QuiteTheSlacker
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Chapter 34: The Nebulas
🕑 Added 2024-04-28 06:36:54 +0000 UTC“Gosh, those two sure know how to stir some excitement ‘round here! It’s a shame those burly knights chased away all my customers though… ah, well. Looks like we’re closing early for tonight. Maybe I should go on down to the theatre myself for a change—hm? The doors? Now who could that be… well bless the Stars, I wasn’t expecting ya ‘til tomorrow! You’re wearin’ that funny looking mask as always, too. I should really start keeping up with the fashion trends these days, but nevermind me: What brings you on over here, Mister? Uh-huh… Oh, of course not! I’m always thankful for your flower deliveries - helps quiet those old codgers from bellyachin’ about my lack of decor - but it’s rare to see you so early. Aw, you were worried about me? Guess that ruckus was pretty loud, but you’ve got nothin’ to be afraid of—huh? Who was that passing by? Hehe, let’s just say they’re a special friend from the past. But that’s mighty strange… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so interested in someone before.”
Mary Anne Bethany, Third Generation Proprietor of Mary’s Tavern
———
The Knight
In every corner, from the alleyway streets to the storefronts illuminated in bright, dazzling lights, a festivity of art and song is proudly celebrated in the merrymakers wandering the busy district. Their faces are flushed, hearts bared in revelry, yet the cries of their merriment are but a faint whisper before the roaring ballads and poems spilling forth from the bards lined all about the cobble promenade. However, it is not just their voices that are fanciful. A whimsical set of garments cover their bodies: red, yellow, green and blue. The musicians are swathed in soft, billowing fabrics, purposely jutting out as if demanding for the world to lay its eyes upon their flamboyance.
And yet their songs are but one part of a much greater whole: Artists stained in blotches of paint create lifelike portraits for a meager price; aspiring Astrologians bid creation forth in a playful show of sparkles and glittering sorcery; and playwrights set up curious makeshift theatres where the only actors are of puppets and models performing in front of a hollow wooden frame.
Athletic stadiums, gambling halls, grand auditoriums of stone… it would be highly difficult to experience all there is the city has to offer in a single night, and yet that is precisely what Dariel has sworn as his mission. The Knight is hurriedly shuffled back and forth between an innumerable number of opera houses and venues, leaving not a single second for rest before it becomes time for a new show. A new production. But never is it left feeling overwhelmed. On the contrary, it has not had such fun in a very long while. Such moments are rare—to be immersed in such an innocent gathering of creation: Humanity’s creation, brought forth solely by their own will and artistry.
However, all the excitement is much too stimulating for the child still hiding atop its head. Aegis can only last for an hour, his body struggling in a perpetual battle to remain awake, before he eventually drifts off to sleep. It is a shame, for the Knight can feel his heartfelt desire to witness everything around him. It can feel his curiosity overflowing with a pure love towards the physical world, only to be forced into the realm of dreams in the end. Still, it is a wonder he has managed thus far given the day’s events. Even whilst plagued in boredom during the court attendance and Annalay’s tour, he has remained hidden well, never uttering so much as a grumble. His rest is well deserved; perhaps it shall take him back in the morrow when he is more alert.
That is, so as long the presence trailing them halts their futile hunt. The Knight can feel it—that madness soaked in perversion. They merely lurk out of sight for now, but it has no doubt their passivity will not last for long. It must handle this soon, or else their obsession will burst and lead forth to a more physical confrontation.
“Thank you for following my whims so far, Lorelai,” Dariel says as the two stroll along the dwindling avenue. It is close to midnight now, and the festivities are slowly coming to an end. “I, um, didn’t intend to make you see so much on your first visit, but… I guess I was a bit overzealous. There’s so much I wanted to show you and—well, not enough time to do so. I’m sorry if this whole night has felt rushed.”
“We did fly through the fair rather quickly,” it replies with a small laugh. “But this night has been nothing but pleasant, Dariel. Thank you for accompanying me today.”
“Hehe, I’m glad. But don’t think we’re finished just yet. I’ve saved the best performance for last!”
They gradually come to a stop as they approach their final destination of the night: a towering theatre building of onyx and crystals. An all-encompassing twinkle covers its every surface, and the words “The Arthurian Theatre Company” are engraved in fanciful, swooping lettering. It is a wonder of architecture, second only to the King’s castle, and the two quickly join the long line of sharply-dressed men and women spilling out from the entrance.
“Here we are!” Dariel says proudly. “The Arthurian Theatre! While the other venues in the district are all quite charming, this building and company have been here since the days of the founders. Their performances are truly of another quality, so much so that you have to reserve your seats months in advance due to how popular they are.”
“Oh? Will we be alright, then?” it asks.
A shy grin tugs at his lips, and he shuffles away as a flush begins to shade his cheeks in a bright red hue. “Eh-hem, though I don’t particularly enjoy touting my status, it does allow for some certain… privileges.”
“My, my, Dariel. I thought you beneath the use of corruption,” it teases, to which the flustered officer quickly begins to shout out in protest.
“N-No, I promise I don’t do this often! It’s just, well, if you’re going to visit the theatres, then you may as well be treated to the very best. I know fully how this looks, but it’s not often you come by—”
“Hehe, you can relax, Dariel. I was just teasing you. I know you’re doing this for my sake, and for that I am very thankful.”
“… Rude,” he pouts. But his mood quickly lightens as the two make it to the front of the theatre’s door. Even the entrance is lavish, for a long, flowing red carpet is unfurled below and a golden rope bars entry inside—guarded by a gathering of knights and attendants in formal gowns.
“May I see your ticket, sir?” the registrar asks.
“Ah, one moment. I believe this will suffice?”
Dariel uncovers what appears to be a pink metal plaque and displays it with a rather bashful expression. The registrar’s eyes widen in shock, but they quickly return to their prior air of professionalism.”
“Oh, dear! Forgive me for not recognizing one as esteemed as yourself,” they say with a bow. “Our company shall always welcome a member of the Cherubims. Please, come in; the exclusive seating for V.I.P’s shall be made available to you on the upper floor. Welcome to the Arthurian Theatre, and I do hope you enjoy tonight’s production of The Nebulas.”
The Nebulas? The Knight barely manages to steady itself upon hearing the name. Its breath slows, its eyes narrow, and its movements become stiff as a curious lull rumbles deep within its chest. How interesting. I thought I burned all copies of that text long ago, yet here it lies—transcribed in stage form. The question is… how accurate is its portrayal? I suppose I shall soon see.
“Is something the matter?” Dariel asks.
“Oh, I was just surprised. The name is familiar to me, though I can’t remember why.”
“That’s not surprising. The Nebulas is a classic fable, after all; grandfather would read it to me every night when I was little. I’m sure this is a good sign that your memories are returning!”
“… Perhaps. Let us hurry. I am quite excited to see the performance.”
Dariel and the Knight walk past the gilded atrium of black and ivory gems. They climb up the spiraling staircase covered in rugs of exotic patterns. And eventually, they reach a long curtain. Dim candlelight flickers above them, casting a shadow against countless paintings and the odd statue set alongside the walls, and as they pull back the fluttering cloth, a grand space of otherworldly beauty is revealed before them. Gone are the crystals; gone is the shadowed interior covering the muted halls in a somber air. Instead, a splendorous display of gold and red envelopes the entirety of the rotunda, and a gigantic chandelier - light blinding to the sight and accompanied by a mural of stained glass - illuminates everything from the farthest corner to the cushioned seats lined below. From their private view nestled to the back and high above the floor, it is as if the entirety of the theatre is presented solely for them.
Suddenly, the lights go out, and a spotlight is shone onto a lone presenter standing on the stage.
“Ladies and gentleman,” they declare. “I would like to welcome each and every patron that has come to visit our beloved theatre on this day. Soon, the clock shall strike midnight. And a performance like none other will begin. Thank you, one and all, and immerse yourselves as we bring to life a fairytale of old: The Nebulas, the story of humanity’s creation. Enjoy.”
They disappear. The curtains unfold. And then, the actors arrive—dancing, dancing, gliding about with mesmerizing steps as the leader of the troupe triumphantly marches forth and begins to speak with a clear, powerful timbre.
———
“Our story begins with a twinkle and shine
Of a blessed star, of a radiance so sublime
There, high above the milky clouds, lies a never-ending sea of darkness and shrouds
But among the haze, through the stifling night, there frolicked a sparkle, a glimmering light
They were the Stars, divinities of play
They were the first, immortals come what may
But even eternity has its loathful end, and soon came boredom to a lone Star wishing for a friend
Her name was Cosmos, a name as beautiful as the celestial expanse
But even she could not escape the hold of solitude’s trance
The other Stars mocked her, they called her a freak
For she was a frail child, her powers ever so weak
‘Oh, woe is me. Woe be my name,’ she cried. ‘For I have naught a soul in this space. A companion to give me grace.”
She weeped, she sobbed, she bawled herself to slumber
And then came a miracle, a granted wish of wonder
Creation had come and answered her call
Creation had come to awaken her lull
Thus was it born, a life full of sanctity
Thus was it born, the progenitor of humanity.”
———
The performance ends, and as the actors gather to give one final bow, a roaring crowd of applause bids them farewell. Hm, I do not think that rhymed. A pity, the arts are still far beyond my reach.
The Knight is bewildered. The play is certainly done quite well, but there is something off about the ending. It feels detached, cut off without resolution, and it soon comes to realize the source of the discomfort: The second half is absent. They do not speak of what Cosmos has lost. They do not speak of that Star’s sacrifice—of the reason why humanity is caged ever so tight. It supposes this is a good thing: Ignorance is a bliss. If they are to ever discover the truth, then their beloved creator will become sacred no longer. It does not want that. Let that lonely being be remembered for their love; that is what they deserve.
“Bewitching, was it not?” an unfamiliar voice asks by its side. Rich, smooth, an enchanting tone, but hidden ever so subtlety is a poisoned tongue dripping with insanity. “This play is a favorite of mine. It portrays it well, the beauty, the tragedy, and the heartfelt love our blessed creator must have had for humanity—to finally escape from her isolation. And yet, I have never been able to be rid of this feeling of hesitation. Is that truly how she felt? No, something is amiss. But what?
“A question plagues me. Some may see it as blasphemous, but I cannot be rid of it no matter how I try. It stalks my dreams, tortures my mind, but I do not shy from it. Its allure is impossible to resist, for the answer is just so tantalizing to imagine. Do you think you can solve it? Tell me: If Cosmos truly adores humanity, then why has she left us here, alone, on this earth?”
The Knight turns to its side, and it is greeted by a tall, lanky man wearing a peculiar floral mask.
