basically...

“...A summer festival.

A museum...that was the newest attraction this place had to offer, then.  Prelati couldn’t say it interested her terribly.  Not only had she and her life partners lived through the much-lauded High Renaissance and seen the rise and fall of every European art period since, but...well, things had changed since her arrival.  Something was missing.  Someone was missing.  And it crushed her deeply as it did Cagliostro, of course.  She just chose to hide it where her partner had made no such attempt to mask her frustration and sorrow.

But this was not simply a place of spectacle.  It was a place of creation, where the residents could come and make their own art to display in the museum.  Perhaps it was the sort of outlet she needed at a time like this...if not to get her negative feelings out, then to put her positive ones out on display.

She worked in complete silence, the only noise from her immediate area being the swift etchings of pencil on canvas.  Not even the rubbing of an eraser to dismiss a stray mark- erasure would be unnecessary if this piece would be completed as she believed it would be, of course, but she found she was hardly making any stray marks.  Had she been a genius at this trade and never notice it?  Could her works have eclipsed Da Vinci’s before pretentious art historians even got to agonize over his most mediocre masterpiece’s facial expression?  Or...was it simply the effects of the “optimized” tools this place had provided them with, ensuring that her artistic vision would be preserved in its most perfect state?

It didn’t matter to her.  What mattered was turning to Cagliostro, who stood some feet away, and displaying the work.  It was a portrait of Saint-Germain, dressed in a beautiful Baroque gown, hair drawn back into the style she wore when her Faust Robe was active.  So well was her image captured that it was as if she stood modeling before her...even though this city had long since taken her from them.

Prelati’s words, the all too familiar matter-of-fact way she always speaks in, is oddly comforting. Even knowing the effect that this place and the nerve-wracking uncertainty that every day seems to bring with it has had on Saint-Germain, Cagliostro can only allow herself a level of relief and even happiness. Even if things are far from ideal, with all three of them reunited, she’s positive that they’ll be able to cope just fine. They always have. As cliché as it sounds, all they really need is each other. The rest has a tendency to follow from there. 

“You know,” Cagliostro starts, able to find it in her to crack a smile now, “You’re still as emotionally constipated as I remember. If Saint-Germain can be considered to have the lead role in that play, then you’re easily her understudy.” Really, Prelati isn’t so much emotionally constipated as she is reserved, but these lighthearted quips and jabs are how Cagliostro knows best to lighten the mood, and the mood could really use some lightening right about now, she thinks. “Isn’t it a good thing then, that our humble little trio has a gorgeous ray of sunshine like me as a part of it?”

She grins widely for a moment before her expression softens, a tender smile gracing her lips. “Really though, I’m so glad to have you back…  I missed you. Constipation and all.”

Prelati’s head raised a little bit when Cagliostro began her response, an expression of firm intent to listen on her face through every word.  She seems utterly unaffected by her comment...until that smile returns at the sight of her grin.  More than a smile, even- her chin draws downward, shoulders shuddering lightly as a quiet laugh slips from the normally utterly stoic alchemist’s lips.  It was the kind of reaction that only Cagliostro could bring out of her- Saint-Germain made her smile too, of course, but laughter...only this boastful, bratty, beautiful woman in front of her managed to draw out such a response with her attitude.

“It really did feel incomplete without you around,” she responded once the brief laughter had passed over her.  The smiling expression remained, where it had once faded away soon after.  Her and Saint-Germain alone were of course an incredible force, but...well, coarse as her words could be, Cagliostro was right.  The two’s emotions didn’t tend to flow very easily, and they could quickly get caught up in the mood of a dire situation they were thrust into.  Cagliostro provided a cavalier demeanor and playfulness that reminded them to live in the moment- to live for the company they kept, not simply the end goal they strove for.

Being around as long as she had, Prelati had familiarized herself with a whole host of ways to have fun.  The promise of a maze in this particular challenge sounded amusing, at the very least, and if what she’d heard about pixies and riddles was true, she was reasonably confident in her ability to deal with any of the obstacles that would be thrown at her, though she’d rather avoid them entirely if possible.

With a press of the button, a rushing sensation overcame her body, and, with a start, she found herself in the promised hedge maze.  It would be a good time to- oh.  It seemed she was already confronted by one of the maze’s denizens.  She turned her head toward them, unaware the other was a player just as she was.

Prelati knew nothing of this “attack” that the message sent out across the city had described- she had only just arrived a couple of months prior, and this event was obviously closer to a year ago.  She had spent so little time on this island compared to the centuries she had spent on Earth; of course she cared little for the location.  She cared even less for those who ran the whole show...she may have even felt hatred simmering beneath, if they were truly the ones who had taken her from them...who had snatched Saint-Germain away before they could all properly have their reunion...!

Yes, Prelati decidedly hated this place.  She hated the Stars.  She couldn’t give a damn about helping them defend themselves- she would sooner dance amidst the flames of their smoldering remains than bend a knee in their service.

But...she couldn’t just let that happen, could she?  Because even if an unknown oblivion had stolen Saint-Germain away...Cagliostro remained.  She and Cagliostro didn’t exactly get along.  She was always rolling her eyes at her flirtations, always shrugging off the snide jabs she came back with in response, always disagreeing with whatever impulsive decision she had thought to come make, always butting heads in some way, shape, or form...but never questioning her profound, everlasting love for her.  It was the same love that had bound the two to Saint-Germain, and even if their central pillar, the object of their utmost devotion was gone, the need to ensure the other’s protection went without saying.

Until the pair had more of their capabilities restored, what choice was there but to comply- to aid those who had some control of the situation and hope that the decadent prison they called a “home” would be reinforced enough to keep their beloved surviving?

It was this begrudging resolution that led both to the “quest terminal” the Stars had set up.  Doing another’s bidding left a bitter taste in Prelati’s mouth- their time in the Lodgemaster’s presence came to mind- but they’d managed to find one that seemed interesting enough.  They were to use a series of valves and pressure plates to route steam through an abandoned facility.  The automatons poised to stop any they spotted sneaking around would be a problem, though.  Cagliostro had of course thought to cheat the system by flying over them right from the start...but Prelati merely stood for a few moments before her turquoise-haired wife was suddenly warped back to where she had been seconds before.

Shame is an emotion that could be said to be foreign to the scantily clad, outspoken, oftentimes blunt Cagliostro. And yet, hearing Prelati’s voice, actually seeing her in the midst of the throng, it’s all she can feel. She had been spirited away to and then from this place before she even realized it, all by no fault of her own. Regardless, she feels responsible. Saint-Germain had cried in her arms. Finally able to let down her walls, she had shared her pain with Cagliostro and Cagliostro had promised that she would never leave her alone like that again.

But then she did.

Did Saint-Germain cry in Prelati’s arms afterwards, Cagliostro wonders? No… No, surely not. Prelati has always been more practical than that. She has her own ways of helping their mutual wife through her emotional constipation. But Saint-Germain must have been devastated nonetheless, and it was Prelati who was there to help pick up the pieces.

Now, Cagliostro stands, maintaining eye contact with Prelati. In its own way, her unwillingness to look away is an expression of her philosophy to always be true to herself; she’s taking responsibility. She’s not going to run or hide.

“Have I ever hid from either of you?” she utters softly with a sad smile, trusting that even surrounded by the bustle around them, her words would make it to the other. She sighs, then a little louder, clarifies, “I was taken away. Here one moment, gone the next. Poof…”

It hurts to think about.

“How have you been? It's… been a while, right?”

Cagliostro knows it has.

“And…”

She realizes that she could so easily disappear again, at any time.

“…”

Finally, she turns her gaze downwards, only for a moment. Then she’s looking into Prelati’s eyes again. It’s a look of heartbreak and of apologies she doesn’t know if they could ever be adequate. Apologies that are unnecessary, yet vital.

“How’s Saint-Germain…?”

The volume of her voice softens again.

She can’t stop thinking about it. The idea that she could be snatched away again. That any of them could be stolen from the other two, or—worse yet—that two of them could end up leaving the last all alone…

… It scares her.

Prelati holds her ground, utterly still as she listens intently to every word, watches every twitch of the other’s form.  Where she was often reserved, monotone, Cagliostro was nearly the polar opposite.  She wore her feelings completely bare, lived with her heart out in the open by way of that promise she made long ago, to abandon her life of deception and be true to who she was, what she felt.

And Prelati would always know that she was holding to that vow.  Between the two and their third- the one who had brought them together centuries ago- they knew each other as intimately as they knew themselves; their souls shared a bond forged over time most humans could never even dream of having with the people they loved.

Whatever they felt, the other two would notice.

The shame, the regret Cagliostro felt...it sunk to unfathomable depths, plummeting into an abyss with her heart in tow, clenched in an inescapable grip that dug in deep.  She would never have abandoned Saint-Germain of her own accord, of course not.  

Neither of them would have.  Nor would she, them.

When she speaks again, her tone is soft and low as before, but the uncertainty, the tremble of disbelief and pent-up frustration with her, has slipped away.

“...This place has taken its toll on her.  I can tell, she worries about losing me like she did you.  I did what I could to comfort her, but I knew that it was essentially futile.  With all of us victims of cruel whimsy, I could only treat her worries, not cure her of them.”

She would worry about losing Cagliostro again, too.  She would do all she could to not afford herself happiness in their complete reunion, as it was merely a setup for devastation when they would ever be split apart once more.

Her eyes open to meet the pair opposite hers.

The city had no shortage of colorful characters, that was for sure.  It had gotten to the point where the extraordinary had all blurred together, and the mundane almost seemed to stick out more to Prelati.  She would sooner notice someone keeping to themselves, slipping through a crowd unnoticed, than she would a gaudily-dressed superhero flying overhead, laughing and proclaiming their vow of nobility to the adoring crowd below.

But those deep pink eyes...it was like she had been drawn right to them, as if they’d locked with her own before she even noticed the unmistakable turquoise hair and revealing attire of the woman they belonged to.

Out of all the other citizens who walked the boardwalk that day, she would only notice Cagliostro.  Her other wife, the one she’d heard was lost before she even arrived...she could never be certain she would ever see her again.  This place worked in such mysterious, frustrating ways...not since she had arrived had it given her such a blessing.

“...Saint-Germain told me you disappeared,” she spoke in a low, trembling tone.  How far apart were they?  A few meters?  Inches?  She was so disoriented, it was as if depth perception itself had melted away.  But she would be heard.  She had to be.  “That you were taken away from her, just before I arrived here.  The look in her eyes when she said that...”  Her arms tightened around the frog plush she was so rarely seen without.

“Ow!!!!”

It is in this moment that Saint-Germain realizes: either she’s not dreaming, or her dreams have decided to be very cruel. She puts a hand to her cheek, frowning. “Next time we have to battle someone, you should just do that.”

“This place took away my alchemy.  I would basically have no other options at this point.”

“That’s the thing, Prelati. My mind is so worn and miserable at this point that it’s tormenting me by acting as if you could appear after Cagliostro vanished. It’s all a sick game being played by my psyche. I’ve had this dream the past five nights.” (Is she being overdramatic? Well, she does think it’s a dream.)

“So I need you to slap me as hard as you can.”

“Life has really been that hard on you, then.  Very well...I will wake you up from the miserable dream you’ve been living.”

“I need you to slap me as hard as you can so I can wake up, because I do not want to spend too long in a happy dream.”

“...If this were a dream, we would meet somewhere we could be more free, and it wouldn’t just be you and I.  This is more like a prison with warm, comfortable light shining through the window.