The profound silence that had followed the Binding of Fates settled into a new, resonant hum within Eleonoré. Days began to blur into a cycle of unexpected, deeply unsettling physical shifts. Her ethereal form, once impervious, now experienced the jarring, mundane realities of gestation. The subtle, internal reordering deepened the ethereal glow that consistently emanated from her, but it came at a cost. Her light, once a pure, singular radiance, now held a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer of void, a paradox woven into her very essence, and the physical world reacted to this impossible union within her. The Luminarian priests, observing from a respectful distance, noted the shift in her aura, recording it as a "cosmic resonance," a profound alteration of her signature, yet they could offer no remedies for her earthly discomforts.
Eleonoré now found herself battling a constant, insidious nausea. It was not the gentle unease of a human, but a cosmic sickness, a profound rejection by her very being of the alien presence taking root. The very air of Luminaria, once soothing, now sometimes tasted metallic and acrid in her mouth. Mornings were particularly brutal. She would often find herself hunched over a basin, her body wracked by dry heaves, or the sudden, violent expulsion of pure, shimmering light, a symptom as beautiful as it was agonizing. Her senses, once acutely attuned to cosmic currents, now often felt overwhelmed, a cacophony of distant stars' births and nebulae's deaths amplified to a deafening roar. The gentle, rhythmic ripples of light within her, sometimes accompanied by the faint, almost imperceptible static pulses, now often coincided with waves of dizziness and a profound, bone-deep fatigue that no amount of rest could alleviate. These pulses would occasionally cause small, inanimate objects near her to vibrate with a low hum, or the ambient light in the room to flicker momentarily, reflecting her internal turmoil. It brought not just discomfort, but a profound, alienating struggle against her own powerful nature.
"This is... unexpected," Eleonoré murmured one morning, her voice strained, as she pushed away a plate of untouched Luminarian bread. The scent, usually mild, now turned her stomach. Augustus, seated across from her, merely observed, his eyes unblinkingly fixed on her.
"It's a consequence of the pact," he stated, his voice calm and even. "Such things often cause symptoms."
Eleonoré shot him a glare, a flicker of divine light in her eyes. "Symptoms that feel like my very essence is being wrung out and then put back together incorrectly," she retorted, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Do you have any useful observations, or just cosmic pronouncements?"
Augustus considered this, a rare, almost imperceptible tilt of his head. "Perhaps a colder environment would help. Or a distraction."
Eleonoré let out a short, humorless laugh, a sound thin with exhaustion. "Right. Because that's practical. I'm not a void-beast, August. I still need to exist."
Aurené, oblivious to the cosmic intricacies, simply sensed the profound change in her mother. She would press her small hands against Eleonoré's side, drawn to the unique, ethereal warmth that now radiated, sometimes pulling away with a puzzled frown when a wave of cosmic sickness made Eleonoré flinch. Her innocent laughter, a bright chime in their quiet chambers, seemed to resonate with the internal glow, sometimes causing it to subtly intensify. She would often mimic the faint, rhythmic rippling sounds she sensed, a soft, wordless hum that mirrored the profound phenomenon within Eleonoré.
One afternoon, the quiet of their meal was broken by the familiar tension of Eleonoré's discomfort. "Are you even listening, August?" Eleonoré snapped, pushing her plate away with a sigh of exasperation. "This isn't just 'symptoms.' It's a constant drain."
Augustus, who had been observing a faint shimmer in the air near the window, turned his gaze to her, his expression unreadable. "My attention is on the anomalies," he replied, his tone even.
Aurené, seated between them, had been quietly observing their exchange. Her innocent eyes, however, were not on her parents' faces, but fixed with intense fascination on the scar that marked Augustus's face across his right eye – a subtle echo of his own singularity. A spark of pure, unadulterated glee lit up her small face. Her hands began to twitch, mimicking an unseen compression, and then, with a sudden, joyful shout,
'SING-GU-LA!'
escaped her lips.
In that same instant of pure, unbridled excitement, Aurené, still captivated by her imitation, picked up a spoonful of pureed Luminarian fruit, its vibrant glow a stark contrast to the void she was mimicking. With a sudden, uncoordinated flick of her wrist, the spoon launched its contents directly towards Eleonoré. The glowing puree splattered across Eleonoré's cheek, a sticky, sweet mess. Eleonoré blinked, the faint smile vanishing, replaced by a look that was less amusement and more a profound, exasperated glare. Her gaze flickered from the fruit-splattered wall to August, who, startled from his thoughts, merely offered a silent, uncomprehending blink.
"Did you see that?" Eleonoré demanded, wiping the glowing fruit from her face with the back of her hand, her voice now laced with a fresh, furious edge of exasperation. "Your... influence... seems to make things fly now! And her first complex word is about your cosmic anomaly, not anything useful!"
Augustus's brow furrowed, a rare display of confusion. "I did not influence its trajectory," he stated, his tone unwavering. "It was an uncoordinated movement."
"An uncoordinated movement that you seem to have inspired with your weird energy!" Eleonoré retorted, gesturing vaguely at him. The cosmic weight of her situation, combined with this mundane, sticky assault and her pervasive nausea, made her irritation flare to a new peak. "August," she said, her voice low and strained, "could you perhaps... contain your influence? Or at least, contain her?" The unspoken accusation hung in the air, a testament to the unique stresses of their new, unfolding reality.
The subtle omens continued, now more frequent and pronounced. The mirrors in their chambers no longer just fogged; they would occasionally show fleeting, impossible reflections – glimpses of star-strewn voids or ancient, forgotten constellations. The edges of paper would not just burn, but sometimes subtly shift their molecular structure, becoming momentarily translucent or crystalline. And Luminaria's holy fountain, in Eleonoré's presence, would not just ripple counterclockwise, but sometimes swirl with faint, rainbow-hued luminescence, a brief, beautiful defiance of its pure, white light. These were not signs of illness, but of a profound, cosmic anomaly taking root, reshaping the very laws of reality around it, and Eleonoré's very being.