The twilight in Luminaria's sky settled, painting the world outside their chambers in hues of soft violet and deep blue. Inside, a quiet calm had settled too. Dolores was gently sleeping in her woven cradle, a faint light emanating from her, casting delicate shadows across the nearby wall. Aurené watched her little sister, a soft, worn toy clutched in her hand – a small, plush creature she intended to give Dolores when she woke. By a large, stained-glass window where her crib is, Eleonoré sat next to it, her fingers softly brushing through her own long hair, her voice a low, melodic hum of a familiar tune: "Where the Petals Sleep."
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Close your eyes, my flower, hush the stars above, The night won't harm you, you're wrapped in love. The wind may whisper, the dark may roam, But you're always safe where the petals call home.
Drift where the river forgets its name, Where the sky is quiet, and none feel pain. If the light fades slow, and the world feels deep— Remember, my darling, that's just where the petals sleep.
Once I lost you, in silence and flame, But love carves your shape in every name. Your laugh still lingers in candle's gleam, Even in sorrow, you danced through my dream.
If you forget me, I'll find you still, Through shattered time or broken will. For even if night takes what's mine to keep, I'll sing you home, where the petals sleep...
Drift where the echoes remember the tune, Beneath the hush of the crescent moon. Though the dawn may rise, and the stars all weep— I'll hold you again... Where the petals sleep.
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The family shared a small, peaceful evening together. No echoes of cosmic war, no distant hum of politics dared to intrude upon this moment. Augustus was present, sitting on the polished floor beside Aurené. With thick crayons spread before her, Aurené worked on a small drawing for Dolores, creating a picture of her whole family. She carefully outlined a simple house, then drew three figures within it – "mama," "papa," and "bibi," scrawled in childish letters beneath her own stick figure. Augustus watched over her, his large, usually stern hands resting near, offering quiet guidance, his rare smiles subtle, yet warm.
Just then, a single petal, delicate and shimmering, drifted into the room through an open window, carried on a gentle breeze. It was from a cosmic flower, unseen, but its presence was undeniable. Aurené, seeing it land softly on the floor, carefully picked it up and placed it next to Dolores in the cradle. Eleonoré, noticing the petal, gently wrapped it in a piece of soft cloth and, with a silent, almost deliberate motion, tucked it into a small, empty drawing bag that lay beside the cradle – the very bag Dolores would carry many years later.
Eleonoré moved to sit by Augustus, their shoulders almost touching. They watched their children, their faces softened by the tranquil glow.
"The sky is calm," Augustus murmured, his gaze fixed on the expanse beyond the window. "It's rare."
Eleonoré leaned her head slightly against his arm. "Then let it stay, even if only for a little while."
Aurené, still by the cradle, leaned in close to Dolores, whispering softly. "When you wake up, I'll show you the fishes."
The chapter ended with all four together. Aurené eventually drifted to sleep beside the cradle, her small hand resting near her sister. Eleonoré held them both, a silent guardian. Augustus remained by the open window, his gaze on the countless stars, standing guard over the fragile peace within. They did not know it then, but that night would linger in their memories like the last warm breath before a long, cold hush.