It was quiet here, and in its own way graceful: rows of people sat on chairs. Each was dressed in a black suit or dress – expensive and beautiful. A place full of beauty, professionalism, and refined etiquette. They were dressed this way not because they were wealthy, but because it was required – a simple etiquette understood by all.
And there was a spectacle – beautiful, majestic, soul-captivating. The orchestra played. People who had dedicated themselves to music, with their instruments: violins, drums, trumpets, double basses, coiled French horns, clarinets, flutes. The centerpiece was the piano a magnificent creation, a grand instrument, a true symbol of the scene.
At the head stood the conductor. He ruled over this harmony, raising and lowering his baton, controlling sound and tone. He amplified it when needed and softened it at the right moments, to let the audience feel awe. The music was like a wave – not one that mindlessly crashes against rocks, but one subdued to man. It flowed through the hall, touching every heart, and though each person felt it differently, they all loved it.
There was not a single one in the hall who was not captivated by the performance. Applause, words of joy, flowers – it all poured forth like a river. The orchestra was famous: like bards of the Middle Ages, they toured cities and countries. People knew that before them stood those who had devoted their lives to music, and they welcomed them with gratitude. Some gifted flowers to the conductor, others to familiar musicians. Praise was for all, and the orchestra accepted it warmly. For them, this was everything – to see joy in others' faces. It was the reason they had set out on their journey.
Joy was also with one of the ladies leaving the hall. Her soul was filled with calm. It had been a magnificent moment, and she cherished every second of it. She sincerely thanked the performers, and now she walked with her head held high – such a moment could not be disturbed by anything dreadful.
Nearby stood an establishment for feasting a restaurant. Not the most expensive, not the simplest, but one of the finer ones in the city. It had its reputation in certain circles and the lady was part of those circles. Dressed in a red gown, with a bracelet, earrings, and her brightest adornment her hair. Curled locks fell down, resembling pasta… or perhaps a drill. It was amusing, heh, and she thought so herself. Yet even so, she remained beautiful. Brown eyes, black hair, skin – neither tanned nor pale, simply natural. Outwardly, she was ordinary. Ordinary in looks and character. But not in her passions.
She loved art
She loved it, even if she did not understand everything. Just as a person cannot grasp all of culture, only approach its edge. She knew paintings, symphonies, works of craftsmanship, much from past centuries of painting and writing. Not all of it – only what interested her. Perhaps this was not true love of art… but something very close. So people told her, and since they saw it that way – she did not object. As long as she enjoyed it – that was enough.
Her dish had now arrived. One could say it was her own beefsteak. By appearance, not a dish for a lady, but she did not care. What mattered was the taste. Art exists in food too, does it not? To eat what one enjoys, and to be able to cook –was that not remarkable? Besides, she knew the owner of the restaurant – they had studied together long ago. He had once been as cold as a fortress of emotions. Now he was different. He had a wife, a daughter, a son.
Looking at him, the lady understood: this was life. This was what feelings wereLooking at him, the lady understood: this was life. This was what feelings were.
Perhaps that too was a kind of art. For the paintings she loved depicted many things: from despair to hope, from the fear of death to its acceptance with dignity. They were not always about emotions, but they were always about people. At least, the people she knew and loved.
And now, savoring her food, she recalled other things. Alongside the writings, paintings, food, and feelings she loved – there was also history. Many great things were born in centuries when wars raged, when death and life lived side by side. Times of strife and of flourishing. Empires that vanished into oblivion, though once they seemed invincible. Antiquity with its sculptures. The Dark Ages – with writings of God, of life, of the smallness of man. The Renaissance – the rebirth of the art she so loved. Eras that birthed masterpieces. Then came the Modern Age, and times created others, utterly different. Art, like history, now burned swiftly – not with fire that destroys, but with fire that became fuel for the future. And then the Contemporary Age the age of history where everything grew at breakneck speed, while human life, sorrow, war, fear, and hunger everything unnecessary for all lost value. And as bad as it seemed, war made life easier. That must be understood and accepted… for war is the engine of progress.
She did not know everything, but she lived in this world. Her eyes had run over countless books – from school texts to scholarly articles. And beyond that she loved clothing. As a woman, she valued beauty. Perhaps in that too, there was something beautiful in itself.
— Bliss, — she murmured, slicing her beefsteak and taking a careful bite. She had money – not much, not little, but enough for pleasure. She worked in a solid business: she sold electronic goods necessary and varied. She did not manufacture them herself that was too much but she sold them. She was the general manager of one of the company's branches. She drew up reports, managed budgets, planned, supervised employees. Important, necessary work.
By character – reliable. She did what was required, and was more of an agnostic than a believer. Life had shown her different things, and she had lived through an event that made her doubt faith. Though her parents were believers. Strict, but loving. Thus, not critical of her choices. She was strong in spirit, but not in body. A pragmatist. She wanted to succeed and she did. She became a general manager, though she began at the lowest rung. Surprising, but not entirely she had acquaintances in high places. A bitter truth. But since it helped why not? One must know the value of connections.
Over 25. And to ask her exact age – that would be impolite. Rude. She was unmarried, to her parents' regret. But so be it. Herself first, then others. Even if it was family. Selfish? Yes. But not entirely. She loved her kin and provided for them. She did not want children or a partner… because she was afraid. It was responsibility. And though she had achieved much… she was afraid. So she delayed. Strong in spirit but not to that degree.
Her life had taken shape. Good. Full of joy. And yet… for some reason, she felt unwell. Strange.
Perhaps she should close her eyes. Just for a second. Only for a second… nothing terrible would happen, it was only a moment. Nothing should change… after all, a moment cannot alter everything.
***
It suddenly became too fresh, far too much. The wind cut right through her. Had they turned on the air conditioning in the restaurant? It shouldn't have been that strong. And the surroundings had changed… as if she were outdoors. The maiden opened her eyes… and was greatly surprised – she was sitting in a forest. A dense one, where sunlight rarely pierced through the canopy, yet it was not dark, only shaded.
— Where am I? — Her voice was strangely calm for someone who had been ripped out of a restaurant and placed in a forest. No fear, no trembling, no confusion. Everything was steady, rational… and unnaturally clear. As though her mind had shed all needless thoughts and could now think without doubt. — I need to find a clearing, then signal the others. — A simple but precise plan. She moved on. She was still wearing the same dress, with no other belongings, since her things had been in her bag at the time of… hmm. Perhaps abduction. To kidnap someone in a restaurant without drawing attention – that takes skill.
Now she had to find a way out. She first tried to locate north by the moss, but it seemed to grow everywhere, not only on the trees. And north couldn't possibly be everywhere. Moss on the tree to the right, on the stone to the left, and even… hmm, that was some strange plant. A huge stalk. Such things don't usually grow in forests. Or do they? She wasn't a biologist or botanist, but she was certain — no. It was far too large, and at its tips were leaves like those of a flower. Some kind of mutant.
— Is it moving? — she asked herself when the stalk began to tremble. Too much, in her opinion. Then she looked up and saw… — Fangs? How? — It was an incomprehensible plant, alien to its very nature. How had it grown fangs? Was it carnivorous… or what? Either way, it didn't matter – she had to run, and quickly, before she became dinner for this greenery. — Wow, that was easy.
She ran swiftly, lightly, as though she were an athlete. A skilled one, judging by the ease with which she sprinted barefoot – her heels had flown off at once, leaving her bare feet to carry her through the gloomy forest, filled with… who knew what.
— Escaped, made it, — she said, glancing over herself. The dress was not meant for such activity, so part of her thigh was torn and soiled, now resembling… rags. Indeed. — I need to find a cave or start a fire. — She was still astonished at herself. Had she always been this way? Cold-blooded to the core? Perhaps… well, she couldn't recall anything now. Better to work while she was like this, otherwise she'd end up as some hysteric screaming in the woods and then she'd surely die.
First – a cave. And quickly, before night fell, or she'd see nothing but her own nose. So she began running again – carefully, to avoid sharp things, yet swiftly, to save time. Difficult, but possible. Especially with that strange clarity of mind – it truly helped. When she fell, she didn't panic, but acted: braced with her hands and rolled to distribute the impact. The dress suffered, of course, but her body was intact – and that was what mattered.
Hours passed. Or so it seemed to her. Time ran faster. But, as they say… with effort, anything can be found. And here it was – a small cave. Not so small she couldn't squeeze in, but too low to walk upright; she'd have to crawl.
— What a stench, — she muttered as a foul odor reached her. Rot. Something inside. An animal corpse? Or waste? Ugh… hopefully the former. She only said this casually, for she felt nothing inside. With confidence she went further in, squinting. At first she saw stones… unsurprising. What else would a cave hold?
Then she noticed scraps of fabric – small, white fragments. Hard to identify, dried and soiled, crumbling to dust before her eyes from age and decay. But it meant one thing – the smell came from a corpse. A simple fact. She felt neither warmth nor chill. Which was unsettling. Knowing she'd soon see a body wasn't pleasant, but she did not fear. Instead, she pressed deeper inside.
Thirdly, she found old bloodstains, or some other liquid. They had long since seeped into the stone, leaving a coarse brown color. Almost certainly blood… though not entirely sure.
And at last…
The lady was not afraid. Not at all. Indifferent, filled with cold and unnatural calm. As if even if an atomic bomb were hurled at her, she wouldn't raise an eyebrow.
There was a skeleton
Old. The bones were yellowed, some missing. A few lay scattered here and there. Remnants of clothing clung, but so ancient and frail it would tear at the lightest touch. As would the bones themselves. They seemed to remain standing by miracle alone, for at a glance, a mere breeze would reduce the figure to nothing but a barely-holding skull.
But that wasn't the important part. Yes, the skeleton was old, rotted. But the clothing was peculiar. A robe, covering the whole body, a monocle, and by the remnants of a hat, it must have been tall – like a wizard's. The body was that of an adult, though bald now. Still, even so, it was clear: here lay the bones of a grumpy old man. Yet the question remained.
Why such strange clothing? Surely not cosplay. The elderly don't do such things… and the maiden realized something was amiss. The logic was simple:
1] She had been transported in a second, without noise or resistance. Impossible. Absolutely.
2] In the forest was a monstrous plant. Such things don't exist. Yet here it was… and…
3] The skeleton's attire. Horrid, yet resembling that of a mage. Truly like Gandalf's robes from The Lord of the Rings. Which made it clear that…
— This is a dream. — A strange prophetic dream. She had to escape… first. She pressed her hand to her face and squeezed hard. The pain was real… but she did not wake. — Hm… not a dream.
Her calmness unsettled her. She was far too cold-blooded. Abnormally so. Horribly so. What was happening to her? She hadn't feared the plant, nor this corpse. Not even her own abduction troubled her. Had they pumped her full of tranquilizers, or what?
She had to survive… and then, she'd see. The corpse had clothing, old but usable for firewood. It would burn well. And there was a bag. A leather bag, well-made. Expensive, and well preserved, despite its owner's state. It even had metal fittings and stamped joins – very well done. Untarnished. Perhaps some kind of fine metal? Stainless steel, or something else?
Whatever it was, she took the bag and carefully opened it. The contents had not been preserved well, but inside were: yellowed papers, an inkwell, a strange vial with dried residue – leaving blue stains at the bottom. A brush and a quill – not a ballpoint pen, but sharp-ended. Rotten food and, most importantly… a book.
It was a source of information, which she immediately opened to read… but…
— The letters are strange. — Heavy ink strokes. Understandable, given how hard it was to write with such a quill. But what next? The lines and scrawls looked Latin, yet twisted like Arabic. And there wasn't much text… time had claimed much of it. Or perhaps… these were hieroglyphs, like Chinese or Japanese. Eastern, in any case.
This was bad… She knew none of these languages, so if she met other people, all she could do was scratch pictures in the dirt. And given her torn dress, they'd probably think she'd crawled out of the Stone Age. Pathetic. Still, if that was the case, she had to survive. And to survive – she needed strength and tools.
Tools could be made from stone and sticks. But they needed to be fastened somehow. With what? Perhaps with pieces of her dress. She would have to tear it and use the scraps to make a kind of rope, then create an axe… well, "axe" was a big word for it. But first, she had to find the right stone, and thankfully, she was in a cave.
There were plenty of stones here, though not the kind she needed. She had to smash large ones against each other, hoping for the right result… Hmm… She had enough strength to hold them. Impressive. And to swing them hard enough – as well. Had her body improved somehow? It didn't matter. She'd think about that later.
— Got it. — It might have been her lucky day, because the stone cracked just the way she needed. Sharp edges, but not so thin they'd shatter after one strike. Almost perfect. Now all she needed was a stick…
The maiden stepped out of the cave and began searching the forest, never forgetting the cave's location – it was too important for surviving the coming night.
— Too soft. And this one… nope, not sturdy. — Plenty of candidates, but none suitable. Too fragile, or awkward to grip. She searched a while longer, and at last found one. After spending a great deal of time tying things together, she finally managed to fashion a passable axe.
She tied it, struck it against the ground, tied it again… and it seemed to hold.
— Looks like it worked… — she said, examining her little creation. All that was left was to test it. Not on a strong young tree, but an older one. She knew her limits. — One… two… three… — she said, and swung at the tree.
The stick broke, and the rope came undone.
— How do people even do this? In survival shows it always worked… — she muttered, holding the stone and staring at the broken handle of her improvised axe. She had tied it tightly. And found the right stick… so why hadn't it worked? Had she struck wrong? It didn't seem so. What was there even to learn? You swing, and that's it. The axe should do the job. Well… apparently, not strong enough for an old tree. She would have to try smaller branches.
And so she made another axe. Somehow. This time, she tied it so tightly she wasn't sure she'd ever untie it again. She didn't know special knots… so this would have to do. Now she struck at branches she could reach, and in the end chopped them off properly, just to be sure.
That way, she gathered enough firewood. Fallen branches on the ground were scarce, and that was the main reason for such drastic measures. But now the question was…
— How do I start a fire?.. — She hadn't thought of that… whoops. Would stone against stone work? Or maybe twirling a stick until smoke came out? A difficult question, and… — I'll figure it out as I go, — she said, returning to the cave.
The way back was short. She crouched inside, lowering her head under the low ceiling… but then paused. Wait. Damn. She couldn't make a fire in here. The smoke would fill the cave with… what was it? Carbon dioxide? Whatever it was, she could die from it. Good thing she remembered in time, otherwise it would've been pathetic. Dying from fire in a cave… in a stinking cave, no less.
Unacceptable. So she gathered stones, went outside, and began furiously rubbing a stick. Nothing happened. Then she tried the stones, like some dumb monkey, though without the cries of: "Uaaaah!" "Ugagaaa!" "Uaaagagah!"
In short, nothing worked. And then she thought…
— The corpse was wearing a robe… Maybe… if… — Even through her unnatural calm, she felt a pang of embarrassment. She didn't really believe it, but still… — Maybe magic will work?
She stretched her hand toward the would-be fire and declared:
— Hear my words, let fire be lit! — And… nothing happened. The girl only sighed and rubbed her face, trying to ease the cringe bubbling inside. Well, she tried, but of course felt nothing. It was more like acting out of habit. — Fine… I knew it wouldn't work. — It seemed she would have to sleep without fire. Better to block the cave entrance, that was all. Still, she needed something to lie on. Grass, at least. Or, preferably, something soft… though that would be a rare blessing. Perhaps some leaves? She had seen a few enormous ones. Not body-sized, but about the size of her hand.
She tore some off, laid them out on the ground, and spread the old clothes of the skeleton over them. Then the woman lay down to sleep. She closed her eyes and waited…
— I never thought my life would turn out… like this. — A few hours ago, she had been eating a meal in a restaurant, and now she was struggling to get by. Whatever this was… it was bad, but she didn't want to die. Far too soon to give up.
***
Morning came. Her body ached, and judging by the bright sunlight, she must have slept soundly. A pity she had wasted so much time, but still. Today she had to try to find some sign of civilization, or at least something resembling it. Better yet – water.
— Ugh, Sefi, you can do this, — she encouraged herself and stretched. She stepped out of the cave and looked at the sky – clear, inviting. Though she had no plans of going there, she steeled her will and began walking aimlessly, marking the path by sticking branches into the ground. She couldn't afford to forget her shelter. And today, she should also bury that skeleton; its presence was more strange than frightening.
She listened carefully – maybe she would hear something: the rustle of water, or voices. But for now, only the gentle swaying of leaves.
— The main thing is that those freakish things don't show up… — She remembered the plant. Once was enough. And, come to think of it — why was there so little wildlife? She had expected animals, maybe even wolves (not that she wanted to meet them), yet she had seen none. Mostly just birds, and even those barely.
Hunger hadn't struck yet, but it would. Sefi was certain. And yes, her full name was Serafima, but that was too long. Too serious. Sefi was better. That was how her friends called her, how her family had affectionately named her. Cute, simple, easy.
She walked for a long time. Her axe she held tightly, tightly. But confidence that she would find anything? None. So she decided to rest a little. Just to lie down for a second. Stupid? Yes. Vulnerable? Yes. But she wanted to. So she followed her heart's wish and closed her eyes for a moment.
— If only… I could fly, — she whispered, and at that very second, something changed. She believed, she wanted to fly – and suddenly the winds grew stronger, pressing against her body, while the sun's rays burned harder against her eyelids. And then she opened her eyes. — What the…
She was floating
Not high – only above the trees, and even that was strange. Like that Gojo Satoru character, when he "understood" magic and nearly burst with joy and euphoria… She flew just like that. And how did she even know this character? Well, the power of the internet was vast, as were memes. At first, there was panic – only for a second. Surprise, a cry… but then she fell silent and simply observed. Was it… cool? Possibly.
But how was she supposed to control it? She didn't know. First, she tried swimming motions – didn't work. Then she tried running – no. Steps were useless. Then she thought – crossed her legs and hung in the air.
— Seems I rose as soon as I said and thought it. Maybe that's the trigger. — A good theory. So she tested it. In her mind, she said, "Fly forward," and her body moved. That's… — That's how it works. This will make searching easier.
No wonder, no delight – just a fact, and the intention to use it pragmatically. Still, it was difficult. Controlling this was no easier than walking, but at least better than wandering blindly.
After an hour, maybe more (she had no watch, couldn't tell), she found a river. It flowed smoothly away, without obstacles. Only… she had a problem.
How to get down?
She tried: "Stop flying," "Cease flight," "Descend" – dozens of synonyms. Even gestures: hand down, hand up, shaking, pointing. Thoughts – dozens of attempts. None worked.
— Hm, I need to recall how I first took off.
She had been lying down when she did. Was that part of it? Perhaps. Maybe she had to lie flat in the air and then… say she wanted to fly? She tried:
— I want to descend. To walk on the ground. — But nothing happened. Her body didn't move down. What had she missed? Hm… Maybe it wasn't thoughts? No, she remembered clearly… or perhaps it was the intensity of her desire. She had really wanted it in that moment, almost desperately. Maybe… — Faith?
Strange. But worth a try – she had no other choice anyway.
She closed her eyes and tried to believe. It didn't work well. Forcing yourself to believe is like asking yourself a riddle, knowing the answer, and then trying to forget it. That was the closest comparison. Hard, nearly impossible. Especially with her mind so clear, so cold. Hard to squeeze out feelings when nothing comes. The only real emotion she had felt was the shock of flight – and that, perhaps, had been the only emotion at all.
But still, that was progress. If this worked, then… magic itself might work. If belief was the condition. She would test it later. For now – the ground.
— I want to be on the ground, — she said, picturing herself walking on it, happy to feel it under her feet. She pushed the thought, the feeling, the want. And then, suddenly, she plummeted. — What the…
She crashed into tree leaves, then onto a thick branch, slid down, bruising herself, and finally made it to the ground, clutching her head. Painful, yes. But bearable. No blood. Good thing her skull was tough… and, judging by her body, her bones as well. Nothing broken – that was something.
— Hm… the conditions of magic. — Imagination, belief, and joy – those were the keys, for her at least. And it worked. Which meant she was right. She would need to test more, but later.
She hurried to the riverbank. The trees thinned, and soon she was there, plunging her hand into the water. Cold, refreshing, blissfully pleasant. So clear she could see the riverbed. She splashed her face, then her hands. Rubbed her neck and other parts of her body, washing off dirt, and sighed in content:
— Ugh, that feels so good…
Now… she wanted to see herself. Out of order, perhaps, but who cared? She could, so she would. That was all that mattered.
She looked into the water
The ripples lasted a few seconds, then faded, letting her reflection settle:
Chestnut hair, eyes the same shade, pale skin, an expressionless face and… horns? Beige – or was it better to say light brown? Strange. Tilted slightly back, ending in sharp tips. Their base grew from her skull, pushing out through her hair. Unbelievable… strange… and…
— Am I… a goat?