Writing sideblog

If someone ever asked Klavier about his earliest memory, or about the reason why he decided to become a musician, he would tell them about the first time he saw Kristoph performing during a contest organized by his music academy.

He would start describing the way Kristoph carried himself with such elegance to the center of the stage, dressed in his finest suit with a violin in his hand; or the way his perfectly-curled hair shone under the warm glow of the auditorium’s spotlight. He would then mention the way Kristoph’s fingers pulled at the strings of both the violin and the hearts of those present as if it was second nature to him, sliding the bow with such effortlessness that it almost looked like an extension of himself.

If he closed his eyes, he could hear again the round of cheers and applause that ensued after his brother’s performance. Klavier remembered meeting Kristoph’s eyes for a second, and then jumping from his seat and clapping as hard as he could until his hands hurt, thinking his brother was the coolest person ever as they both smiled at each other.

Klavier had only been four years old at the time, too young to have many cares in the world outside of trying to paint within the lines of his coloring book or learning how to read — much less to have any concept of fate whatsoever — but looking back on the moment when Kristoph received the prize that evening, Klavier could only say that even back then, he knew Kristoph was destined for greatness. He knew his name would one day be well-known to the whole world, and Klavier would get to brag to others about how great of a brother he had.

As a child, one of your favorite pastimes was to hear Kristoph reading tales to you before bed. He had a book about Greek mythology, and every night, he read one of the stories to you — from Prometheus stealing the fire from the gods, to Pandora opening her box and unleashing all kinds of horrors onto mankind, to Icarus flying too close to the Sun and falling to his demise, to Orpheus walking through the underworld to convince Hades to bring Eurydice back to life, only to lose her when his fear made him turn back to check on her.

One night, after hearing Orpheus’ tale, you asked your brother, “Why did he turn back to see if Eurydice was still there?”

Your brother explained that it was human nature to be curious, to try to find the truth even when it could destroy you, just like Pandora had done when she opened her box. At the time, you had thought this was stupid. The truth was an impartial thing, something that was supposed to bring justice to the world when evil attempted to prevail — or so Kristoph used to said. From that description, it could cause you pain in the short term, sure, but could it really destroy you?

“But couldn’t Orpheus just trust that Hades had told him the truth and wait until it was safe to check?” you asked.

“Sometimes, no amount of trust will stop your curiosity. You have to see the truth for yourself, whether you are ready to face it or not,” Kristoph told you.

Back then, you figured it was probably that the tale was too old to be applied to modern times. From an outsider’s perspective, keeping on walking without listening to any outside influences and giving in to doubt seemed like the smartest decision. For you, it was always easier to keep your eyes in what lay ahead, leaving the pain behind without looking back.

(In fact, following your courtroom debut, you walked for seven long years, refusing to look back to see the real truth of that day — because Kristoph could have never betrayed you, not when the voice that had supposedly lied to you was the same one that used to read you to sleep every night.)

But now that Kristoph’s true nature has been revealed in court, you finally understand.

You could have chosen to walk towards the future and ignore the fact that your brother knew way too much for someone who was allegedly uninvolved with the forgery seven years ago. You could have chosen to keep moving forward, not looking back at all the signs that painted him as guilty, and leave the proverbial underworld with Kristoph’s innocence intact.

Being a Gavin is learning to aspire to perfection.

Kristoph steps down from the stage, looking proud at his end-of-year performance. Klavier only wants to tell him how cool he looked on stage, but their parents are not impressed, as usual.

“What happened at the end, Kristoph?” their father says the moment he’s within earshot.

Kristoph seems taken aback by this. “Why, what’s wrong…?”

“Come on, honey, we know you can do better than you did up there.” Their mother sighs. “What was that poor attempt at a glissando?”

Any happiness Kristoph had been showing is gone in a second.

Klavier huffs. He doesn’t remember the last time their parents praised either of them. Do they even care about them, or just their achievements?

“I thought you looked pretty cool…” he says, in hopes that it will cheer Kristoph up.

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, you know.” He smiles sadly, ruffling Klavier’s hair. “They’re right, I could have done better.”

Klavier protests, trying to change his brother’s mind a few times, but Kristoph rejects all his praises while fighting back tears.

Because apparently, perfection is the only thing that will make you worthy of love.

Being a Gavin is learning to adapt.

It’s been almost two months since Kristoph had to get surgery in his hand. The doctors said his chances at fully recovering were low, so he has decided to switch his career aspirations towards becoming a lawyer, instead of a violinist.

He’s sitting beside Klavier in the living room, taking notes from his new law books in silence while Klavier does his homework. All of a sudden, Kristoph lets go of the pen and holds his hand with a pained expression. The cast was removed two weeks ago, but Klavier can still see a dark scar from the surgery.

His brother begrudgingly switches the pen to his other hand and starts writing again, inhaling and exhaling slowly. His eye twitches slightly, but Klavier has no idea if it’s out of frustration or pain — or maybe both.

“Don’t worry about me,” Kristoph tells him. “I’ll be fine.”

Klavier doesn’t say anything. He doubts he can find a way to ease the pain in Kristoph’s heart.

Because in this world, learning to adapt is a need, when all you have spent your whole life building can come crumbling down in the span of a second.

Being a Gavin is learning to let go.

Klavier stands in front of the thirteenth confinement cell in the local prison, holding onto the bars for support.

“Was it worth it, Kristoph?” He gulps, fighting back the tears that are threatening to spill out any second from now. “Was your pride really worth two— no, three lives?”

Kristoph stares at him in silence from his chair inside the cell. He doesn’t seem to care about the fact that he’s murdered two people and attempted to get a third one poisoned. But he doesn’t seem happy, either. Klavier wonders if he has just grown numb to everything at this point.

“My reputation as a defense attorney was all I had,” he says in the end. “You’re a celebrity, you should understand my reasoning.”

“Nothing will ever justify what you did.”

“I know. Just don’t make the same mistakes I made, alright?”

“You don’t need to tell me.”

Slowly, Klavier lets go of the iron bars separating Kristoph from the rest of the world and leaves.

“We’re here,” Dr. Quatlane said.

Melina stopped in her tracks to marvel at the cave extending in front of them. The walls were covered from top to bottom with Azran symbols, partially obscured from Melina’s position by huge white stalagmites that rose up to the ceiling of the cave. And right in the middle of it, a rectangular black altar, surrounded by some greenish blue crystals unlike anything Melina had seen before.

“Dr. Quatlane, do you think those Azran ruins will really be able to bring Janice back?”

“Well, I hope so, at least.”

Melina gulped. So even after all that research and avoiding so many traps on their way there, all their effort could still be for nothing.

Melina had given up on her music studies to help Dr. Quatlane with his archaeological investigations, just as his daughter Janice had wanted to do.

Janice, her best friend since childhood. Janice, who always had a warm smile on her face for Melina, even after she had lost her own mother. Janice, who had always encouraged Melina to follow her dream to become an opera singer, no matter how hard it would be to accomplish it.

Janice, who had been taken from this world way too soon, way before Melina could realize her feelings for her.

The Azran were known to have had technology far beyond what current humanity could create, with some authors suggesting they had tools to cure all kinds of illnesses or even revert death. Dr. Quatlane and Melina had been interested in the latter option, in hopes of finding a way to bring Dr. Quatlane’s daughter back after her untimely death. According to their investigations, the Realm of Resurrection, a set of ruins located near the snowy town of Froenborg that were believed to be around one million years old, could be the key to bringing Janice back from the dead.

And now, those ruins were mere steps ahead from Melina. Could they really hold the power to bring someone back to life…?

Dr. Quatlane examined the writing on the walls as he scratched his chin. “I think those are instructions for the resurrection ritual.”

“What do they say?”

“I don’t recognize all the words, but from what I can read, I believe we’re supposed to put something that belonged to Janice on the altar and rearrange the phosphophyllite crystals in a specific configuration.”

Melina took the hair tie she had wrapped around her wrist — Janice’s favorite hair tie, that she had lent to Melina shortly before her death and that Melina had never had the opportunity to return to her — and placed it on the altar. With Dr. Quatlane’s help, Melina started turning the crystals around until they reached their intended position.

After a bit of trial and error, the final crystal clicked into place, and the phosphophyllites started emanating an otherworldly glow that grew more and more intense with every second that passed, to the point where Melina had to close her eyes to avoid being blinded by the light.

The glow eventually subsided, and on top of the altar…

“Janice!”

Indeed, Janice seemed to have miraculously appeared on top of the altar, looking around in confusion. Dr. Quatlane ran towards his daughter, pulling her into an embrace before Janice could even say a word.

“Dad…? Where are we…?”

Dr. Quatlane whispered what Melina believed was probably a brief explanation of everything that had happened in the previous months, from her death, to their investigation of the Azran’s Realm of Resurrection.

“I… I see.” She hugged him back with a smile. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

Melina stood there, watching the scene unfold in silence with tears in her eyes — as much as she had missed Janice, she didn’t want to intrude in such an emotional family reunion, but after what felt like an eternity, Janice let go of her father and turned around to finally look at Melina.

“Melina…?”

“Janice…?”

Melina took a tentative step in her direction, then another. Janice was standing in front of her, almost within her reach — she was sure that if she extended her hand, she would be able to grasp the illusion in front of her.

“Melina!”

Janice ran to her, jumping into Melina’s arms. Melina barely had time to react to avoid falling to the ground, but she managed to wrap her arms around Janice, spinning around as she held her close with a chuckle, perhaps fearing she would disappear again if she dared let go just for a second.

But no, no matter how hard Melina pinched her own hand to wake up from such a beautifully cruel dream, Janice stayed in her arms. She was here. She was alive. It wasn’t an illusion; she was real.

“You’re back…!” She took a step back to look into her eyes, caressing her face as she connected each and every one of her barely noticeable freckles, as if tracing the guidelines of the constellations in a celestial map. “You’re here…!” she said, her voice cracking a bit as she spoke.

Janice smiled gently. “I’m here.”

She was just as Melina remembered her — the twinkling in her eyes and the dimples on her cheeks as she smiled; the little scar covered by her fringe from the time she had hit her head on a cave while spelunking with her father as a teenager; that particularly rebellious strand of fiery red hair in her ponytail that always refused to curl the same way as the rest of her hair, no matter how hard Janice tried to style it. It was Janice, down to the smallest detail — smiling, beautiful, alive.

Melina choked back a sob as she buried her face in the crook of Janice’s neck, taking in the scent of her lavender perfume and listening to her gentle breathing.