Chapter Text
"Did you hear Arlecchino?" Signora's cold voice resonates in my ear like a distant whisper, but it brings me back to the reality of the moment.
"Yes, I heard," the words came out automatically.
"Well..." she hesitated to speak, almost as if choosing the right words, a notable characteristic of hers. "Come quickly and don't forget to pick up the flowers... And... I love you, okay?"
If it were any other day or moment, her "I love you" would have been forced or even a way to provoke me. But this was not the case; it was a genuine and comforting "I love you."
"I love you too... sister."
I hung up the call.
The only sound inside the tattoo studio was a slow and melancholic Rock played by the up-and-coming musician Xinyan. Despite being Rock, the music was laden with emotions, as if trying to express something that cannot be described with a single word.
Xinyan's voice was like that of a beautiful and dominant lover who knows how to drive you to madness and the temptation of an unforgivable sin, but also knows how to choose the right words to make you forget the pain of the act you committed.
"Never disappear, never disappear, never disappear..." It was the final refrain of the song. Xinyan's calm voice was fading, along with the beats of the music.
My heart beat to the rhythm of the music, but as the song approached its end, my heart started pounding faster against my chest.
"She can't be dead, that's impossible. This must be some stupid, well-planned joke by Scaramouche and Tartaglia. Yes, it must be," I said, my legs trembling as I walked, managing to sit in one of the tattoo chairs.
The music abruptly cuts off. My breathing suddenly becomes erratic, almost visible, as it escapes heavily from my lungs.
"That damn old woman!" I squeezed my phone with such force that the screen cracked.
But that wasn't enough to ease the anger and pain. So, as the flames of hatred reignited in my chest, I hurled the phone at the studio's television.
The next song, about to play, was interrupted by the noise and shattering glass, along with the loud thud of the television hitting the floor. It would certainly come at a high cost later, but that idea didn't even cross my mind in that moment.
"How dare you die, you damn old woman?" It was all I managed to shout before the salty taste of tears reached my mouth.
Tears streamed down endlessly. It has been years, many years, since I shed a single tear. It feels like I'm shedding all the tears of those years at once.
Time passed.
How much time has passed? I don't know, as someone smashed the damn phone that had the time on it around here.
I took out my cigarette case and lighter from my pants pocket, both adorned with an embossed snowflake design. Damn it, they were also a gift from her.
Slowly, with trembling fingers, I brought a cigarette to my mouth. It was my only cigarette of the day.
Certain things are not natural in life, and one of those abnormal things is receiving the call that your mother has died. Especially when you're just a twenty-four-year-old piece of shit.
Or the fact that your mother died without seeing her long-awaited and desired grandchild, despite having eleven children. It feels like a damn irony of fate.
After finishing the cigarette, I got up and started closing the studio.
Before reaching the flower shop, I stopped at a random store and bought a pack of cigarettes to replenish my cigarette case. Fuck medical recommendations. Additionally, I purchased a bottle of vodka that seductively caught my eye.
What kind of funeral home asks the client to pick up the flowers for their own mother's funeral, damn it?
I slammed the car door shut without caring if it would break. I didn't even glance at the flower shop and simply walked in. I had to restrain myself from opening the door with my foot.
The old woman loved flowers and often compared them to a marriage. She used to say that taking care of a flower, much like taking care of a marriage, was hard, exhausting work, often ungrateful. After all, there was no exact reward for that care, as both the beauty of the loved one and the flower would fade, and of course, both the flower and the person would eventually die. Despite her speeches, she remained married for years.
I approached the wooden counter, where a few white flowers rested, contrasting beautifully with the dark wood. I also noticed a stack of tarot cards beside a metal bell.
Due to an intrusive thought that popped into my mind, I picked a card from the stack. It depicted an old man holding a lantern in one hand and a staff in the other. He resembled a shepherd or something similar.
"Good afternoon, what can I do for you today?" My focus shifted from the card to the person standing before me.
She was a short girl with golden hair. A pair of white flowers were pinned in her hair, and two light blue feathers were fixed to her left ear. On any other day, I would probably find her beautiful and adorable. I might even flirt with her. But today is not a normal day.
The smile on her small, attention-grabbing lips was making me nauseous, and the way she seemed to radiate, or whatever it was, personally offended my eyes. I took the deepest breath I could manage and said,
"I've come to pick up the flowers from Catedral Funeral Home," I said, trying to make my voice sound as compassionate and calm as possible.
However, I must have failed miserably, as she trembled like a frightened little creature.
"I'm sorry, but the flowers you requested haven't arrived yet," she tried not to stumble over her words, but her attempt to appear confident only irritated me further. "However, we can offer other flowers that might please your client."
"What's your name, little girl?"
She seemed taken aback by my question. I noticed her hands hiding behind her back, as if trying not to show any weakness or nervousness.
"Lumine, ma'am," she replied.
"Great, Lumine. I'm not from that damn funeral home, got it?" I asked, my open hand hitting the counter without me realizing it. "I'm the client who wants the flowers, so move your damn legs and bring me whatever flower crap you have, capiche?"
She froze. Her entire small body trembled as if she had been jolted. Sweat formed on her forehead, and a solitary tear rolled down her left eye. It was as if I had broken something inside her, or maybe her favorite toy, considering she's quite young. All of this only fueled the flames within me even more intensely.
This time, I purposefully slammed my closed fist against the counter. The loud thud made her startle.
"Capiche?" I repeated, my voice sounding threatening.
"Capiche," she replied, swallowing back the tears and sobs trapped in her diaphragm.
"Well, hurry up then. You've wasted enough of my time, haven't you?"
"Yes, ma'am," she answered before disappearing from my sight.
In the end, the girl was quite quick, and I managed to leave on time without being late.
However, the floral wreath she handed me was a tasteless prank regarding my mother. There wasn't a single flower she liked in it. If I hadn't been in such a hurry, I would have made her swallow the entire wreath.
I parked my car among the others in the cemetery parking lot. Everyone had already arrived. Before getting out, I took a sip of vodka and lit another cigarette. That made four, the limit that an ex-smoker should smoke after years without a puff, I suppose.
I walked through the cemetery pathway, carrying the floral wreath in my hands. Due to the earlier cigarette, the fiery mixture of anger, anxiety, and sadness in my body had subsided. This allowed me to realize just how strange this place was.
The first thing that caught my attention were the immaculate tombstones and statues of people, some of them even had wings on their backs. They were all sculpted in exaggerated and overly dramatic poses, not to my taste at all. A slight chill ran down my spine as one statue seemed to stare deep into my eyes, almost reaching the depths where my soul should be.
Which of my damn siblings chose this place? Wait... it was only when I finished climbing a staircase that led to the top of a low hill that I remembered an important, very important detail.
My mother didn't want to be buried, but rather cremated, just like everyone who came before her and as Teyvat tradition dictates. Nothing was supposed to be buried, in fact. Now I realize that this cursed cemetery is a desecration of the traditions my mother taught me when I was still a child.
But before the anger could explode within me again, sadness struck first.
On a small, inadequate altar lay my mother's body.
Surrounding her plain, white coffin were my other ten siblings. They stood motionless, not a single muscle moving. Their faces were a mix of apathy and denial. There were other people, the closest relatives, so to speak, and of course, the bodyguards.
To my surprise and complete displeasure, one of them stopped me as I approached.
"Finally, you've arrived, girl. Hand over the flowers and get out of here," said the bodyguard, with the typical tone of pride and threat that one should have.
However, I must admit that he has the perfect core to be a good bodyguard. Tall, just as tall as me, a bloodthirsty gaze, and a cigarette breath that makes anyone wish for death when they get close. But he also has the flaw of not being very smart.
For a moment, I almost thought about throwing the flower crown at him, since they weren't my mother's favorites. But I am calmer now, and... also too exhausted to do that. All I want is to see my mother one last time before she becomes just a memory in my mind.
He stared at me with disdain and tried to take the crown from my hands, but he only managed to move a few centimeters before I held it as if it were the most important thing in my life.
"Nikolay," the cold and soothing voice of Signora made us stop the scene we were about to create. "Don't be foolish. She is family and also my sister."
Neither Nikolay nor I saw her approach. Despite being an imposing and monumental figure, Signora is someone who can go unnoticed when she wants and needs to.
Both of us looked at her and also at her one good eye. There was a mixture of anger and anguish in her gaze, along with redness and swelling. And of course, there was also a plea for respect there, all expressed in a single look. She could have easily been an actress if she wanted to, but no, she chose to follow the family path for her own reasons.
I swallowed hard. If she's holding herself like this, the others must be completely devastated and on the verge of exploding, or even worse.
Nikolay immediately lowered his head; he knew he shouldn't speak. His next action was to step aside and let Signora take me with her, but I could hear him mutter a quiet apology for his stupid act.
Signora's hand remained on my shoulder until we reached the altar of the coffin, a demonstration that she was with me along the way, not just at the end of my own mourning. After all, I would have to go through the final stage alone. Actually, I think we'll all go through it together, but the ending will be different for each of us.
I placed the wreath on the top of the coffin, where my mother's head lay.
Finally, my eyes faced reality. It wasn't a joke, not by any means. Tartaglia and Scaramouche had a heavy and tired look that echoed through the others. I am literally the last one to face the truth, as always. Tsaritsa was dead. My mother was dead.
Her pale face, marked with wrinkles and lines of expression, was... serene and sweet, as if her last seconds had been calm and happy.
She died happy and content. It seems that was what she wanted to convey with that expression, but was it really so?
My hand rose, almost touching her, but I quickly lowered it back down.
To touch would only cause more pain; that would have been her response.
With my arrival, the burial began. Honestly, it's a good thing my mother couldn't see her body being buried and all the charade that was the burial ceremony. She would have said that it was an offense to the land we live on.