)o}+|-
("its bel washing her hands, its the blood not coming off, its baltasar guffawing 'how many?' its bel groaning under the weight of her own body that he doesn't sound like himself at all.")
("sophie at the shrine, sophie with black threads tied to her fingers sprawled around her. is she the marionette or the puppeteer? crow with six wings, too heavy to fly, sinks into the ocean floor.")
("alcohol is holy water? are you out of your mind?")
("i wish she would stay.")
("i wish i could leave.")
("god ne'er said love me, god said love thy neighbour: he will be made to choose and i will lose him. to the wounded animal, i am more important than god.")
sophie had been listening to the overlapping chatter of thoughts emanating from the cafe all day long, seated on a bench outside its bounds. red poppies were perpetually growing at her feet.
("belphie- bel now, no longer the demon...")
("where's iris?")
"i don't want to die."
sophie felt a new form take root among the red flowers: a lioness, not yet fully grown. a single eye wide open. phen buried herself in sophie's robes, a familiar sensation to the reaper.
"i don't want to die, i don't want to die, i don't want to die," she wailed, tugging harder.
the reaper would seek these ghosts, these untold prayers in red thread, but she'd never intervene. often, phen would interrupt her eavesdropping by asking for help.
she wrapped her arms around the one-eyed girl. that was all she could do. she sighed a breath she had taken in another realm.
she knew how everyone wished to die: raph in battle, saint a martyr, mars quietly.
in a moment of inspiration, she stood up and took phen by the hand, holding her cane in the other. she walked towards the entrance of the cafe - every step of hers seemed accompanied by growing red flower buds, but one could ponder on whether sophie was aware of that or not.
"i have known you since you were one," thought sophie. "but that wouldn't make you one if i was there. i have known you since you, phoenix, were one. we were three."
she smiled, and patted her head. "little sekhmet," she thought, nudging her towards the door.
as she heard the door close behind phen, a distinct scent stopped her in her tracks: the sharpness of peppermint, the cold breeze of samhain. she walked closer to it, softly waving her cane at her feet.
"you can only speak in dreams, can you?" a man asked, his voice a deep melody in minor key.
("no-one would touch a crow, so be grateful.")
("where's iris?")
"what do you hear?" he stepped closer to her. "what are they saying?" she heard his lips click as he grinned. "will you tell me tonight?"
{"i have to go, for a while.")
she knew that sam wanted to die last. she knew he once wished he went first. his thoughts wrapped around her like smoke.
("interesting.")
("you're not god, what gives you the right?")
("hey. where's iris?")
("what happened to you?")
"what are they saying? what am i saying?"
("speak of your knowledge, and you ruin their lives. stay silent, and they fester.")
she felt his thoughts darken like bitter coffee, too strong of a taste in her mouth.
"you've always been around, ms. caelia."
("that's what makes you fascinating.")
in the cafe, phen found herself seated under one of the potted plants, eye closed.
a familiar figure sat next to her. feeling the steam caress her face, she took the hot chocolate that was handed to her, immersed in its warmth. wolf waved a hand above it as if he was casting a casual incantation. phen's eye flickered open just in time to see a raft of marshmallows form on the surface of her drink.
in a cafe where people are as tangible as mist, wolf was real.
they sat together much like equals, despite wolf's stature domineering over her, not unlike veterans of the same unit. in this moment, titles were inconsequential: under the foliage of silas, they were just phen and wolf, surviving in a world that often didn't make sense, sustained by marshmallows that appear when you feel down.
("it's just you and me, force.")
sophie had walked all the way to the other side of the cafe, leaning near bel's window, grazing its frame with her hand. she could barely hear the chatter between bel and her guest, and her thoughts overpowered sophie's own. she tried to tune herself to the guest's mind to no avail.
("zeno... zeno... no... that's not right.")
the thoughts of the archivist were too spread out to keep track of, too diverse to pick out and shove aside, and sophie found herself swept away by names and dates. she shook her head, as if to scatter bel's labirynthine thoughts.
bel had gotten up to wash her hands in the sink by the small stove in her office.
("horton becomes baltasar, faye is kailey, these are all pen names, codes... code... a cipher! maths? that's the sum of... mandelbrot... my name is bel and i am real.")
"'my name is belphie, be not afraid'," sophie reminisced, amused.
("my name is belphie, be not afraid.")
sophie lowered her head. she found herself back at her seat, the peculiar red flowers having retracted to mere buds, as if acknowledging her brief absence. she sat like a spider in her web, now focused, attuned to every vibration, every whisper, every secret longing or dread. someone heard her and spoke back. she waded through thoughts until she found her dreamer again:
("where's iris?")
"the moon signs with iris's name," sophie pondered.
("and what of bel?")
she thought, "perhaps bel doesn't understand that some equations aren't meant to be solved... it's enough to marvel over them." she watched as bel kept her hands under the stream of water.
"some stains don't come out."
a sharp intrusion to the conversation - sophie gripped her cane as another voice chimed in :