Reverse: 1999 story · Event stories
Shadow of the Sun
8 scenes, 611 lines
1. Slithering Snails
72 lines
Everything alright?
*hiss* Ah, no. Not really, my leg's still painful. I probably overdid it when I was stretching.
No excuses. Charlotte, I'm giving you five more minutes to warm up.
Five minutes ...
If you want, I can send you off on a permanent break.
A smirk appears on the young girl's face. She can hold her feelings back no longer.
I followed the choreography to the letter.
Why? If you'd done that, we wouldn't be having this discussion right now, would we?
...
Come on then, Charlotte, speak up. What is it? Cat got your tongue, or what?
Your pathetic pride?
I—
I don't want to hear any excuses.
She waves her hand impatiently.
Again! Don't let me think you're a failure now, Charlotte.
She turns on the wire recorder, and the music pierces Charlotte's eardrums.
The young Floor Ritualist takes a deep breath. When she lifts her head, a smile is plastered on her face.
The music plays on.
Raise your hand!
She grabs her wrist and lifts it higher.
Kick! With range, I say!
She points her toes as she extends her leg to capacity.
Good.
An objective and fair assessment.
She feels a bit relaxed and proceeds to the next move—the most crucial step of any Floor Ritual routine.
The performer must integrate their understanding of arcanum into their performance, unifying body, mind, emotion, and arcane skill.
For competitors, this is also the most challenging part.
Wrong! Where's your arcane skill?!
Stop! Stop!
She turns off the wire recorder, bringing the practice to an immediate halt. She casts an ice-cold glare in the girl's direction.
You forgot the routine again, Charlotte.
I didn't ...
Really now? Then why didn't you connect the elements? Why would you hesitate at the most important part of the whole bloody thing?! This element is worth at least 1.2 points!
Do you understand what that means? 1.2 points could be the difference between first and fourth!
She lets out a deep sigh.
You're a failure, Charlotte. I can't tell you how disappointed I am in you.
But everything else up to then was perfect! My last coach told me my movements were the most standard she'd seen.
The coach sneers.
So where are you going to find those 1.2 points you just lost? In your old coach's mouth? You listen to me now, girlie, the competition rules don't bend to accommodate little girls who can't use their arcane skills.
Don't get cocky, Charlotte. I've seen my fair share of Floor Ritualists in my time, and your arcane skills are by far the least impressive.
Think about it. You need to have a long, hard think about what happened here today.
She murmurs this, as if she's almost speaking to herself, then sighs and leaves the training room.
...
I'm not a failure!
...
A terrible nightmare. She grits her teeth in the dim light of her bedroom.
The clock on the wall inches toward 7 o'clock. It's almost time for her appointment. She slides her legs off the edge of the bed and attaches her prosthetic limb.
Her stump is always slightly swollen due to the constant and prolonged pressure of her artificial appendage. As she moves, its creaking echoes through the otherwise silent room.
*ring-ring-ring*
Bloody hell. Just perfect timing ...
She hastily fastens the leather strap of her prosthetic leg. As she stands, her poor fastening comes loose, causing her to fall heavily to the ground.
Ms. Willow! I heard a loud bang just now. Have you taken a tumble?
A young voice echoes from the other side of the door.
Ms. Willow, could you open the door for me? One of the snails is about to crawl up my hand!
Oh, have a feckin' laugh, why don't you?!
She hops over to the door and opens it with a sullen expression on her face. Her prosthetic is left lying on the floor.
Here you go, Ms. Willow! Your snails for the week.
...
You alright?
Mind your own business, will you? Give me the snails.
Flutterpage blinks, then holds the jar of snails up to Willow.
Hurry on to the letterbox and pick up your reward for the week.
Could you give me a different reward this week, Ms. Willow?
What?
I'm thinking ... For my reward, could you tell me what you do at home all day?
Thompson says there are strange noises coming from this house every day, like a hundred frogs croakin' at the same time. Is that your arcane skill? Why's your arcane skill like that?
Ms. Willow, can you tell me how-how I can—
Get out of my garden!
But ...
Did you hear me? I said:
GET OUT OF HERE!
Before she even finishes her exclamation, she has already slammed the door shut.
2. Lubricant
85 linesAs the door closes, her solitary leg can no longer bear the weight of her body, and she falls to the ground in disgrace.
Huff ...
She reaches for her prosthetic leg and closes the metal clasps around her stump. At least now she looks like an ordinary person.
Alright, let's take a look at these snails. These footless little things.
Or I suppose their entire body is a foot. That's why they're called "gastropods."
Anyway, the swelling in my leg has gone down since I started using their mucus as lubricant.
One by one, she places the snails on a table, arranging them neatly side by side. As they crawl forward, they leave a trail of shiny mucus.
Good, just like that. Keep it up now.
She closely monitors the snails as they make their way across the table, and its surface starts to shine with mucus.
You're falling behind, Number 3!
The third snail has curled up inside its shell.
Number 5 is gaining speed, overtaking Number 1, but victory is still far off.
The fifth snail extends its body, slowly overtaking snail Number 1.
Bloody hell! Honestly, Number 8, don't you know the rules? You can't climb on top of Number 5!
The two snails roll into a ball and fall off the edge of the table.
I'm afraid you're both disqualified.
Number 7 has crawled the farthest, but Willow says nothing. She simply looks down at it with a strange coldness in her eyes.
She waits until it reaches the other end of the table. If this were a real race, the timer would end now.
Allow me to announce the results. The winner is—Number 1!
She declares the result, a hint of bitterness in her voice.
But unfortunately, this isn't a real race. There'll be no gold medal waiting for you at the finish line.
I simply need as much mucus as possible. That's the only purpose of this.
She gathers the snails and tosses them into the jar before deftly collecting the mucus from the table.
Snail mucus, swiftlet saliva, and a few catalysts.
The translucent ointment in the crucible is smooth and docile. Willow scoops some of it up with a spatula. It catches the light through the window, scintillating with a charming luster.
The ointment solidifies, becoming a pale yellow.
As usual, she removes her prosthetic and applies the lubricant to the joints. She moves it around, ensuring that it no longer creaks.
I suppose that'll do.
She fits the prosthetic once again and hops with a feigned lightness, the metal limb clanking on the floor as she does so.
She lifts her good leg, using the prosthetic for support.
Hey. You hear that? It's coming from the hag's house!
Children's voices seep in from outside.
I wonder what kind of curse she's cookin' up now.
My uncle told me to watch out for Irish witches. They have big red eyes and webbed toes like a frog's. Have you ever seen her feet, Thompson?
No ...
Ugh. Booorin'.
The "hag" is far too busy to pay attention to these voices. She is attempting a complex Floor Ritual element. If executed perfectly, she would gain an additional 0.6 points in a competition.
She tilts her body downward, lifting her steel limb high into the air, then presses down.
Meanwhile, the argument outside intensifies.
I see. One of her feet makes a sound like a croaking frog. Ribbit, ribbit.
Actually, it's just like the sound coming from her house right now!
What?
Even after lubrication, her prosthetic still makes a harsh scraping sound. Willow presses down with all her might until her spine and the steel groan together.
She grits her teeth and presses her leg down lower. As her body extends, the metal prosthetic screeches louder.
*screech—screech*
Urgh!
She loses her balance and falls to the floor once again.
Perhaps she's caught someone! She's probably throwin' them in her cauldron as we speak!
We have to go rescue them!
Er—What should we do? Fetch some grownups?
Pah! Grownups are all a bunch of chickens. They'll just tell us to stay away. No, it's down to us, Albert. We have to go save whoever the hag has caught before it's too late! Quick, grab some stones!
The sound of hurried footsteps echoes through the garden.
*crash* A stone smashes through the window and hits the floor near Willow's feet.
You wicked old hag! Come out and catch me if you can!
Bloody hell!
Another stone, and another crash of breaking glass.
Scheming little devils!
Ignoring the pain in her limb, she goes to the window to yell at them.
Get away with you!
Waaahhh! It's the hag!
There it is again. Another wailing child.
Shut your mouth!
Miraculously, the crying actually ceases.
Although an imitation, it is indeed a gold medal.
Hey! Give me back my gold medal!
Flames have been crudely carved upon its surface.
Where did you get this from?
Why should I tell you?
The child presses his lips tightly shut, a determined look in his eyes.
Tell me.
...
That's a souvenir from the Uluru Games! Sister Martha gave it to us. She said it would bring us good luck.
Thompson!
Th-That's everything I know. Can you let us go now?
The "hag" gives a mocking sneer.
Is that so? So the medal did bring you good luck after all.
Go on, take it. Take it and ...
Get Out!
3. Fallen Swan
80 linesThe farce has come to an end.
The sparse vegetation in her garden has been left in disarray by the incident. The purple potato flowers lie scattered upon the soil.
Nice! It's spud season again.
Charlotte, I've made ye mashed tatties for breakfast today, with plenty of sweet cream—yer favorite.
Coach says I can't eat this anymore. Floor Ritualists need to keep their figures trim. She says that if I want to win the gold, I need to—
Oh, Charlotte. Now they've got ye worried about yer eating too?
I know you're a good little thing, and you like yer Floor Ritual very much, but with all that training ye do, and with all this growing you've still to do, you have to eat properly, otherwise you'll wither away into nothing!
Just take one bite, eh? How about it?
One bite ...
What did you have for breakfast?
Her eyes are fixed on the small clump of mashed potatoes left hanging on the girl's chest.
Creamy mashed potatoes?
Before the girl can react, she explodes.
How many times have I told you?! If you want results, you can't eat rubbish like this!
I was just trying to get a little energy.
They both know this is just an excuse.
The Uluru qualifiers are in three days, Charlotte! Did you forget that little fact?
Or do you think that pathetic speck of talent of yours gives you the right to get complacent? Eh?!
If that's what you think, then let me tell you now, Charlotte.
A cruel smile spreads across her face.
What a waste of space you are.
There'll be no shortage of talent at the qualifiers.
Why? I know I shouldn't have done it, but you don't need to humiliate me like this!
Humiliate you?
She gives a sharp, cruel laugh.
You're right. I don't need to humiliate you. Because the moment you walk out on that floor beside real athletes, you'll have already done it to yourself.
Go ahead. I won't stop you.
She is casual in the face of this cruel remark.
...
Go ahead and eat your creamy mashed potatoes if you love them so much. Oh, and Her Majesty needs her beauty sleep, too. Why not go ahead and cancel your morning training? In fact, why not take the whole day off?
Sports are just too exhausting, I know. Not only do you have to put up with your aching muscles, but you have to watch what you eat and deal with your bossy old coach. After all, you're Lady Charlotte, a fine noblewoman.
How could a noble be asked to sweat on the red land of Uluru? She should be sitting in the audience, yes, in the audience with a parasol and a cool drink, no?
I shan't waste my energy on you any longer.
She turns and exits the training ground without a backward glance.
...
Charlotte slowly clenches her fists.
Feck!
I'm not ...
She punches the wall, and the pain in her knuckles fills her with bitterness.
I am not Lady Charlotte!!
She grits her teeth as her sinuses sting. She holds back her emotions, not letting the tears flow from her eyes.
I will win that gold medal.
She presses her leg hard against the wall, her whole body bending into a gentle curve.
She begins the routine she has practiced a thousand times before, but this time alone in the room. Her body traces arcs in the air as she leaps and lands through each element.
0.2, 0.5, 0.3, 0.7, 0.4 ...
She silently records the score of each element as she goes.
Next comes the most important part—the arcane skill segment.
Huff ... huff ...
She closes her eyes.
Invisible energy flows through the air.
Phew. Eye of Day, Keeper of Balance. You are the Endless Well.
Healing Sulis, shining Sulis, holy Sulis, to us, you tell.
A faint glow appears before her eyes.
You warm our souls, heal our wounds, and grant us endless peace.
The light is as warm as spring. She reaches out her hand to it.
If only I could touch the hem of your garment, that flowing, loving radiance ...
...!
Did I do something wrong? Why can't I see your radiance?
The energy still flows beside her, stirring her hair and softly ruffling the feathers on her leotard.
Why can't I see you? Why do you reject me? How can I win your favor?
In the endless darkness, her voice is the only echo.
I'll do anything—give you anything—just please, let me win that gold medal!
Hah.
That voice shouldn't be here. She opens her eyes, startled.
What are you—
I came to get the wire recorder.
The wire recorder?
But the wire recorder is for everyone to use. It's always in the training room. She's never seen anyone take it out of here before.
Charlotte, the cruelty of competitive sports is that even if you give everything, you're very likely to end up with nothing in return.
She continues, half speaking to herself.
I thought you'd understand this. But, no, you're just a ridiculous, foolish little girl.
Think about those who came before you. Saoirse, for example. Everyone thought she'd win the games hands down, even her competitors.
But in the end, she injured herself before she could compete. She never even saw Uluru for herself, only heard those three haunting syllables repeated by everyone around her. Of course, you know better than I what happened to her after that.
She jumped off London Bridge.
What makes you think you won't be the next? That you won't end up like her?
I—
On your feet!
An unexpected command.
The last element you just performed. Do it again.
The qualifiers are just around the corner, and you're still jumping like that? If you aren't able to bring forth your arcane skill, you absolutely cannot afford to make a single mistake in the rest of your routine.
4. Flickering Candlelight
112 linesThe day of the qualifiers is met with unfavorable weather, as a faint haze lingers in the air. Everyone agrees that today is not a good day for rituals.
A familiar voice speaks beside her.
These are only the qualifiers, so I don't expect you to set a world record or anything. Just perform decently well, and you'll be sure to make it through to the next round.
As long as you feel her on the floor, you'll be able to complete all the elements. Understand?
...
The girl is too focused to speak. She gives a simple, vigorous nod.
Alright, go on then. Believe in yourself.
A warm hand pats her shoulder as she steps onto the floor.
As the music starts, the darkest five minutes of her youth begin.
Oh! Congratulations, Caroline, on your victory on the floor.
Thank you.
Their voices are vague and distant, yet she cannot divert her attention from them.
I must say, when I learned that Charlotte O'Hagan would be participating, I didn't expect to win first place, since we all know she's a world-class Floor Ritualist.
...
Charlotte O'Hagan has finished in eighth, meaning she'll most likely miss the finals.
Floor Ritual has always had its roots in arcanum. If she's only here to compete for technical points, why doesn't she compete in another event?
Feck!
I beg to differ.
Charlotte is an outstanding player. If you had observed her performance closely, you wouldn't be making light of her efforts.
But she made a huge mistake. She didn't even complete the ritual segment of her routine.
There was a critical failure in the stability of her ritual. Didn't you see? The clouds she summoned poured rain all over the judges' heads!
There is scattered laughter throughout the venue.
...
Sorry, sir, I will no longer answer any questions regarding Charlotte O'Hagan. I'm afraid your understanding of "sportsmanship" leaves much to be desired.
...
Footsteps approach from behind her.
What's on your mind, girl?
A brief silence ensues.
N-Nothing. I want to go home.
She starts to lift herself up from her chair when a pair of hands presses her firmly back down.
Are you a coward?
O-Of course not.
I ... I don't want to be ... a coward.
She bows her head deeply, her tears forming little puddles on the backs of her hands.
But does it matter what I want? Will wanting to win a gold medal make it sprout wings and fly around my neck?
I can't control my arcane skill. No matter how strong I will it, the ritual energies won't heed my call. They just turned into wet clouds, and all I could do was stand there and watch them fly towards the judges' seats.
Maybe I'm not cut out for this sport. Maybe it's just like that reporter said, and I shouldn't even be here.
Listen, Charlotte.
The coach's voice pulls her back to reality.
No one said you shouldn't be here.
Do you know why you aren't able to perform the ritual?
Why?
Because you care too much about your score.
But ...
Come with me.
The garden is lush with thriving plants and blooming flowers.
Energy flows constantly through the air around us. You have to think of it as a friend dancing along with you. After all, who would want to dance with an imaginary enemy?
Close your eyes.
This isn't Uluru. The first thing you need to do is forget about the scoring rules.
Recite your prayer.
Eye of Day, Keeper of Balance. You are the Endless Well.
Go on. Don't worry about your pronunciation or delivery. Just imagine you're talking to an old friend.
Healing Sulis, shining Sulis, holy Sulis, to us, you tell.
She raises her right hand high in the air.
Feel her breath, feel her energy, feel all that she brings to you. Feel that primitive rhythm and flow, your emotions—that psychedelic rainbow of colors.
...!
Something lifted my hand!
Flames are their dance, and wind their breath. Through wind and fire are we born, and by the rain are we swaddled.
Warmth and light they bring. So, why fear, pause, or stand by?
She chants, her voice aligned with some magnificent and ancient rhythm, and from the tips of her toes, a thousand shadows bloom like flowers.
Dance, Charlotte. Take my hand and dance.
She reaches out her hand in invitation.
The flames are their steps, and wind their breath.
She follows the movements, each step sinking into a rhythm.
Wind ... fire ... rain ...
I am not afraid ...
...!
She clasps her cheek in shock.
What is it?
Something kissed me.
Keep dancing, Charlotte.
The woman releases her hand comfortingly.
You've already got a much better dance partner. Don't think too much. Just let her lead you.
The girl closes her eyes, raising her hand high in an ancient ritual.
It's a road destined to be lonely. Have you made up your mind?
Her voice is so quiet that it is quickly swallowed by the wind.
Healing Sulis, shining Sulis, holy Sulis, to us, you tell.
She arranges the catalysts in the dark of the room.
My best friend, Sulis.
She follows the guidance of an unseen force, her body gracefully flowing from one motion to the next.
The candles surrounding her flicker, and the sound of distant wind rattles through the room.
What's going on with Charlotte these days?
She must be feeling pretty down right now, what with all her practicing for the competition and all. She hasn't played with us for ages, and her coach is just horrible.
Caroline told me her qualifier results were rather poor.
My mum says that when a friend feels sad, you should try to make them feel better. We should do something nice for her!
I'm really worried she'll end up like Saoirse—Hey! What did you hit me for?
Stop talking rubbish!
The conversation outside continues, but Charlotte doesn't have the time to care. She feels Sulis's invitation to a realm beyond reality.
In her trance, she sees shining blades of grass and gem-like flowers blooming in the distance. Golden flames burn in the sky, the sun melting into the mountaintop.
Lugh, reborn from dark's embrace, I walk your path, in sacred space.
Life's end is death, but bones to life ascend!
*knock-knock-knock*
Charlotte, are you in?
The ground trembles slightly. She looks at the distant golden light and feels something gently sting her ankle.
*knock-knock-knock*
Charlotte! Charlotte!
Oh!
The ground beneath her shakes violently, the shining blades of grass biting hard at her toes. She squats down in pain, watching bruises spread beneath her toenails.
Why? What's wrong, Sulis?
That was Charlotte's voice. She's in there!
The ground trembles still. She frowns, impatiently waving away the flies buzzing around her ears. They're making her irritable.
Charlotte, open the door! We're worried about you!
The sky is dense with white clouds and the ground is oozing blood. Her feet are stricken with a sharp pain.
Enough! Stop bothering me!
The shining grass fades, and she pulls the door open.
I never want to see you again!
It's the hag's curse!
Ahhh!
Having driven away her old friends, the girl goes back inside.
Healing Sulis, shining Sulis, holy Sulis, to us, you tell.
She stands in the center of the house, taking a deep breath, a faint smile on her face.
My friend. My only friend, Sulis.
5. Phone Call
49 linesThe phone rings.
Hello?
Charlotte, have you seen the results of the Foundation's latest evaluation?
The caution in Caroline's tone annoys her.
If you've got something to say, just say it. I'm not as fragile as you think.
Good lord, I hate the way you beat around the bush! Just spit it out, will you?
...
There's a deep sigh from the other end of the line.
Charlotte, you might not be able to go to Uluru.
That's impossible.
After the Foundation's evaluation, they still concluded that ... Well, that it's unfair.
Bollocks! I have one less leg than the rest of you, don't I? I'm a bloody cripple for crying out loud! How could they possibly think I have an advantage?!
If they're afraid of competing with me because of this leg, then there's no need to compete with them at all.
No.
She struggles to utter the subsequent words.
Of course, judging only on past achievements, no one is more qualified than you to participate.
But the committee unanimously agrees that if you compete against able-bodied athletes, it would be unfair to YOU, Charlotte.
What? So barring disabled people from competing is more fair?
I can still stand, can't I? What right do they have to take this away from me? To strip me of my right to compete?!
I still remember what they said back then.
Her habitual sneer makes an appearance.
"Floor Ritual has always had its roots in arcanum. If she's only here to compete for technical points, why doesn't she compete in another event?"
Well, I can hardly rely on technical points now, can I? How could they use such a pathetic excuse to bar me from competing?!
...
For what feels like an eternity, there is a dead silence between them.
I'm sorry, Charlotte.
Why are you apologizing?!
I'll help you apply for the finals again. I'll do everything I can.
I'm not an invalid!
Anger bubbles forth.
I can fight my own battles! I've fought harder on one leg than most do with two! So you can save your sanctimonious pity for someone else!
Oh, you want me to thank you, is that it? How exactly should I express my gratitude for this magnanimous favor of yours, eh? Let me remind you—I won the gold medal back then, not you!
...
I'm sorry, Charlotte.
The phone call ends.
...
She grips the receiver tightly.
Leave me alone!!
She hurls the phone before sweeping her arm across the table, sending a collection of items clattering to the floor.
Why? Why?!
More objects fly around the room.
Bloody hell!
No matter how much noise she makes, there is no one to answer her questions. Her neighbors have long learned to ignore the strange noises from this particular residence.
She screams and crashes around her house. It's the only means she has to expend her energy. Then, her hand touches a small box.
...
She halts and opens it with her pale, trembling hands.
Inside, her medal lies quietly on its bed of velvet. There's a small dent on one side.
...
She remembers. How could she forget?
6. Echoing Knocks
71 lines
Come on now; don't be nervous.
You can do this, you can do this!
Breathe in ... breathe out … breathe in ...
It's the moment before the finals. The preparation room is filled with anxious voices.
Everything alright?
I'm fine, Coach.
Sulis responded to my prayers again yesterday.
And?
She looks at her intently.
This time, she took me to the heart of a forest. The leaves there had spots all over them, like eyes. They were watching me, just like you are now, without blinking.
I also heard a woman's voice. She was singing a slow song, something like ...
I can't quite remember the words.
...
But I remember the rhythm.
She jumps up and moves in time to it.
Healing Sulis, shining Sulis, holy Sulis, to us, you tell.
Do you know it? The grass there sparkled. If I stayed too long on it, the little blades of grass would pinch me.
All I could do was dance, dance, and keep dancing.
So, I suppose witches weren't necessarily all burned at the stake. Maybe they just stepped on that kind of grass, you know?
She leaps high into the air and lands steadily.
Every time I jump, my shadowless friend lifts me just like this.
Energy flows around her, rustling her hair and leotard.
Keep dancing, just like this.
If you make it to the end of this path, you'll snatch the sun right out of the sky.
Don't be nervous, Charlotte. Just treat it like any ordinary practice session.
Nervous?
The girl looks at her palms to find a faint shimmer of sweat.
I'm not nervous, Coach.
She lifts her head and gazes at the sun shining in the distance.
...
That shining golden sun.
...
And behind it, those dark and boundless shadows.
*ring-ring-ring*
The doorbell interrupts her reminiscence.
You've got the day wrong, girl.
She hobbles to the door and opens it with force.
The visitor before her comes as a surprise.
Charlotte, I have some news I simply must tell you. You'll be utterly delighted to hear it, I'm sure.
What?
The Foundation has decided that they'll let you participate in the competition ... as a special athlete.
You can return to the floor again!
She chatters on.
Get out!
Why?
Oh, you want to know why?
She sneers through gritted teeth.
What is that you want? You wonder why I don't want to stroke your ego? To pump air into your already overinflated head?!
You're just here to brag about your achievements!
Then, congratulations! You've done the job!
Are you satisfied, Caroline? I'm a cripple—a failure. Not your competition, but the object of your pity. That's what you wanted, right?
I'd never thought of it that way.
She wants to argue, but in this moment, a word of comfort cuts sharper than any blade.
As if they'd invite me to perform in an "exhibition," like I'm some kind of monkey to be gawked at in a zoo. It's ridiculous!
Do I have to tell you it all, Caroline? How awful my life has been all these years? How people hate me? How my body has failed me?!
Does it satisfy your ego?
I don't want to see you ever again!
Charlotte!
A document falls to the ground. It bears the logo of the St. Pavlov Foundation.
This is ...
She unfolds the document.
"Regarding the Decision on the Participation of Ms. Charlotte O'Hagan ..."
"Upon careful consideration and evaluation, we hereby consent to Ms. Charlotte O'Hagan competing as a Floor Ritualist in the finals of the Uluru Games."
What's the meaning of this?
She looks at Caroline in disbelief.
Perhaps I didn't make myself clear, but ...
You're an athlete, not a performer. You won't be competing in an "exhibition." Nothing has changed, Charlotte.
Caroline holds Willow's trembling hands in her own.
I look forward to seeing you on the floor.
7. Podium
51 linesCongratulations, Charlotte O'Hagan!
The weight of the medal presses on her neck as camera bulbs flash all around her, leaving her a little dazzled.
Quick—snap a picture of the scar on her foot!
Charlotte, congratulations on winning first place at the Uluru Games!
That's a surprise. You've smashed the record, making history as the youngest ever winner of Floor Ritual. What was the process like to get to this point?
...
She lowers her head, examining the shining gold medal hanging at her chest.
I snatched the sun from the sky.
The sun?
The girl smiles and raises the gold medal.
That's right. This is my sun!
Perfect angle, real front page material. Charlotte, could you lift the medal a bit higher?
The girl raises the medal higher. The camera flashes, making it shine even brighter.
Great. We plan on doing an exclusive interview next week.
Hey, Philip, haven't you hogged enough of her time?
A reporter pushes his way toward Charlotte, his suit wrinkled from the jostling crowd.
Finally! Alright. Charlotte, what's next for you?
The girl is overwhelmed by questions and flashing lights.
The cacophony has come to an end.
Is that it ...?
The medal rests heavy in her palm.
I won, but now what?
You're still so young.
Familiar footsteps approach.
The stories we tell always end with winning the gold.
No one talks about what you're supposed to do after you win the medal. After all, life goes on much longer than any story.
But I did it! I got the gold!
She argues fiercely on her own behalf.
I broke the record. I beat Caroline! I'm the youngest champion ever! There's never been an 11-year-old champion in all history!
So what?
My name will be in the newspapers. Everyone will remember who I am, and at the next Uluru Games, they'll all be cheering my name.
And then ...
Your name will become a symbol, a topic at every dinner table conversation, and, as even you fall prey to the illusion of fame and the past, it will become your prison.
And before long, you will have entirely forgotten who you thought you were.
I—
We all die one day, but the Floor Ritual will carry on. It's the symbol itself. How could someone possibly defeat something abstract?
Today is the beginning of your tragedy.
She coldly announces her verdict.
When you look directly into the sun, you must always remember that it's also the source of shadow.
I've sacrificed so much for this.
She clutches the gold medal tightly.
I beat everyone to get it—the gold medal. I woke up at the crack of dawn, trained until I could train no more, just for a chance.
And now, I've won.
Do you think I can't see the desire in their eyes when they see it? They all want this medal.
She bites her lip and musters the courage to look her coach in the eye. The face before her ripples, trembling slightly.
If this is the source of tragedy, then why do we long for it?
Heh.
As she lets out a cold sneer, her features become clearer.
It's the gold medal. That's why.
It's precisely because it's a gold medal that you kept going. Even if your feet were bleeding, you couldn't escape this self-inflicted sacrifice. Because this is what you desired!
Isn't this the root of your tragedy?
8. Goodbye, Friend
91 linesAfter winning the gold medal, you gave interviews, featured in columns, and became renowned among arcanists.
But so what?
Mum, that's Charlotte's house! It's been so long since she—
Shh. Don't you go saying her name. She's a witch, understand?! A hag! It's written right there in her name!
No one is willing to speak your name. No one even dares walk past your house.
Your garden no longer blooms. Only weeds sprout from the mud and dirt.
So, then ...
Then, the war began.
War?
That's right. You haven't seen it yet, but you will.
Years ago, war destroyed your hometown, and you moved with your family to a new land.
On the surface, it seemed like a safe place. You believed what everyone said, firmly convinced that there would be no fighting there.
Isn't that a good thing?
I suppose you don't yet remember that day.
That day?
Yes, that day.
By modern measures, that day was far from a good one. The air was heavy with the stench of gunpowder after the military dropped bomb after bomb in the area, leaving debris and dust in their wake.
But luckily, your house was untouched, and you managed to survive the war.
Then what?
Look up.
The girl looks up. There is a shining golden sun before her. She gazes in disbelief, then rubs her eyes.
How come I can see the sun in the training room?
You saw a similar sun in the sky on that day, too.
That long-awaited peace seemed to finally be near. You hadn't heard the roaring of planes for a long while, and the desolate grasslands had started to show a hint of life.
So, on that stretch of scorched earth, you began to dance.
Eye of Day, Keeper of Balance. You are the Endless Well.
Healing Sulis, shining Sulis, holy Sulis, to us, you tell.
Do you remember the origins of the Floor Ritual?
Of course, I remember. Floor Rituals originate from ancient rituals. The shamans danced to avert strife, to implore Sulis's grace.
It was originally a dance for peace.
So you thought at that time.
You saw the glorious sun, the soil turning from lifeless to fertile, the tender green sprouts breaking through the earth.
That was the most successful dance of your life. For the first time, Sulis responded to your prayers. No one had ever done that at the Uluru Games before, not even you at your best.
You heard that sharp whistling for the first time—that sound that still haunts you in every nightmare, like Arachne cursed to forever make her web.
Soon, an incendiary bomb exploded beside you.
...!
So you lost your leg as a result. It seems that, in the end, the gods never favored you.
Poor girl. Her beliefs have become a joke. If sacrificing everything yielded such results, it would be better if those so-called gods never even existed.
And it has caused you never-ending pain. How can one who no longer believes in the gods ever receive their favor again?
She sneers mockingly.
No. That's not true. Sulis is my friend.
You poor little thing.
Look at that medal hanging around your neck.
The girl lifts the medal to find a small dent in it.
...!
Do you remember how this dent got here?
This isn't my medal! My medal would never have a dent like this in it!
After you lost your leg, you threw your medal away as hard as you could, cursing through tears that you'd never set eyes on it again.
Unfortunately, your curse didn't work.
...
There's a knock at the door.
Hello? Is anyone there?
Who is it?
Ms. Willow? I've got this week's snails!
The voice is unfamiliar.
I'm here to say goodbye.
Why?
My snails have arrived. If I don't open the door, that little scamp will be kept waiting.
A minute, ten minutes, an hour ... That girl's mind is a mystery. Who knows how long she'll wait?
I need to answer the door.
Will I see you again?
If it were possible, I'd hope you never do.
She shakes her head and reveals a helpless smile.
But we will meet, Charlotte. Endings aren't always a matter of choice, nor can they be changed through will alone.
Now, the time has come to say goodbye. Take good care of this medal, won't you? Don't take your anger out on it.
She makes her way out of the room.
Her movement is stiff and awkward, and her leg makes a strange scraping sound as she walks. Yet, still, she holds her neck high, like a black swan gliding on the water.
...
*sigh*
Ms. Willow, here are the snails for this week!
The jar of snails is taken by a thin, gloved hand.
Wow, Ms. Willow! What was it you said just now? Did you say "thank you"?!
I ain't never heard you say that word before! Are you sure you're Ms. Willow?
...
She places the snails on the table as usual, their soft heads gently emerging from their shells.
The weekly race begins, and after a long wait, the third snail is the first to reach the finish line.
She gathers the snail mucus and works it into a light yellow salve. This should suffice for the trip.
She prepares her luggage, reflecting on the many years since her last excursion.
Australia ... The sun is relentless there. I should probably bring a larger hat.
Still, I have a fair deal of lubricant remaining.
Oh, and there's this too.
She looks at the little box.
Within it lies the gleaming gold medal with the dent on one side.
...
Flowers, applause, cheers, lubricant, the golden sun, and a thousand shadows.
She gently kisses the dented edge of the medal.
Good night, my friend.