joy: book one: the blooming.

record XXVII: sevisté va chalei, part II.

  Within the solitude of a sacred cathedral, a young Evangelique with round, rosy cheeks and unkempt curls of hair walked beside her mother.

She was a lithe woman with a thin countenance and drooping, doe-like eyes. She existed with the grace and poise of a dancing renaissance painting in her veins. Blooming with undying purity, she was a breathtaking masterpiece that no painter could never capture with his tools.

  "Mama," said Eva, looking up to her mother's pearly face. "What is joy?"

  Her mother looked down at her with glassy, lavender eyes. Her rose red lips opened slightly, preparing to speak.

  "It's a happiness stronger than happiness," she stated softly.
  "What do you mean?" inquired Eva.
  "Well, think of it this way," started her mother. "Happiness is like a drop of rain; it arrives within a moment and disappears the next. It does not last. Joy is the ocean. It is vast and unending to our eyes. The depths of joy are unreachable, and we cannot easily forget their glistening waves and crashing chorus."
  "Oh..." breathed Eva in understanding. She looked down at her polished shoes and lacy stockings. She could see her reflection in the shine of her raven black shoes.
  "But Mama..." she began again. "Where does joy come from?"
  "Joy can come from many things, Eva," she replied tenderly.
  "So you can bring me joy?" asked Evangelique. She turned to her mother, whose eyes had widened.

  Woebegone flushed her face, and her lips quivered slightly. Lassitude traced the edges of her eyelids, and a forced smile grew upon her pale face.

  "I suppose I can, my dear," said her mother, who attempted to hide her trembling.

  She looked away from her daughter and towards the angels carved in marble. They loomed over the altar with their harms and draping garments. Frozen in time, they would forever remain in worship.

  "But Eva...you must know," started her mother with solemnity. "One day, I shall pass away. I cannot be your source of joy, for if I am, you shall never be happy."
  "Then, what should be my source?" asked Eva, puzzled by her mother's sudden melancholy.
  "From Elohim, the Creator King," her mother said.

  With her left hand, she reached for her daughter's tiny fingers and held them securely. She looked down at her daughter, who gazed in awestruck wonder.

The soft silver lighting of the rainy day graced the threads of her mother's hair, almost forming a halo. Though her face became shadowed, her beauty and wonder shone in a smile that expressed past grief and present peace.

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  On a golden Sunday afternoon, Evangelique walked the streets of Mumei alone. It had been three days since she last saw Tsubaki. After that night, he fell unconscious due to the overtaxing of his body.

  As she walked the snow-dusted roads, Eva recalled the days and what each minute held.

  A violent rage broke through the halls of the dormitory on the snowy night. Augustine and Ago quarreled for hours, their voices straining the lifespan of the candles' flame. WIthin the midnight hours, the divisive conversation ended with a haunting silence with no resolve or conclusion.

  Ago parted ways with everyone, silently excusing himself. Evangelique noticed a stone-cold disdain written in the stiffness of his complexion but feared to speak to him.

  Augustine let his head fall into his hands for only a moment. He used his hands to brush back his flyaway locks and quickly exhaled as he stood to his feet. He exited the living quarters of the dormitory with an unnerving composure. Cyril followed after him, but only in vain. His brother rejected him, leaving the jovial spirit of Cyril in silence.