Ambrosia

By Zambi

Have you ever thought the world was more than it seemed? That old myth had to come from somewhere. Achelois didn't.. that is until her γιαγιά passed and suddenly a series of mysterious events begin to unfold for her and her sister Aemilia. 

In "Ambrosia," delve into the enigmatic journey of Achelois and Aemilia, two sisters thrust into a world beyond their wildest imaginations. What unfolds is a tapestry of mystery and revelation as the sisters navigate through a series of inexplicable events.

As they grapple with their own personal traumas, Achelois and Aemilia embark on a quest for truth, uncovering hidden secrets not only about themselves but also about the very fabric of reality. From the depths of ancient mythology to the present day, they encounter challenges that test their courage and resilience.

"Ambrosia" is a timeless tale of sisterhood, resilience, and the power of discovery. Through twists and turns, the sisters confront the mysteries of their past and the unknown wonders of the world around them. Will they find their way back to each other amidst the chaos and revelations that lie ahead? Join Achelois and Aemilia on an unforgettable journey of self-discovery and adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zambi
• Release date: Mar 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224678969

Zambi

 Whether you enjoyed the book or not, I'm truly grateful that you took the time to read it. Originally intended as a tribute to my grandmother's extraordinary life, this book evolved into something more profound. Much of what I write stems from personal experiences, and writing has become my sanctuary for emotions I find challenging to express otherwise. As an autistic mother, born and raised in the vibrant city of Las Vegas, I don't boast fancy titles or formal education. I'm simply a regular person with a treasury of real-life stories to share. I'm hopeful that this book marks just the beginning of my journey as a storyteller, and I eagerly anticipate what the future holds. Thank you for being a part of this adventure with me! For questions, concerns, mean emails or more you can contact me @ [e-mail]

Book preview

I.Εναs,

A chelois." My sister's voice Echoes against the tree branches; I cannot see her just yet, only the slight stirring leaves, the twitching cracks of swift footfalls against the twigs that had laid bare under their larger oak brethren. Here, under the shade of another large oak tree, we've taken countless slumbers like every other time, safe and sound amongst the tree of nymphs. They cry as the sky turns pink and purple and red, A canopy cloud of green hanging overhead, the slices of light illuminating the lush flora around me with a gentle warmth,

leaves in the sunset, a golden hue with a Fiery Glow

As the sun dips below the trees, and the world is filled with a gentle breeze,

Aemilia calls out to me.

The leaves dance and sway in the fading light,

My body is filled with a sudden fright.

Flowers nymphs rustle as they run away

Enjoy this moment before it turns gray.

She's running toward me, the Dirt coming alive under her heels, the perfect moment coming to an end. The air was thick with tension; I was frozen in time, my eyes fixed on watching the fires rage behind her head. Slowly, I rose to my feet to meet her at our favorite place - a hidden spot just for us. I can reminisce the telling of a third, though that person comes up fuzzy in my memory. The cool breeze carried the scent of pine trees; we had come here to hide from our aunts, to leave our chores and training behind while our mother was off somewhere far away. It is a place of lush banks of grass just off from the beautiful calm stirring river, luxuries of the wild flora filling in each and every inch, homes to the Fae, small and spritely, they whisper lovely things in our ears, and if we fall asleep, we awake with bouquets of pink and red paeonia, parnassica, white Lilly blossoms, Laconian thyme weaved into our hair, the florescent scents fill our lungs full of sweet tangy air. The sun's dying light creates a transition between day and night, casting a silver Shimmer of dancing sparkles across the earth. Through the dimming shadows, the silver flickers cast a delicate mercy upon our path, but she did not return my smile. Instead, her head jerks back and forth as I watch her tiny chest rise and fall with each heavy breath, her legs pushing most Fiercely toward me. I know something is wrong.

Meli! I cry out, panic lacing my voice. I push my legs to move faster, to push forward, propelling myself across the field toward her. I feel the soft earth yield under the pressure of my steps, the wind rushing past me as I push myself to reach her. As I draw closer, I see her shaking, her shoulders heaving with sobs, and my heart clenches in my chest.

There's a dark figure stalking through the shadows.

close to her heels,

under the black cloak, who would be revealed?

All was silent except our gasping breaths.

Was this the mystery God of death? Nevertheless.

A symphony of feet slapping against the wet mud. But then, a sharp sound slice through the stillness —The familiar twang of a bowstring being drawn taut, the wood creaking as it flexes. And the piercing whistle of the arrow as it takes flight. Its haunting melody seems to mock me, daring me to try and reach her before it does. The squelching mud threatens to slow me down. The high-pitched whistle only spurs me on, my eyes locked on the figure of my dear sister, the only thing that matters at this moment.

Aemilia, get down. The sound of my voice, strained and hoarse, echoes through the air, begging her to listen. My hand was outstretched as if I could catch her in mid-air. Her body is so tiny against the field's vastness, yet she seems so far away. My heart pounds in my chest, the fear of what might happen if I don't reach her in time overwhelming me. As I run towards her, my mind is a blur of images and thoughts. I see flashes of us playing in this same field, chasing each other and laughing. I remember how she looked up at me with big, curious eyes, always eager to learn and explore. The world around us fades away, my focus solely on reaching her before it's too late. A numbness hot as fire begins to take over. I launch myself towards her, determined to shield her from harm. The need to protect her consumes me. I must protect her; I need to protect her; I pulse in that need, a numbness that radiates throughout me. It sings a low hymn in my fingertips, through my veins to the top of my head. The rustling of the wind howls through trees, and the ground quakes beneath my feet; the swirling of earth surrounds me as a sharp pain shoots through my chest, stealing the breath from my lungs. I stumble backward, the force of the arrow finding its mark dead center in my heart. I grasp at a nearby tree, trying to brace myself as the world blurs and spins. My legs give out beneath me, and the ground grows distant as I slump down. I can barely feel my limbs anymore, and I realize that I'm going to die. If it weren't for the stability of the arrow piercing through me, I could have laid down and surrendered to death peacefully on my back. My hand trembles as they coil around the feathered fletching, now stained in crimson red; the tiny fibers come away in my fingers, matted with my blood.

This is all your fault! Get out of here. Enraged, her tone turned to another, someone behind me.

The pain was Overbearing, and my lungs were unwelcoming.

Golden-hued tears fall from my face during the last moments in this place.

I try to suck in a breath of air, the pain.

The pain is unbearable, a foreign sensation invading every inch of my being. My body feels heavy, and I struggle to keep my eyes open. Meli, I call out, my voice barely above a whisper. I can sense her presence, the familiar scent of rosehip oil lingering in the air. With all the strength I have left, I reach out to her, my hand trembling. She takes hold of it, her touch comforting and warm against my cold skin.

I'm so sorry, she sobs, her voice breaking with each word. Her tears fall on my face, a bittersweet melody in the darkness. The world around me begins to fade, the blackness closing in. I try to blink it away, but my eyelids feel heavy, as if weighted down by an unseen force.

At this moment, I know it is my last. I love you, I whisper, the words slipping from my lips in a breathy gasp. I try to say, unknown if the words had ever really fallen from my numbing lips, the numbness warmly spreading up my neck, down my spine, lighting a calm liquid shiver across my being. A last wave of her perfume engulfs me, roses. Sweet roses.

It is quiet; I lay upon a sea of darkness,

The leaves of the sunset will forever send a Haiku.

My last sunset, and I have come to an end.

The pain is hot, coursing through my veins like molten lava, every nerve ending on fire. I gasp for air, but it feels like the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. The red glow around me pulses, growing in intensity until it's blinding. I can't see anything but the fiery light, my body convulsing. It's as if the flames are alive, consuming me from the inside out.

I try to move, to run, but my muscles are unresponsive, my limbs heavy and useless. The flames creep up my legs, scorching my skin and melting my clothes. I can smell the acrid stench of burning fabric mixed with the sickly-sweet scent of my own flesh. It's a smell that will haunt me forever.

The heat spreads to my arms, my fingers curling into the bone. But there's no escape, no relief from the searing agony that's engulfing me. The flames lick at my ever-numbing torso, crawling up my neck and into my mouth, choking off any sound I might make.

At that moment, I knew I was going to die. And all I can think about is how much I don't want to."

A constant flame that never abates,

There I wait a pile of Ashes,

Everything tainted to dust,

Life once Flowing, time passes,

gone with the winds as the fates entrust.

Achelois finishes her story, takes a deep breath, and turns her gaze toward Melanie. She watches intently, waiting for a sign of understanding and recognition. This is the first time she has ever shared this constant nightmare that has plagued her every day since she was a child. The physical pain she feels upon awakening each morning is all too real, a sensation that never leaves her. She wonders if Melanie can relate if she has ever experienced something similar.

Months ago, Melanie walked into EOS, the coffee shop where Achelois was a barista. She was wiping down the counter when the sound of the bell chimed, signaling the arrival of a customer. She looked up to see a figure enter, shrouded in black sunglasses and sleek hair framing her face. Her eyes peered over the rim of the sunglasses, settling on Achelois. Their gazes met briefly, and Achelois felt a sudden unease at the intensity of the woman's scrutiny. The young woman, seemingly A few years behind herself, approached the counter.

Achelois couldn't help but feel acutely self-conscious about her disheveled appearance. She felt under a harsh microscope, her insecurities magnified by the other woman's presence, who exuded confidence and beauty. To her surprise, instead of judgment, the woman greeted her with genuine warmth and initiated a conversation; at first, taken aback, Achelois gradually found herself drawn to the woman's genuine compassion and empathy. She had been easy to talk to, like breathing. Achelois felt the words of her inner turmoil spill forth in a rush of woes. They continued talking, and as the conversation delved more profound, she spoke about her sleepless nights and lack of passion for life. It was a vulnerable admission, but the woman listened attentively, offering understanding and support. Grateful for the woman's concern, Achelois's apprehensions faded away. When they finally parted ways, the woman discreetly slipped a Business card into Achelois's hand. On the card, it read, Dr. Melanie Drake, Therapist. It was a small gesture with immense significance—a potential lifeline for Achelois to explore the deeper issues she had been struggling with.

Achelois traveled to the city, a lengthy bus ride from New Haven— A close, smaller town near her home- to meet with Melanie for therapy. At first, she had believed the concept of therapy was straightforward - she talked, and the therapist listened and responded. However, this was their third session, where she tried to open up while Melanie scribbled on her notepad, making quick, parallel lines with her pen, but no response slipped from her mouth. Achelois's constant need for movement manifested in her rhythmic gestures, crossing, and uncrossing her legs. Despite feeling impatient, she knew the importance of being present and engaged in Each session. Achelois Took a deep breath, her eyes following Melanie's pen movements as she wrote on her notepad. She tries to focus on Melanie's pen scratching against the paper, a comforting and familiar sound she has grown accustomed to over her past visits. Achelois shifts in her seat, feeling restless, but she keeps her body still.

quiet situations,

most find repose,

a moment for me to drink in my woes.

The stillness brings a sense of peace,

but I only sit with my worst enemy.

Me.

I relinquished to you.

A vulnerable piece of my soul, the foundation of my Depression. Only to be met with neglectful Aggression.

She twirls a long piece of red hair around her finger, seeing if the curl will still hold its frizzy shape when she pulls it away. Achelois then taps her foot nervously on the ground, her fingers Patting a rhythm on her knees, Avoiding the direction of Melanie's gaze as if she had actually looked up at her. Her eyes shift around the room. Paranoia— the ever-creeping feeling that constantly moves alongside her spine and breathes down her neck on Edge. Her breaths are shallow and quick, and she can feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest. She wants to speak, but the words feel stuck in her throat. Her mind races with worries and doubts, making it hard to focus on anything else. The room feels too small, too confined, and she can feel the weight of her anxiety pressing down on her. Scanning the sizeable square office with a critical eye. Everything was in perfect order, arranged with uniform precision. The stack of papers on the desk was neat, and the certificates hanging on the wall were spotless. The books on the shelves were arranged by size, shape, and color, creating a perfect line of uniformity. Despite the lack of color or decor, the office had a certain muted elegance, with nude, beige, tan, and black shades dominating the space. Her foot tapped against the floor, Displaying her anxiety through the annoying clicks.

'This is a waste of time.'

'This is good for us, we need this.'

'There is nothing wrong with you; you are perfect, Achelois.'

'That's what you wish mommy would say.'

'Stop it.'

'What would mommy say? Seeking 'professional help?' If she knew how sick and twisted, you actually were.'

'Stop it.'

'She'll take Her away... far enough where you can’t—-'

'ENOUGH.'

She tried to focus on Melanie's writing and ignore the inner bickering of her thoughts. Still, her attention drifted to the colorful accessories that adorned her therapist's monochromatic outfit. The crimson red of her heels and the dark purple beads around her neck added a touch of elegance to her outfit, drawing the eye towards her chest. Even the tiniest hints of color made Melanie's fair skin appear luminescent in comparison to the dullness of the office. Achelois fidgeted with her hands, suddenly feeling self-conscious in her plain clothes. The distant honking of car horns, the faint chatter of pedestrians, and the occasional sirens blended into a white noise that filled the room, punctuated by the pause in their conversation. The city's sound seemed to continue without them, as if on autopilot, while they delved deeper into the recesses of Achelois's mind. She found herself mesmerized by Melanie's beauty, which seemed almost supernatural. Her features were perfectly sculpted, with high cheekbones, full and pouty lips, a slender body, toned legs, and a narrow waist. She couldn't help but imagine Melanie in a dark, mysterious boudoir captured in a series of sultry photographs. But Achelois knew that such thoughts were foolish - Melanie was her therapist, and it would be inappropriate, just sometimes those thoughts popped into her head unwarranted.

Her hair black as a raven's wing,

Framing her face with a glossy sheen.

Eyes behind shades, mysterious and profound,

A haunting beauty that's hard to keep.

She's beautiful, that much is clear,

But something more is lurking near.

A hint of danger, a sense of thrill,

That makes one's heart skip a beat and still.

Achelois cast her gaze towards Melanie's pen, the Continued scratch of its tip against paper echoing through the room. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, tapping her heels, adding a frantic rhythm to the background noise. Sometimes, she felt like these long moments of silence were a test. But even this noise was a relief, preferable to the haunting silence that would allow her darkest thoughts to emerge. She couldn't help but wonder what Melanie thought of her nervous movements, her constant need for some motion to combat the stillness. But for now, she let the tapping take over, a small victory against the threatening silence. Melanie's pen finally stopped, and she dropped the notepad to her chest, tilting her head sweetly. Her dark gray eyes pierce into Achelois, just a few shades off from the color of her pupils. Achelois' body instinctively freezes, the tapping of her toes coming to a halt. Melanie is as intimidating as beautiful, and a sense of jealousy wells up inside Achelois. Melanie exudes success, and her scent of Bergamot, Mint, and Eucalyptus fills the room with a tangy loveliness. Despite being several years her junior, Melanie practices in the most extensive building in the city, and everything about her screams major brand label. Yeah, she is jealous.

And this dream? Her voice bubbles with Ennui. What do you think it means.

That was a constant Distress.

Amid my Address,

what does it all mean? This horror show?

A place of fear, where I'm all alone,

Awoken from the boogie man, a face unknown.

Is it all just a dream or something more?

In this dream, I know my fate.

Death was coming; I was too late.

Melanie's gaze locked onto her, and she could feel a sudden numbness spread through her body just as quickly as it dissipated. But underneath the surface, a flicker of rage threatens to boil over. It's a sensation that engulfs her from head to toe, like the hot pins and needles accompanying a limb that has fallen asleep. No matter how much she shakes or stomps, she's only met with these coursing flicks of pain, a strange and annoying discomfort that she can't shake off. Achelois had to remind herself that Melanie's tone was naturally contemptuous. She genuinely wanted to help Achelois overcome her constant range of emotions, from waking up to her own screams to the excruciating pain that lingered after she awoke from her nightmares to the overbearing anxiety that stayed each day. The pain had been inexplicable in the last couple of days, but Achelois couldn't help but wonder if heartbreak was the culprit.

Achelois furrowed her brows as she voiced her fear to Melanie. I don't know... maybe my sister will hurt me? She hoped for answers, but she knew the idea was ludicrous. In a million moments, or even more, she would refuse to believe that Aemilia would ever turn against her. It was as impossible as dancing around in a forest full of fairies.

She pondered the idea; she realized how insane it must sound to seek professional help for something so trivial. Maybe her fear was just a stupid dream. Of course, Melanie would appear annoyed at the mention of such a ridiculous notion. She had offered to help, but instead, she was being given fairy tales. Achelois could sense the impatience in Melanie's voice, and it only added to her growing self-doubt. Her eyes danced back and forth, Mirroring the shake of Melanie's head, the slightest sway in her perfectly lined bob catching her eye. A small laugh escaped her lips as she asked, Ms. Scali, Does your sister have a reason to 'hurt you'? The question hung in the air, seemingly simple, but Achelois found herself struggling to answer. Of course not, she thought, but why did it seem possible? She couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, that maybe Aemilia was keeping something from her. But how could she even begin to bring that up without sounding paranoid?

Achelois sighed, feeling foolish. She looked back at Melanie, but the woman raised an eyebrow, waiting for her response.

'You are the worst Sister.' Her subconscious screamed. 'You're unruly, Ridiculous, and cruel.'

Sometimes, it wanted to hurt me; other times, it would sing a song or tune repeatedly like that song. It's not unusual, just the part where Tom Jones sings:

It's not unusual to see me cry. Oh, I wanna die.

'You are a wonderful sister, Achelois; you just make mistakes...' Ah, the 'nice one' speaks.

Achelois paused, memories of their tumultuous childhood flooding back. She knew she had made unforgivable mistakes, especially in Aemilia’s eyes. She had thrown her baby sister to the wolves too many times, the wolf their mother, Petra. Petra was insufferable throughout their youth, constantly pushing Achelois to her breaking point while doting on Ameilia, the child star and pageant winner who was her pride and joy. It was no wonder that her sister had grown distant from her, and Achelois couldn't help but wonder if that distance would eventually turn into Disdain.

I don't know.

You don't seem to know anything. Her words strike quickly with a click of her tongue and a roll of her eyes.

'Oh, I wanna die.’

she had not been wrong.

Do you have any real problems you want to bring to my attention? She continues condescendingly, bringing the notepad back to her center. She gives it a concentrated ponder before continuing with her swift pen movements.

'Don't let her talk to you like that; shove the pen into her eye.'

The Muscles under Achelois's hands twitch, a glance between Melanie and the coffee cup full of writing utensils. She reminded her inner self she was not one for confrontation. You ever get that sense of self, where you find the need to do something almost outweighs the repercussion, as if the skin of your teeth is curling and the only way to make it stop is by taking a pen and shoving it ——

Melanie was rightly irritated; she had brought up any real issues. My γιαγιά, the pain shoots through, like a rock shooting into a balloon, an inhale of everything and nothing within the same breath. That numbing tingle covers the tips of her fingers. Her funeral is tomorrow. Melanie's eyebrow arched up, and back down without glancing over the notepad. Is that so? She says in a tone of a slight Stirring, a reaction one has when something perks up their senses.

What time and where would that be?

Oh, you are more than welcome to come. The whole neighborhood, including friends, family, and strangers, will be on the streets. Yιαγιά had been a significant part of the community; in a world that's often harsh and cold, it was easy to feel lost; my Yιαγιά—- Ionna, made sure everyone felt connected, tied together by the threads of love; she offered a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear, the most delicious treats — that had a way of lulling fear, and it was her compassion that helped so many around strive, it is with her sincerest regards they come to celebrate her life. Achelois filled her in on the details of the solemn afternoon.

I know where to avoid the traffic now. She smiles.

'I hope your car bursts into flames.' The Shooting numbness reacts with the burst of Achelois's emotions. She stretches the tingling fingers out and scrunches them back in, getting the blood to flow again. Melanie's eyes fixated on Achelois, studying her every move over the notepad before finally setting it down purposefully on the desk with a thud. She couldn't help but notice the obscene image that was painted across the page, causing her cheeks to flush with embarrassment. She quickly averted her gaze, feeling uncomfortable under Melanie's intense scrutiny. Achelois felt a wave of intimidation wash over her as Melanie straightened her trim figure, eyeing her like an alligator spotting its prey. She sensed the danger lurking beneath Melanie's words.

You don't like my tone, do you? Melanie's lips curled over her shining teeth, radiating an exotic and intimidating aura.

Achelois stammered, No, I have no problem, honestly.

Melanie stood up, towering over Achelois and casting a shadow over her. Well then. The glowing light from the sun behind her highlighted her sleek build, making her appear even more imposing. She extends her hand out toward the door like every other time. Achelois felt a fresh wave of embarrassment wash over her. Without hesitation, she fumbled her purse and coat, moving her feet to scurry quickly out of the room, forgetting the 20 minutes of the timer left. She had been paying out of pocket for the health care system, which is a joke.

Thank you... sorry... thank you... I’ll see you next week. Achelois dipped her head and apologized to Ms. Melanie Drake before she slammed the door behind her. Was that too much? Her shoulders droop with the question, overtaken by shame, embarrassment, and defeat.

‘You did great.’

'You're pathetic.'

I couldn't argue with that.

II. δύο.

Achelois found solace in one thing: Her job. While some may consider this decision mad, she knew that the people at Eos, her workplace, always managed to brighten her day and lift her spirits. Especially after that disastrous therapy session, the thought of spending time with people she enjoyed being around gave her a small glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that had enveloped her since her grandmother's passing. As the door to the cafe swung open, the gentle chime of the bell echoed through the air, announcing Achelois's arrival. The wooden walls were adorned with vintage paintings, and the floors creaked with each step as if telling their own stories. Warm light emanated from the brass fixtures, casting a soft glow that danced around the room. The tables and chairs were mismatched yet somehow perfectly coordinated, as if each piece had its history to tell. It was a place that invited you to stay awhile, to curl up with a good book and forget about the outside world. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries wafts towards her, enveloping her in a familiar and comforting aroma. The mixture of fragrances fills her lungs, easing her frayed nerves; the tension in her body slowly dissipates and transports her to a state of exotic bliss. As she scans the cafe, Achelois spots the old men, her pappous, at their usual tables. They were a familiar sight, always gathered there day after day. Some of them were engrossed in crossword puzzles, while others were deep in games of petteia and chess, their newspapers and pieces scattered in a huddled mess. She couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort at the sight of their sprightly faces. They had not grown older like her own, and she remembered them just the same as when she was a child.

SUNDAYS WERE ACHELOIS'S favorite days, spent nestled in the big red barrel chairs between the groups of old men who affectionately called her Εγγονή. They would teach her how to play the games, their newspapers, and crossword puzzles in a huddled mess on the tables. It wasn't until she was around eleven that she was deemed grown-up enough for coffee, and there she would sit sipping her vanilla cappuccino dusted in cinnamon as they would discuss politics, world news, and more about their old country, Δήμος Εγνατίας, Egnatia, the heart of Greece. These conversations were like gold to her, The Fiction and Non-fiction of it all Building Beautiful Images and Memories in her heart.

Achelois walked in, and the group of old men smiled in recognition. Tobias, the most senior among them, greeted her with a twinkle in his eye. He had been a regular in the café for as long as she could remember, and she was sure they had celebrated his 90th birthday a decade ago.

Tobias was working on a Game with the others, his focus so intense that he seemed to be in his own world. They were talking to him —the pieces. He often told her anything would speak with her if she listened closely. Tobias's focus was intense, his weathered hand instinctively moving to the white hairs that grew from patches on his head. His fingers stroked the strands in a single bushel, then shifted down to his beard. The long white hairs that sprouted from his ears seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, knowing they had escaped his attention for another moment. His shaggy gray beard connected seamlessly to matching white sideburns, framing his thin, broad face. Suddenly, with a loud smack, his game piece jumped four paces. The other men groaned in retaliation, but Tobias couldn't help the smug smile that tugged at his lips. Achelois gave a gentle laugh; she loved being here. Tobias looked up from his game, giving her a gentle wave of the hand.

Memory echoes

Whispers of moments long past

Childlike wonder.

πώς είσαι μέλισσα, She heard him greet her in Greek, his native tongue, grasping her hand firmly. Despite the roughness of his hand, Achelois felt a sense of comfort and love from the familiar gesture. His body may have been thin and broad for his age, but the deep cuts, white scars along his tan cheeks, and rough hands hinted at a life of hard work and adventure. She had always wondered what kind of work Tobias had done before retirement - had he been a farmer or a fisherman? Regardless, his warm smile and affectionate kiss on her hand were all she needed to feel at home.

You don't look so good, another one of the regulars, Adrian, had said, placing a piece of his game down.

Ah! Tobias exclaimed. He let go of her, reaching out to push his hand towards Adrian. You look as beautiful as your Ionna. Don't listen to this old O gios tis skýlas, he said with a chuckle, and Adrian joined in. Achelois couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness at the mention of her grandmother, but the warmth of the old men's laughter eased her pain, even if only for a moment.

pappou's, I am fine, really. She smiled at the men as they eyed her. She hadn't slept well, even more than usual after γιαγιά's passing. Showering had been an errand, food unappetizing. Maybe she had been careless in caring for herself. She reassured herself that it'll be better when she is buried.

You go get something to eat and some rest. Bruno, the youngest of the men, demanded. Achelois would never argue back. She smiled softly and stroked the red strands of hair behind her ear. I will.

The old men could see through her just as when she was a child.

Ashe, did you move the chess piece? Bruno's voice would be severe yet playful when Pappou Tobias would tell her to—Memories of him asking her to cheat for him in their games flooded her mind. Ashe, was it you that ate my baklava? Umberto would chime in, his tone accusatory, Adrian would have her sneak it under the table and split the crumbly pastry in half. Achelois couldn't help but grin, feeling the warmth and familiarity of their banter.

Where's dawn? Dawn, Ionna's best friend, had been a mother figure to Achelois more than her own. She spent countless sleepovers at Dawn's house, late night star gazing, and gave her a job that paid well more than any coffee shop had the right to.

She isn't here right now; you remember little Aurora? Tobias questioned a sly smirk across his wrinkled, spotted face.

Of course, I knew Aurora. γέρος, we both are about to be 30, that isn't so young. An uproar of laughter escapes the table, and Achelois flashes crimson in return. παιδιά Umberto calls. Little babies, all of you are.

Are you Μικρότσουλο teasing My Achelois? Aurora's voice rang out like soft bells in the wind, caressing Achelois' ears and kissing the topmost part of her spine where shivers met. As Achelois turned to face her, she tried to muster a cool and calm demeanor, but when she met Aurora's big brown doe eyes, an unstable wobble shot through her legs. Hey, she managed to say, trying to sound smooth instead of sounding like a middle grader with a crush.

Aurora approaches Achelois, her wrists resting gently on the sides of her cheeks, forehead, and temples. The sweet scent of vanilla bean mixed with the freshness of rain envelops Achelois, making her feel intoxicated. A wave of red spreads over her face, and she has now entirely morphed into a lobster. Aurora asks, Are you okay?

Tobias raises his voice, Can you get this one a little sweet, εγγονή ?' Achelois noticed the slight hesitation in Aurora's movements as if she wasn't quite sure if she wanted to be there with her. She wondered if it had anything to do with the last time Aurora visited.

Aurora's moment of delay subsides, then takes Achelois by the hand. She was not Tobias's actual granddaughter nor the granddaughter of any of the other men. Instead, Aurora was Dawn's niece from Egnatia, and every year since they were little girls, Aurora's parents would send her to stay with her aunt from summer to autumn. Over the years, Aurora and Achelois grew closer and closer, but their friendship hit a rough patch after their last time together, and Aurora had not returned until now. She winks at them, grabs Achelois's hand, and leads her towards the counter. The men chuckle and return to their games, but not before sending teasing glances in the two women's direction.

Achelois felt Aurora's hand, and a soothing sense of relief washed over her. The way Aurora moved with a light sway in her walk and exuded an overall gentleness had an enchanting effect. It was as if she possessed a unique ability to ease Achelois's frayed nerves effortlessly. In her presence, there was a delightful charm akin to basking in the warm embrace of morning sunshine, the warm summer feeling when you get in the presence of a sizeable, stalked sunflower. Aurora was her summer sunflower, and she made Achelois feel entirely at ease.

How are you holding up? She asked; while grabbing one of the plastic to-go cups, she squirts an arrangement of different sauces and syrups into it. Achelois couldn't deny that she had kept herself together with tiny pieces of tape for the past two days. As much as she wanted to break down and let out her emotions, she knew she couldn't afford to do so. It was the least she could do for her little sister, for Aemilia not to have to be the strong one for once.

Petra didn't care much about the funeral, and she and Dawn made all the arrangements. For Dawn, it must have been tough losing a dear long friend unexpectedly. Achelois knew it was now her responsibility to find a way to balance her mother's anger while also remaining vital for everyone else. She took a deep breath and looked down at her hands. It's been tough. I miss her so much.

I know, Aurora says. But she'll always be with you.

Achelois nods, a tear threatening to spill over. She's grateful for Aurora's Presence; she Couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth and nostalgia wash over her. Memories of lazy summer days spent lounging by the New Haven Lake flood her mind, laughing and playing against the current, feeling the sun's heat on her skin and the cool breeze in her hair. And as the sky turned from shades of pink and orange to dusky mauves and purples, they would lay in the grass and listen to the crickets sing, lost in each other's company. At that moment, as their eyes meet, she feels that usual twang of pain. The memories are bittersweet, but they offer brief solace amidst the turmoil.

The way Aurora looked at her as if she could see right through her made Achelois's heart skip a beat. For a moment, time stood still as they Held One another's Attention. Achelois felt a flutter in her chest like a thousand butterflies had taken flight. She wanted to say more, To Apologize, to tell her she had been wrong, to pour out her heart and soul, but words failed her, and Aurora dropped her Gaze. She will always be