didn't answer right away. After a long pause, he let out a sigh. "I don't plan on asking anyone," he admitted.
Elise's heart sank, though she'd already known the answer. "Why not?" she asked, trying to sound casual, though a pit had formed in her stomach. She didn't want to hear the name she knew would follow.
"My life… even though I know it can never happen… I can't look at anyone else," Sampson said softly, the words heavy with unspoken longing. It was clear that saying the name was too painful.
Elise felt a pang of sorrow, but she forced a smile. "Well, at least I've got you, right? We'll always have each other—two best friends against the world."
Sampson chuckled weakly, tinged with sadness. "Yeah, always."
He stretched again, yawning dramatically, then turned to leave. "Anyway, I'm exhausted. I'll see you later."
Elise stood silently, watching him walk away with Zuzu at his side. Her heart felt heavy, her unspoken thoughts pressing down on her chest. Even if Sampson had asked her to dance, she knew it wouldn't mean more than that. She had sworn loyalty to Lady Ymir and to Eden. She had pledged to serve the future Priestess as her lady in waiting, and that was all there was to it. Although she don't remember when she had made that pledge she consoled herself.
She had been just a child when her mother brought her to Lady Ymir in the dead of night—a memory blurred by time. Her mother was someone Elise seldom thought about anymore. What did she even look like? Elise couldn't remember.
All she could recall was being handed over to Lady Ymir, her small fingers slipping from her mother's grasp. Then, without a word, her mother vanished into the thickness of the night—never to be seen again.
Clapping brought her back to the present. The dancers were finished with their practice and were now bowing, thanking the lingering crowd. One of them stepped forward, encouraging everyone to return tomorrow evening for the real show.
Elise sighed. The night had crept up on her so quickly—and tomorrow was already the final night of the Fall Festival.
Brushing off the dust from her dress, Elise started down the narrow alley that led to her home on the far eastern edge of the village. Children rushed past her, darting toward their mothers' arms—some whining that they didn't want to go to sleep, others grumbling about how hungry they were.
Elise cried a little too. Her heart ached at the thought of the festival ending—of having to wait another year before she could feel this free again. Though she tried to console herself, she couldn't help but think how nice it would've been to have Eden by her side. But she knew all too well how things would unfold if people saw Eden here, in the heart of the town.
As the candles on the windowsills burned out and turned black, each house faded into darkness. The village was ready for the day to come. Before long, Elise would be the only one left wandering the shadowed alleyways.
The only light guiding her steps was the moon, faint and distant, hanging at the farthest edge of the night sky. It would be gone tomorrow, she realized, and made a mental note to bring a candle with her next time.
It had already been a month since the incident. She brushed the thought away, refusing to let her mind drift back there—not tonight.
It was as if her thoughts had triggered something in quietness, for suddenly, she heard the faint sound of a woodwind instrument, playing far into the night. The melody tugged at her chest, a string pulled tight and heavy, resonating deep within her.
Then she felt a crunch beneath her, something stuck to the back of her shoe. Hastily, she crouched to pry it loose, her eyes widening as she looked down. In her hand was the little dragonfly trinket, its wings glinting as it winked at her in the light of the moon.
"How did—" she whispered to herself, her voice trailing off. She remembered leaving it on her windowsill, never daring to touch it for fear of breaking its fragile form.
But now, holding it in her hands, she wondered if she had taken it with her unknowingly—maybe she had meant to show Sampson but simply forgotten. Ever since the incident, she had noticed her memories growing hazy, slipping through her fingers like sand.
Again, she heard the faint call of a woodwind instrument drifting from the darkness of the night. Far into the forest, its haunting notes seemed to beckon her. Her fingers brushed the delicate shape of the dragonfly trinket as if hoping its fragility might calm her frayed nerves.
A sudden rush of wind swept past her, jolting her from where she stood. Without thinking, she ran swiftly toward home, her heart pounding.
"Lady Ymir!" she knocked urgently on the door. "Eden!" Her voice cracked as she called out, but there was no answer.
Where could they be in the middle of the night? Elise thought, her frantic fingers brushing along the edge of the door, searching for the rocks nearby. She found a small key hidden there and let herself in. The house was dark—no candlelight flickering, no sound of Eden preparing dinner, or Lady Ymir crushing her herbs.
"Lady Ymir, Eden!" Elise called into the still silence of the house. But there was nothing.
As she stumbled toward the dining table, hoping to light the small candle that was usually there, her fingers brushed against a small piece of paper.
Quickly, she lit the candle and unfolded the note, her eyes scanning the few words written there.
"Be back tomorrow before noon," it read. Lady Ymir's handwriting was unmistakable.
Elise sighed, the weight of silence pressing against her chest. She was alone—for the first time in what felt like forever.
She drifted to her bedroom, each step echoing through the hushed house. The darkness clung to the walls, thicker than usual, almost watching her.
Sitting at the edge of her bed, she stared out the window, eyes unfocused, mind tangled in questions. Where could they have gone in the dead of night?
Something wasn't right. She felt it in her bones. But the house offered no answers, only stillness—deafening, unmoving.
Sleep evaded her. No matter how she tried to still her thoughts, they surged like restless waves.
Her gaze drifted to the dragonfly trinket on her nightstand. She reached for it, letting her fingers trace its delicate wings. The memory of the old woman's story flickered to life—Ananke, the weaver of fate.
Are there truly such creatures in the world? she wondered, holding the trinket close as if it might whisper back.
The question hung in her mind like mist. Her thoughts wandered, growing softer, hazier—until at last, without meaning to, Elise slipped into sleep. Her breathing slowed, the tension eased from her shoulders, and the dragonfly lay nestled in her palm as dreams quietly took her.