A Path to Gold: The Alchimia Immortal Dynasty (Latest Update: 12/9/14)

[Shewolf13]

0.o Oh my... that last part certainly sounds ominous!  I love Venus!  She's so cute!  And I love Diane's reaction XD So funny.  Poor Aurum... sometimes, those who are the most logical feel it the most when hurt does come around.  I loved her and Jace dancing though!  That was so sweet!

[RaiaDraconis]

Sigh...so many beloved characters are gone. I'm glad though that Jaycen was able to visit, and that Aurum suspended her thirst for knowledge long enough to just enjoy his presence.

[Deme]

I was so happy they had a chance to dance. It was adorable...
But boy, was that a rough couple of days in my game. Everyone just kept dying until we were out of death-likely sims.

As for Venus... Well. This is just a fraction of what I wanted to post, but I'm exhausted, it's been a while without a post... and there's a decent chunk in here, so here we are. Take it away, oh editor-historian dude.

Part 14: The Princess who was Hidden Underground

I was not looking forward to this. I knew, when this task was put before me, that I’d eventually have to do this. And by “this” I mean deal with primary sources from Venus Alchimia herself.
Venus Alchimia did not write true things. Oh, there are pieces, individual events or speech that are true. And she’s not lying, let’s be clear on this.
But she was not really good about the facts of the matter. The world wasn’t full of what she said it was, and wasn’t part of what she understood it as; the stories she tells of her own life are funhouse mirror tales, or – perhaps better yet – fairy stories.

But in order to understand her, as everyone’s attempted and few succeeded, you have to understand the wonderland on the other side of that mirror. And so, here we are. I will try and separate the events as best I can, and sift out the truth.

^{From “The diary of Venus Alchimia (and sometimes Venus Alchimia)”}

Once upon a time, there was a girl who was me.


Once upon a time, there was a girl who was me.
We were born together – or maybe we were born apart, and came together.  We will always be together: as long as I am alive, she will also be alive, because we’re the same. We’re Venus Alchimia.

Once upon a time, there was a girl incapable of loneliness, and she was me.

And in these girls, who were me and not me, there was a great confusion. For though they existed like twins, with hands clasped… One had hands and one did not. One could be seen, and one could not. One had a body of warm copper, and one snuck in and borrowed the body of one of my old dolls. And the girls, who were me, wondered and wondered,
“How did it come to be this way?”
”I…I can’t remember. I don’t remember anything,” Venus Alchimia – the other Venus – answered, with her heart and voice shaking with fear.

“…What are you?” I asked, for she was not a doll, and she was not a sim, and she was not air to be breathed. “Did you fall from a mirror?”
”…I…I am thou. And thou art I,” So spoke the girl who had no other answer.
“Is your momma my momma? Is your daddy my daddy? Are we alike in origin? Are we alike in purpose? Do you like horses?” I asked her many questions, and to each, she could only answer that she had no memory of these things (Oh, and she asked me why I liked horses. I think Momma overheard my explanation. They’re just sooo precious, amiright?). She doesn’t hate horses. But she doesn’t get that they’re only the most awesome thing.
We’re not perfectly alike. We’re just the same – those aren’t the same. Is there a word for different samenesses?
”…I don’t know what I am.”  She had no eyes, no real eyes, to cry with, but I think she may have almost been crying anyway.

And so I tried to smile. It was all I could do. If I could smile, then she could smile, right? And she had to smile.
Not because if she couldn’t smile, then I couldn’t smile. But because I want her to. It’s important.

“We’ll go to school in the morning, right? We will go forth to learn of our nature, and how we came to be, and see the truth of if we are alone together in this world.”
This soothed our hearts, though it didn’t, well, actually answer anything.

I was a baby, so I don’t remember. And she does not remember anything at all, but thinks she should.  That’s why I’m writing this: what happens if I stop remembering, wouldn’t that be horrible? Then no one of me would remember, and that’s no good !
Besides, I bet it’d really upset the one we will meet at the end of time, if I forgot like a dummy and didn’t write a word of it down!
…Hm.
What exactly do I mean? Eh, well, I’ll work that out!

In the meanwhile, we are a girl incapable of loneliness. We can have a lot of fun together!

But it seems that only I can see the Other Venus.

Ok, so… As you can gather, this is all an absolute delusion. There’s only one Venus Alchimia, and as far as I can tell, that far-away girl was as capable of loneliness – maybe more capable – than anyone else. But this is also an absolute delusion to which Venus Alchimia – who, for the sake of following her convention and easier book-keeping I may sometimes refer to as “Our Venus,” – remained devoted and certain of her entire life. Which, as she was the third generation’s immortal heir, means we will be hearing about the “Other Venus” until very possibly the end of time as we know it. I hope that people after the apocalypse hear this and believe she is a powerful shamaness protected by a spirit-self, and form their tribal bands to protect her… Because, if their interactions show nothing else, Other Venus, unusually for a delusional friend or alternate persona, is someone she wishes to protect, and rarely the inverse: it may be this belief, more than anything else, that forms the backbone of her heart.


But, really, there are lots of things only other people can see!

Like how Uncle Stannum says he has a baby in Miss Yuna’s tummy. I don’t see. Was it stolen hidden away, to protect it? The world is full of wonder. And so it is with this wondering heart that I set forth for my first day of school, to learn of our nature, and how we came to be, and see the truth of if we are alone together in this world.


This required heavy clothing, for no doubt the lands of my quest would be harsh and cold. I need to be ready for the hardest journey!

Which leaves us to deal with Stannum’s first real confrontation with one of the two women carrying his two children.
A knot of fear wormed its way around his throat.
“Um, hey.”
Was all he could think to say, all charisma melting like chocolate in the sun. Not that she was much better.
“I was going to tell you. I was. Going to, I mean.”
He nodded. But she had stood, waiting outside – no one had been able to persuade her to enter. And no one could have talked her into leaving.
She hadn’t told him; in Stannum’s mind, if he didn’t owe it to her to be faithful, she hadn’t owed it to him to tell him (Nevermind the difference between the two). There they were, two adults who didn’t owe each other anything.

And between them, someone to whom each owed everything.
Stannum reached out a tentative hand.
“Can I…feel?”
“What? Oh, yes. You should. It’s your baby, too.”

He touches her belly, and he feels something press, just briefly, against his hand. In that moment, the heat conducts him, piercing through rain and hesitation. In that moment, the enormity of it shrinks  -- no, not shrinks. He grows. Just a little. But the mountain of oncoming responsibility that loomed over him no longer seemed insurmountable.

He looks up at Yuna, who’s older than him – much older, though he’s really not got a good scope on how much – and wants different things, and is at a different place in the world. There’s not much he can offer.

“…Would you like to come inside?”
“Yeah. It’d be great to get out of the rain.”


But at the very least, he could make sure that his children and the mothers of his children were alright, the best he could.

But now, back to fairy stories:

And in the halls of school I met many people, who looked at me with wondering faces. And I asked of the boy I met at the crossroads of hallways if he knew of the nature of the Other Venus, and how we came to be.
   “Uh, what are you talking about,” said the boy.
   “Do you know if there’s anyone else like her, who lives just quiet as a mouse in the world, and loud as horse hooves in the heart? Do you know, do you know?” I asked the boy.
   “…You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. Go talk to someone else, you weird fruit.” And so the boy directed me onward, for he did not know what I sought. I would have to look elsewhere, and find this ‘someone else,’ who would perhaps know if we are alone in the world.

   I really wanted to go outside, but the best I could do was sit by the window and watch outside, which is sooo boring.

When I went home, Daddy was waiting for me. It’s funny, because he’s always busy – but not today. Did he know, did he know? Had he heard the news? That I hadn’t found the answer? He had cookies and milk, and when the Other Venus and I had shared them, he called me into the art room to talk.
”How was school, honey? Did you meet any other kids?”
“…Yes, I suppose I must have.” After all, I’d asked someone a question for my quest.

 ”That’s good! Did you get along with them OK?” I thought his eyes were like iceburgs of worry.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” I answered. Don’t be worried, Daddy! Worry, worry, fly away to Andromeda! “But I wasn’t lonely. All I had to do was send my hopes outside the school, and I knew…I was not alone.”
Because Venus could receive them. Because I was not alone.
”…That’s good, then.” And he paused. Daddy stopped and squinted and thought. And he reached down and patted my head. ”Yeah. Because there’s a lot of times in life when it’ll be lonely, and when those times are there, I want you to remember the people who love you like that. I hope you’ll make friends, but… No matter what, I’ll be thinking about you, Sweetie. Daddy’ll always have your back.”
Oh.
I had not thought about that.

But right then…I could tell from the green smears on his hands and the twigs sticking to his sleeve, he had long been journeying through the forest of sculptures. There, he summoned many animals from the trees as his friends.
Those years of journeying had made my daddy’s hands tense…But his smile was kind. Right then, my daddy was a noble prince who wandered through the envisioned world. I had not seen this before, but now, when he’d come to encourage me as a maiden on my quest, even while on his own journey -- I was amazed by that kindness.

I want to be a prince like that, too. To have kindness like that, too, gold like the sun and smelling of leaves.

“Thanks, daddy.”
”Hey, hey,” said the Other Venus, ”I’m with you, too.
“Of course.”
Like there was ever any doubt? Who else was I sending my prayers to?

[Deme]

Um, so, I don't like doing this, (and double-posting, too? For shame!) but this is the first chapter from Venus's perspective, and we'll be with her, on and off at first, for quite a while...So if anyone has a thought, I'd like to hear it. (That way, I can make sure I'm getting the right ideas across. And not being completely obnoxious or unreadable. Because if not or so respectively, that's a thing I really want to be able to fix sooner, rather than later.)

[Shewolf13]

Sorry, Deme, I read it yesterday, but didn't have time to leave a comment.  It was an excellent chapter!  Your interpretations of her relationship with her IF are so unique!  I love it!  Everything about this story is so unique.  I love the fact that there are two Venuses (sp?).  It was very well done.  And I love her relationship with her dad ^^

[Deme]

Aw, thank you! I'd say it's more that I use an imaginary friend to represent a unique relationship, to be honest; Other Venus would be there even if I didn't have a super convenient way to get two contradictory sets of  animations for it... But I suppose the point still stands! Anyway, glad to know you like her!

[Deme]

Sorry for the delays in this, everyone; I may have had a several day-long anxiety attack somewhere in there, but things are cool now! Hoping to get this back on the road!

Part 15: The Golden Children


Aurum sat and took some stock of her granddaughter: what her goals were, what her character was. What the best path for the dynasty and for soothing her parent’s concerns.

For Aurum, feeling out a child best took the form of helping her on firmest ground: helping her with homework.

^{From “the Diary of Venus Alchimia and Venus Alchimia.”}

Grandmama sat beside me and laid out the world. First, she showed me a mound of treasure, and asked me,
”Are you interested in acquiring monetary sums? The family has not inconsiderable wealth already stored, so further acquisition would be considerably eased.”
I asked her, “Would it make people happy, if I had money?”
And she told me, that no, it depended on what I did with the money.
“Then I can’t think earning money would make me happy – because it couldn’t make Venus or the wild things happy, and could not lift them from their sorrows.”

Then, she showed me a great book, containing all her knowledge as a great and wise alchemist. ”Are you interested in acquiring wisdom? For while I could not teach you alchemy, there are many great pursuits still for you to follow, and I would be honored to have you as my student.”
I asked her, “Would it make people happy, if I had knowledge?”
And she told me that, no, it depended on what I did with the knowledge.
“Then I can’t think gaining knowledge would make me happy – because it couldn’t make Venus or the wild things happy, and could not lift them from their curses. But I would like to learn from you, Grandmama.”

Then she showed me great works of beauty, such as my father and mother made. ”Are you interested in acquiring fame? When you create things of work, people will accept and acknowledge you according to a system of celebrity and value that they hold as absolute, no matter how self-created it may be.”
I asked her, “Would it make people happy, if I had fame?”
And she told me that, no, it depended on what I did with that fame.
“Then I can’t think that earning fame would make me happy – because it couldn’t make Venus or the wild things happy, and could not lift them from their mysteries. I don’t care about the feelings of people.”

”Then, granddaughter, what is it you seek? I have no expectation for you to choose now, but I must insist that one day, you choose a path to follow, and see it through to the utmost completion,” Grandmama’s tone was imperious, and for a second, I was… just a little scared to tell her.
“I want to be a prince. Riding to the rescue on a white horse… Saving that which has fallen, forgotten, into the abyss of time… Collecting the thunder of hooves in rain puddles… To show true kindness, and of that kindness, make a miracle… Because it’s a kiss, isn’t it?” I point at the book the teacher asked us to read, where the prince awakens the sleeping beauty with a kiss, breaking the wicked spell. All the enchantments are broken with love, by some wonderful person. “This is what would make people happy, be they pony or gnome or spirit or whatever Venus is or thing that lives under the petals of flowers and pulls them down at night.”
Grandmama looked very serious for a moment; maybe she saw a vision then? In fact, she looked very worried. Was it a bad vision? Is someone going to die? It can’t be Grandmama, of course – you can smell the deathlessness on her. It smells, like she does, like an old ring.

”…I am not sure if there is anything in that with which I may help you. However, I will apply my thoughts to the matter; I advise you to do the same.”
I’m sure that’s how Grandmama says she loves me!
On this one, she is probably correct: dedicating valuable brooding time to trying to solve their problems probably is the way Aurum expressed devotion.
Only the general jist of the conversation matches up to its equivalent in Aurum’s notes, though some of Aurum’s questions seem to have been taken nearly verbatim, if out of context and order. This sort of thing is very common in Venus’s notes, hence my initial reluctance.

Anyway, Venus was wondering if we could go out and play even though it was dark, so I went forth to ask Momma.

“Momma, Venus was wondering if we could go out and play.”
”If you’re talking about yourself, it’s ‘I’ was wondering, honey. Unless you’re playing supervillain.”
“I don’t wanna be a villain! I’m talking about the other Venus! The invisible Venus!” I sulked.
”Ohhh, right. Thaaat Venus. Sure, you can go out and play. Just stay in the yard.”
She seemed much happier than the last time I mentioned Venus. I’m glad; after all, she’s Venus’s mother as well – probably – so it’s important they understand one another. I’m glad!
In truth, they’d largely decided to go with the plan as previously outlined – not worry about it until there was something concrete to worry about. More concrete than their daughter having an oddly-named imaginary friend.

But shortly after these conversations, Aurum made her second decision about the household in the face of Venus’s childhood. The first, as you recall, was bringing in Moses. The second came more directly from Venus herself: there was, after all, only one thing in that discussion that Aurum felt she could, directly, assist with. At least, at the moment.


The adoption of one Sulfur Alchimia (the name choice was almost certainly Aurum’s, in contrast with other horses). A little foal the color, starting at the loneliness of the world, neglected by his previous owners – my records say seized from a lot with insufficient grazing, leading to his mother’s death – and at the sudden strikes of lightning zigzagging across the sky.


Did you hear, did you hear? Did you hear the news? We got a horse! It came to visit us from far away – it came because it had been rescued. Its little stilt-legged body, shaking in the fresh autumn breeze, tells a story of cold.
”Be careful,” Said the man in the suit, ”He’s a bit jumpy around people. Horses can be strong even when they’re young.”


“Oh little pony, little pony, do not live in fear – I lay down my heart that you may rest here.”
I offered the warmth of my hand to the horse, which told me of the sad desert around us – the desert that devoured. The desert that sucked love like heat from the air.
“How sad! You lost your mother…I see… Please, though, try to be strong, OK? You can rely on me!”

”It’s rare to see a rescue horse trust a person so fast,” said the man in the suit.
“He’s just scared. He needs someone.”

Thank you, oh, thank you, thank you, grandmamma! If I break up this paper, it’ll come across on the wind –speech is just words broken across the air after all~.

While he’d been intended – I think – as a therapy horse for her, it seems it was closer to the other way around. And that, in some ways, was all she could have wanted.


The yard was brought into order under the understanding that a horse would be living there; rather, the needs of the house were made clear on a semi-permanent basis now.

And Ferrus had some architectural work to do.

It wasn’t until Ferrus was working for the Hudsons, suddenly having to cram a pool into their tiny lot for sudden “Hey, we’re empty nesters while still younger than our son, isn’t being magic the best?” parties that he learned about Moses.
“Mom,” he asked, when getting home. “Is this your doing? Is this some big, dynastic scheme?”
 “…I had not considered it a scheme. But I did specifically ask Moses to move in with our needs in mind, yes.”
“…I…I admit, I wasn’t expecting that sort of honesty. Just…As long as there’s nothing nefarious, OK?”
“I don’t have a nefarious bone in my body,” answered his mother. Ferrus sighed in relief. “I’ve catalogued them extensively.”
“MOOOOOM!”

Speaking of adapting to new residents… Someone else’s house had someone new living there, as well. Yuna Tanner’s son.
No, to be more precise, Stannum Alchimia’s son.

A little golden child. Sterling Tanner, a witch in his own right, in his time, a full and proper child of the Alchimia bloodline.

In that visit, Stannum got the chance to hold the child, in whom he saw so many of his own features – the color of his skin, the faint metallic scent that followed most of the true Alchimias around, like a piece of jewelry warmed by the sun, the certain aura of magic, the desperately grabby hands, reaching for something – anything – in the air. I cannot begin to speculate at that feeling, not really.
Only that, later, he said he felt it was somehow wonderful.
What he said then was:

“Hey there, little guy. Yeah, hey. It’s your daddy.”

While that moment had for itself a certain singular quality, the fact of the matter was, it could hardly afford it. By the time evening rolled around, Abrianna King brought home her own baby boy, and Stannum had to fly a broom to the King’s nice house to see another son.

Another golden child, if perhaps less interestingly named; Brennan King.


Upon my return from far travels, I could spend my evening with Sulfur.

Where before the desert had been desolate, now it could bloom. Where before it had wandered alone, now we could run together, laughing all the while. I enjoyed him more than any human at school, who’d not show their true faces to me.

Soon, however, a voice arose at my back.

”Venus? All you’ve done is play with that horse all day.” It was my companion and myself, grown sulky from being left alone for a while.
“Well, there was school. And breathing. And footsteps, important for anything – oh, and I did some heartbeating stuff!” I smiled gently and tried to explain it to her, who I am pretty sure is not alive, that you cannot just do one thing all day and still do all that living stuff. Living is very busy.
“Venus? Does that animal mean more to you than I do? Huh?”
Like that could ever be true!
“Don’t be silly! You’re myself, and I’m yourself. We can’t be less important…Right?”
”Right…?” Our confusions were mirrored, until I shook it off. I mean, I could be less important than a lot of things. I was, in some ways, not very important. But Venus was very important. I was much more important than me. We were more important than I am.
At school, they have been trying to teach me “grammar.”
I don’t think it helps much.

I looked about for some way to say it.
“Sulfur needs me, to be like his Mom.”

“It’s like music. There are lots of instruments – some with big parts, and some with little parts. Because the little parts can play, too, the big parts can sound more beautiful. Because the big parts can carry on, the little parts aren’t ever alone. You’re a big part, like a melody. A song can’t go on without a melody.”
I pressed her hand, sliding out of the fake doll’s hand, to my heart. I could feel her, feeling it beat. This rhythm was the basis of a music.
”I just…want to remember, that’s all. I don’t want you to forget, either.”
“I need to help Sulfur. I need to help the little spirits of the house, and. I need to be a good and noble prince…Otherwise… You and I won’t be able to help you, because only someone who’s absolutely pure and good, who’s never refused to help someone, can unravel the mystery – only someone whose heart is impeachable can climb the tallest tower and be given their freedom, from the man who awaits us all at the end of time, to do with as they wish. Only the Alchemist is given Gold.”
”Alright! It’ll be an adventure, then!”
She smiles at me, and nods. She’ll support me in this.


So I have to practice. To ride out with courage in my heart, snatching victory from defeat. To teach Sulfur trust at my back, to stop people from knocking over the household spirits, to rescue imprisoned pixies, to kiss maidens, to rescue princes turned to foxes and to stags…
I have to save everyone. Or I’ll never save Venus.
I’ll never save myself.


Important Edit!

I've been thinking about my life re: time and projects, and thought I'd do a formal taking stock. While I'd be equally enthusiastic to work on all my projects, there's simply not enough hours in a day or energy in my body to do that. So, I thought I'd turn to my audiences, since these are all public projects (my private projects are non-negotiable). Put simply, all other things being equal, I want to spend my energy on the things that people enjoy most.

Check Here

To that end, I have made a poll! It has all my active projects, an inactive project or two, and a hopefully joke option, and I'll generally adjust how I work on these in accordance with the results, with some things taking precedence where perhaps they did not, or coming into or out of inactivity -- or maybe, all will continue as before. I don't really know what the poll will show, though I think I can be confident about a few things. Though, I should add, the results are not the sole predictor of some matters, either; the projects themselves are slightly "weighted" in terms of effort and junk. Nothing's getting totally thrown away, though -- I'm promising that now.

I hope you forgive some self-indulgence, and should you vote, thank you for your time, this helps me a lot!

[Deme]

The next update may take a while, it's... a little special. By which I mean, I have over 100 screenshots for it. I don't really want to split it up, so we'll have to see.
But enough about the future! Here's the now!

Part 16: The Boy Who Went Forth to Learn What Fear Was

There was another problem with Venus’s sculpture; this was the second time that’d happened, after an early incident with her toddler sculpture.

It was an uncomfortable pattern. Instead of the little girl who watched the process intently, the sculpture just seemed to… naturally settled into a strange, warped shape. This went beyond sculptor error, though what it went into, no one could say.


“Is it the ice, do you think?” Ferrus drummed his fingers on the table. The family dinner was set around them, eating whatever leftovers were in the fridge. Cake from Venus’s birthday, a chocolate gnome (source unknown, I suspect ditto); not an ounce of real food to be had, because no one really had the time to cook. If he had not been distracted about worrying about his daughter’s requirements – and the state of, perhaps, his favored art itself – he might have been wondering at what point in infinity he’d not be incredibly wealthy and yet worried about whether or not they could have basic meals besides cake. Someone would have to be a cook, right? But the matter at hand was more pressing, and his tightly-wound hummingbird of a mind was in full flight.”The chainsaw?  An exotic form of post-post-post modern expressionism where creation itself dictates the form and function of the piece via some elaborate fugue state?”
Everyone gave Ferrus a look at that last one.
“Well, it’s not like your mom won’t whip up more Ice-9, right? So if someone will just hold still –“
“I’m not very good at holding still!” Interrupted Venus, in a low-key version of one of her two tones. According to contemporaries, even in her childhood, Venus only had two voices, and she used one of them for every conversation. The first was low and soft, an intent and driven sort of voice, without joy or sorrow, anger or fear. Only a sort of wide, staring quality – if a voice might have such a thing. The other – the one she used here – was high and bright, downright twee even, about ready to giggle at whatever the topic, whether investment banking or fluffy bunnies.
“Ha! Got that right, doodlebug.” Diane ruffled her daughter’s hair affectionately and sat down at the counter with her own leftovers. “Still, it’s kinda weird that it keeps happening like that.”

“…One of them’s a sacrifice.” Venus dipped into her other voice, staring at some fixed point in the ceiling. “…Maybe? Like, a farmer needs to pour apple cider on the apple trees, or they are filled with anger, and wither. A sculpture needs to be broken on the sculpting mabobber, or it won’t sculpt.“ They both paused and looked at her.
“…Isn’t that just your explanation, Ferrus?” Diane asked when they recovered.
“...Th…they were very different.”  A burnished flush jumped to his cheeks. With his face only half emerging from his hands, he admitted, with an uneasy laugh, “I…I guess she takes after her dad after all. Well, Princess, ready to stand for another one, now that artistic forms and sculpting gods are appeased?”
“Uh-huh!”
She followed after him as admiringly as ; maybe it was that he sometimes saw a somewhat romantic world, a bit closer to her own, that she admired him so much as little girl. Regardless, the second sculpture turned out fine, leaving her mother to the question of photography: it still had to get done, one way or another, and Ferrus was so busy that even that little dinner was almost more time away from his sculpting station than he could bare. Multiple sources – both Diane and Aurum – report that since moving to wood, Ferrus’s long, thin hands were a mess of splinters and cuts where the splinters had been removed, and he’d never gotten around to bandaging them after working them out with tweezers (and sometimes, a pin). He’d go for as long as he could without stopping – he rarely ate if he were only hungry, and Diane had not seen him in their bedroom for several days; he wasn’t sleeping, either. Like when he’d first turned to the skill, he chased after a mastery of media relentlessly.

So Diane did the portrait, and Diane tried to study the photography, to replace her mother’s skill. There were items for the museum to be made, after all, and she and Ferrus’s shared birthday was fast approaching.

This did not mean, though, that she could not pull her husband aside for a private moment, somewhere saucy and exciting to get the ol’ muses fired up. Sing, oh Erato, of the haystack! It was certainly scratchy enough for Ferrus’s splintering works, and if it was a little rough, well, maybe she liked that.


All of this was beyond Venus, who had yet to spare a moment of thought for things of dynasties, or matters of any concern greater than her imaginary world, in which her imaginary fort might be sieged by imaginary Lilliputian enemies. The part where she had to learn to untie invisible ropes was, according to her, a challenge. Her diary is all colorful adventures and strange journeys, absolutely real and, to Venus, full of portent and significance. The world began and ended in her dreams.

…Of course, one of them even happened, a little.

^{From “The Diary of Venus Alchimia (And Venus Alchimia)”}
The household’s fey and spirits had gathered that night for a meeting: perhaps it was a show, or maybe it was a conversation. They don’t try and explain it.

”I’ve done it! I’ve done it! I’ve gone to school and learned everything!”
”You’ve learned everything?”
”I’ve learned everything! Ask me anything!”
”Do you know how to tell when somebunny loves you?”
”Ask me anything but that!”
”Do you know a magic to undo something you regret?”
”Ask me anything but that!”
”Do you know who you really are?”
”Ask me anything, anything – but please, not that!”
”…”
”…”
”I guess it’s really very hard to know everything, isn’t it?”
”I guess it’s really very hard to know everything.”

Aww. I hope things go well for Gaius the graduation gnome on his quest for knowledge next time!

But for tonight’s story… Once, there was a young princess, who sought the kindness and strength of a prince for herself. That was me, of course.

And like any good royal, I held a court; and at this court none might sit until I’d been presented with a strange tale, or a quest, or some manner of adventure.  Because that’s how you hold a proper royal court, of course!


But no one could bring a tale to satisfy me – there was the eater of socks, who spoke of the great clothes heaps that emerged before Mr. Moses moved in; there were the fish collective, explaining grandmama’s efforts to produce a hive-mind of fish in our tanks(OK, this one sounds honestly plausible, except where the fish were explaining it, there were the silverfish with their opera.
Yet none of these were wondrous enough to satisfy me.
“Will no one arise to tell me of anything cool? No secret wonders, no adventures, no quests?... Nothing which might lead to great good being done?” And, though I did not ask, I wished that one day my court might help me find some answer as to Venus’s memory.


But it was Venus herself who came forward.
“If you’re just going to complain all night, why don’t we go on an adventure ourselves?”
“Have you an adventure in mind, Venus?” She always does. There is no adventure of great enough size for the Other Venus – or, rather, there is no danger too great to fully satisfy her.
”So I’ve heard – there’s a gathering of ghosts tonight in the graveyard! All the ghosts are out, it’d be so cool! …Besides, I think…” And here, my other self hesitated.
“There’s something that the dead are keeping back,” I finish, seriously. “There’s something that the dead are keeping back.”

And so I journeyed into the dark of night to learn of the dead, what they knew – to know the terror of the dead.

Upon arriving there, I saw that Venus, who travelled with me only in spirit, for the body of the doll could not be moved outside the bonds of the house, had spoken true. The graveyard crawled with spirits, arising from every tombstone and discussing their fates and the fall of the leaves, as if the two were much the same.
And one among them, younger than the rest – in terms of life, for as a spirit, I cannot guess his age – was full of sighs and melancholy. Unable to leave such a soul alone, I drew nearer, without fear.

“Sir Spirit, why do you sigh?”
The ghost looked down in surprise. He was an adult, but not an old adult, thin and tall as a pine, bent slightly to the wind. The Hungry Ghost shrugged.
”I…I forgot.”
“You forgot?” I asked the Hungry Ghost, for I wished to know all I could of forgetting.
The Hungry Ghost’s complexion, which itself was almost invisible, went a lighter shade of glowing purple.
”I’m sorry, I’m always forgetting something…But this time… I must have forgotten.” The Hungry Ghost touched his stomach and sighed again.
“Oh sir, oh sir, what did you forget?”
”…I don’t remember; forgetting it. It’s all so far away, now, just… I think…”

”I must have forgotten to eat. Could that have been it? It’s so silly… But…All I can remember is how hungry I am,” said the Hungry Ghost, who carried his death inside him, forever.
“What might a ghost eat?” I asked the Hungry Ghost, for I wished to know all I could of how to help the troubled person before me.
”…I don’t think anything but Ambrosia.” He considered this: of all the things, is there any a ghost might eat, but that? Not cake or salad, turkey or burgers; not key lime pie or cereal; only life and death together, right in the middle.
“But I do not have any of that!” I cried. “I am sorry, I do not think I can help you.”

And for a moment, the Hungry Ghost considered me.
”…Were you… seriously thinking of how to get me food? Aren’t you scared?”

“…I must learn not to be like Venus, and fear nothing. Will that be it, then, the answer? Hmm… I don’t think so.” He stared at me a while, as I went through all the reasons such a plan – to become the same person, and thus, stop being the same person, you see -- and cleared his voice.
”…Who’s this Venus you’re on about, then? A…friend of yours?”

And the cause of my quest returned to me, and I knew that this meeting was, too, part of the story. I had gone forth to learn of our nature, and how we came to be, and to see the truth of if we are alone together in this world.

And so I told him what I did not know; of all the things, of memory and forgetfulness and the light on the inside of the fridge that’s on and off at the same time until you open it.
  “Do you know if there’s anyone else like her, who lives just quiet as a mouse in the world, and loud as horse hooves in the heart? Do you know, do you know?”  I asked the Hungry Ghost.

”…I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He said, shaking his head. ”You’re a weird kid, but… I don’t think I can help you. Sorry… I don’t think I can help anyone, anymore.” The Hungry Ghost sighed a great sigh and touched his stomach once more.

“How did you help people? I can’t give you food – not until I find some other food that a ghost can eat – but…I can at least remember you, if you can’t remember yourself. I’m a good rememberer!”
”Well, like I said…I don’t really know. I think, maybe… When you die, your life just slips away. Or maybe it’s just me,” Said the Ghost, who was both hungry and forgetful.

“Then tell me of your time in the graveyard! You must see many scary and great things, right?”
He laughed, and we sat down, and he spoke of the tombstones and their ghosts and all their meetings, and of the great black fish that swam at night in the ponds. He said he’d seen a man come to fish those, though he could not recall when, only that the man must be dead himself, for he no longer ever fished under the cover of midnight – and I wondered what else might come fishing for great black fish; great black cats, perhaps? If they’re death to fish, there must be death to cats somewhere, getting his sweet little paws all muddy!

And for a while, the ghost who could forget everything forgot to be a hungry ghost. I wonder if he’ll forget he can forget that, one day? I hope not. He needs to remember that.

As dawn was rising, and the Ghosts were fading to day, and I ready to go home, the ghost stopped me.
”You…wanted to know, right? How I helped people? I…I was thinking about it while we talked. I’m not sure, but…”

”I think I might’ve made arcade machines. I think my machines made a lot of people happy… I think I remember something like that.”
“Ah, thank you! That’s really keen to hear! I don’t think I can make arcade games, but I’ll try my best to make people happy for you!”
”…You’re a weird kid.” Said the Hungry Ghost, as the light swept him away.


So, then, memories stolen – even by death – can be found again. When I made my return by the light of dawn, I settled to my court, and told all the creatures of the house what I’d found. And We were happy, because the truth was growing closer.

Personally, I’m with the ghost. As far as my detective work revealed, this did not actually happen this way. What happened, according to more reliable accounts, was this: Diane wanted to go take some photos of landmarks, and had picked the graveyard, and Venus had jumped at the opportunity to come along, though I don’t think we need to suspect her reasons. Her meeting with the ghost, I can’t comment on either way; there was a dead man roughly matching that description in the graveyard at that time, and Venus certainly did meet him (that’s a story for another time), but if it was here, or now, or that this was what they talked about, I can only say that it seems plausible enough, given the content. The dead make no more reliable a narrator than she does: like her, all you can count on with the dead are their hearts.

[RainBeau]

The story came back while I was gone! And somehow I missed much more of it than I thought. You must have been posting and I didn't realise it. In any case, I quite love Venus. I love just everything about her. She reminds me a little of Eden Classic, with her fairy tale fascination, but with plenty of her own unique personality. I'm so delighted that Diane and Ferrus sorted things between them. I'm sorry to see Darren, Jaycen, and Darleen go. It's so good to see that Stannum's sons are goldboos, and even better that one of them is named so appropriately Sterling! I went and voted but I was dismayed to see the Let's Plays voted so much higher than the Sims stories! I didn't know you had so many outside projects going on, but I will stubbornly (if ineffectually) insist that you continue this. I've always liked it (I love all your stories) and now that there's Venus you simply can't stop. Take your time, if you will, continue slowly, if you must, but by all means continue.

[Deme]

Heya! Glad you like Venus! I admit, I wasn't thinking of Eden Classic, but there's a bit of a connection (My chief Classic inspiration is the chapter titles being themed, more or less, to the character)!
I may have to make Sterling my chief branching off point if only for the name, though both boys (well, both boys currently; I have no real idea as to what my stopping points are with Stannum, but I'd like to find him a steady girl; it'd be Yuna, but she aged up already.) being goldboos is a great help to me.

While I'm a little disappointed at how it performed in the polls (it got much better after it stopped looking), I'm certainly not giving up on this! This is, I think, a quieter audience, and one that's much more irregular in how often it reads things. I'm going to keep assuming, though, that it exists.
I just haven't been getting a whole lot of anything done lately. I'll be sitting down this weekend to try and plough through the next update at double-time to make up for it!
...I just have to eliminate about half the screenshots that I've taken for this one update, and I'll be good. Well, it's better than the pre-editing, when I had to cut it down from over 100.

[Lisa46]

I love this story! Don't stop it please 

[Deme]

I said I wasn't going to, please don't worry! But thank you! Welcome to the comment section! It's a delight to have you!
Also, apparently this is going to be a two-parter, because apparently this is going to be dramatically longer than I anticipated.
Apparently Venus is planning some sort of take-over of this story. A Path to Venus: A Venus Venus Venus. (Latest Update: Venus Time)

Part 17: The Girl and the Door Of Time (1 of 2)

What follows is one of the more interesting and self-contained episodes from Venus’s diary. A number of my shadowy patrons feel I did a little too much cutting of unusual episodes out; they feel that this is of importance, or that, at least, they might be. This is an unusual bit of policy; up until this point, I’ve by and large had free reign over what to include or not include, give or take when I linger too long on personal matters. I’ll not guess their reasons. I have no intention of including every such episode; most exist only in the confines of Venus’s diaries, or mentioned in her speech (this episode, rarely enough, is both.) But as I’m a little entertained by it, and it deals directly with the progress of immortality as Venus understood it (which is a little alarming, for reasons we will get to in due time. For now, I’ll just reaffirm: yes, these diaries do appear to have been written along the same times as the events they describe. The events they describe that happened, anyway, and the other entries were not written out of sequence. At least, not these ones. More on that, too, later.), and so it’s honestly at least a little relevant to our text. I have some ideas on how to read this that I’ll get to later, but for now, just consider it a happy vacation from the business of becoming immortal.

^{From the Diary of Venus (and sometimes Venus) Alchimia}

Once upon a time, there was a little girl, who lived with herself in a closed-off universe. This girl had a grandmother, the wise queen whose study was a gateway to wonders, and a mother, the beautiful and daring prince, and an uncle, who no one was willing to explain to the girl where he was going when he went out all the time. And the girl had a father, too, a noble and gentle prince whose quest was still undone.
The girl had her noble steed, and her household spirits, and all her friends, and her other self, who was and was not her, and they lived in a big house of magic.

   That girl was me, and one day, I noticed that my daddy was unhappy. He’d been unhappy for a long time, a deep unnerving from the bottom of his soul. His birthday was coming, the next-to-last of all his days. The chances he needed to prove himself to the world were not.
   
And a great panic seized Daddy’s soul, and all day he stood at his art station, and all day he broke the wood into beautiful forms, and all day he shook and wept with fear.

This troubled the girl, who was me. As a princess of the blood of the people of gold, I have my court, and I held it. All through the house, I gathered my friends and spoke to them.

“Oh dear, oh my, what is the cause of my daddy’s weeping?”
”Could it be that his shoes are too tight?” Suggested the elephant-faced eater of socks.
”Oh, no,” said I, ”I’m sure he’d not cry over something like that.”
I mean, except for that time with the sink.
”Could it be that his hair is far too curly, and does not blow well in the breeze?” Suggested the West Wind.
“Oh, no,” said I, “I’m sure he’d not cry over something like that.”
Momma’s hair is curlier.
”Could it be that he does not have enough ties,” Suggested the thing that hides your ties, and wears them around its head.
“Oh, no,” said I, “I’m sure he’d not cry over something like that.”

”They’re of no use to us,” the Other Venus decided.
 ”They’re not bad!”
”They’re not bad,” she nodded. ”But they don’t know anything about Dad. They only know feet and the wind and neckties, and whatever else they live with; they don’t know people, and they don’t know what’s gone wrong.”

“We can’t abandon it, and think only of our own problems. Daddy needs us,” This I was sure about! I’m not always sure about things, but this definitely was true! ” Even if we have to work hard… So who can we ask?”
”Well, why not ask the gnomes? They’re old, and they know a lot about the stuff that happens here. And…I think they saw. Whatever started this.” My other self’s voice was soft and low. It was a strange tone, full of almost-understanding.

And so I went to ask the penates of the house, for they knew much of the goings-on of the house. However, when I came upon them in their assembly, many of them had been knocked aside, and lay helplessly on the ground. This was no fitting place for a spirit of the home!

“Oh, let me help you, noble penates! It’s not fitting place to lie on the ground like a rock, like a rock in a river, like a river running over a rock.”
”No, it is not fitting.”
”Not fitting at all!”
Having aided them, I set about pleading for their aid.

I explained to them that something was wrong, and of the unhappiness of Daddy, and that I wanted to make things right – if I only knew what could be made right.
And at first, all the penates were uncertain, for to share their knowledge was to weaken their power: what greater power was there, than to know all things? Even the great queen who lived in the house did not know all they knew.
They argued long into the afternoon, until one voice spoke.

”Friends, are we not protectors of this house? But today, the house has protected us!” The plastic body of the penate switched to a bowing pose, and then switched back to a different one, without ever moving through the states between. ”You are a kind-hearted child, and so, we must help you.”
”Do you know? Do you know? Of the door of History?” The voices chanted, rising songlike through the air.
“No, I know nothing of the door of history.”
”The door of history was opened. The door of history was sealed. That man must have done it.” Such was the chant of the penates.
”That man?” Asked the Other Venus.
”That man! He must have… There exists in the world two doors, behind which is two futures. A man created one door, to let in one future.”
What sort of man was that? What sort of disaster might have he presented, veering us through time? What sort of hero, what sort of wise man? A door which can only let in one future, a path with only one end. The moon has only one orbit, and there is just one sun in the sky. Is the future like the moon or the sun, though? It is surely must have been a wise and foolish man.

”The door the man made is somewhere out in the world.”
”Everything’s somewhere,” Proclaimed the happy bunny spirits.
”If you found that door, maybe you’d find a solution, as he did, to the problems history shows you.”
“Then do you know where I must go to find it?”
”We’d like to… but we’re, you know. Household spirits. Not ‘Desert Spirits’ or the like.”
“Oh. Well. I suppose you tried your best, right?” I smiled with great cheer at them.
”…Right. You must go and ask the creatures of the wild desert winds, and the great sun-cracked plains; they might know what we do not.”

I nodded, and thanked them for their wisdom. But I could not leave without saying farewell to my dearest one.
”So, off you go. I wish I could go with you,” She said, sighing into the cool autumn air.

“I feel just the same! But I must go forth into our cold, unfeeling world, full of unknowable terror!” I say, fading my sad tones into a bright smile. “So I’m sure I’ll have fun stories!”
”Dress warm. You never dress warm. I don’t want you in a wet-suit.”
“Wet suits are warm…”
”Seriously. Warm. Bring a fire if you have to!”

…Fairy princess dresses are warm, right?

And so the girl, who was me, ran long into the dead of night. Over the hills, I ran. Over the sands, I ran, shining silver in the moonlight, like a road of stars. My feet slid over cracked, parched earth. For I needed to find the creatures of the wild desert winds, and the great sun-cracked plains.

I came at last upon a falcon, staring up at the stars. He’d drawn the stars upon the dust.
”Oh, woe is me, woe is me,” Cried the falcon, shrill and sad.
“Whatever’s the matter, sir falcon?”
”I have flown too close to the moon and lost my way,” said the falcon, ”Because I mistook its light for the sun, so lovely is it tonight.”
“Oh, my. But I’m sure you’ll be OK! You need only throw yourself into the grand cosmos, lost forever to the sparkling splendor! Then, in the arms of the ever-expanding infinity, you will be home!”
”…No, thanks. I’m good,” Said the falcon.
“Oh,” Said the girl, who was me.
”No, I’m trying to make a star-map, but I’m all a-flutter, and do not know where to start; I am a bird, and so the world is always below me.”
The two of us looked into the stars, like a road of sand in the moonlight.
“That’s the little bear. Which means that that,” I pointed upward, my finger a sword that could cut the darkness. “Is the great bear. Which means that that, right there, is North. The lodestar – it is forever, in the form of a star.” Well, my grandmamma is a wise person, who has studied the stars all her life. Is it no wonder she would tell me stories of the stars? I like best the ones where they’re animals, so they’re animals for The Falcon, too.
”Ah, I see. You are a wise young maiden,” Said the falcon, who drew this out. ”For your wisdom, before I go, I will grant you any wish. A young girl…Would you like a flower from the highest mountain?”

“No, I have no need of such a thing.”
”Would you like a birdsong made of gold?”
“No, I have no need of such a thing,”
”Would you like a feather taken from an angel’s wing?”
3 times, the falcon offered me wondrous treasure, and 3 times, I knew there’d be nothing I could do with it – not while my daddy cried, and so I told him,
“No, I have no need of such a thing.”

”Then what might I offer you?”
“Do you know of a man who opened a door of time? I wish to find the door he created; I want to go wherever he went, and learned whatever he knows,” I told the falcon.
”You’re not the first to go seeking him; she was older. And younger, still. And she’d not thought to ask a falcon,” said the falcon, glowing with pride.
“So you do know him!”
”But I don’t know where his door is; he’s always moving, and always afraid of being caught. You must go to the black horse, who runs through the streets of the city at night. He is afraid of being caught, so he will know.”
“Thank you.”


And so the girl, who was me, ran long into the dead of night. Over the hills, I ran. Over the sands, I ran, shining silver in the moonlight, like a road of stars. My feet slid over cracked, parched earth. For I needed to find the creature of great sun-cracked plains.

At last I came upon the black horse, who wandered the streets of the town at night. He was tall and proud, and as black as the darkness around the stars.

”Go away, little maiden. I’ve no business with humans,” said the horse.
“But I have something to do with you, Sir Horse!”
”I am not a girl’s pony,” He explained. ”I am a wild animal – I am like the desert sun, or the sandstorm-wind. I will crush you beneath my hooves. Look into my eyes, and tell me if I’m lying.”
And the horse and I stared at one another. My heart beat a rhythm, and the rhythm could have been a lot of things, like, the way sometimes a sound is full of texture and full of feeling? This was waterfall texture, high-wire-acrobat-feeling. This was rainbow-texture, meteor-arcing-white-feeling. Do you understand? I don’t understand, except for right then, I did.
I think, maybe, it felt a bit like destiny. If destiny feels like a thing. I’ll grab it next time.
But I had spent time with my precious Sulfur, who had in him a sunbeam, and wind that carried sand.
“I believe you’re not lying. You will do this because you’re afraid of me.” I told the horse.


 I held out my hand. “Look, look, here is my hand. You may bite it off, if you wish – if you think it is full of danger, or will seize you. But if you do, you must keep it with you, forever – so it can protect you, and undo latches for you, and untie the knots of anyone who would seize you. Because it’d be so sad, to see something so beautiful so afraid, that it cannot accept a child’s hand,” I told the horse.

The horse looked at me for a long time. It lowered its head and slowly sniffed my hand. Its breath smelled of the desert sun, and of sandstorm-wind.
”You are a brave maiden. For your courage, I would offer you a treasure. Would you have a hair of a unicorn’s mane?”
“No, I have no need of such thing.”
”Would you have a grass taken from a plane of gold?”
“No, I have no need of such a thing.”
”Would you have a ride on my own back, out of this world and into the night?”
I was afraid of this offer, for I wanted it more than any of the others. But my daddy still cried. So, 3 times, the horse had offered me wondrous treasure, and 3 times, I knew there’d be nothing I could do with it – not while my daddy cried, and so I told him,

“No, I cannot take such a beautiful thing.”

”Then what do you want, little maiden?”
“Do you know of a man who opened a door of time? I wish to find the door he created; I want to go wherever he went, and learned whatever he knows,” I told the horse.
”You’re not the first to go seeking him; she was lighter. And darker, still. And she’d not thought to ask a horse,” said the horse, snorting with pride.

“So you do know him! First, I asked the penates, and though they knew of the man and his door, they did not know where either might be; then, I asked the falcon, and though he knew of the man and his door, he did not know where either of them might be; so, then, you know?”
”I do not, little maiden. For it is not my story to tell. There’s a story to all things, and a time to all stories.”
“Then whose story is it to tell? Who do I need to ask?”
The horse looked at me for a long time, his brown eyes round as walnuts.
”The penates did not know, because they know only the house. The falcon did not know, because the falcon is not hunted as the man is hunted. I do not know, because unlike the man, I am free of love.”
“Free of love?”
”The man created the door, to find a future – a future that helped, a future that hurted.”
What sort of man was that? What sort of disaster might have he presented, veering us through time? What sort of hero, what sort of wise man. It is surely must have been a wise and foolish man.
”The person who knows where the door is hidden, somewhere high up in the mountain hills, is the one who was healed by the door.”
Again I asked, “Who do I need to ask?”
”The person who knows where the door is hidden is the one who was hurt by the door.
And for a third time, I asked the horse, “Who do I need to ask?”
”You must ask yourself where the door is.”

There was a little girl, who lived with herself in a closed-off universe.  The girl, who was me, was running home into the dead of night. Over the hills, I ran. Over the sands, I ran, shining silver in the moonlight, like a road of stars. My feet slid over cracked, parched earth. For I needed to find myself, and understand what I knew, and what I did not know.

[RainBeau]

Oh my gosh so good! I loved this chapter. I hope the next one comes soon. This reminds me of a real fairy tale--not Disney or a reference or anything of that sort, but one of the old fairy tales. The offering and refusal of the treasures, the rule of three, all of it. Fantastic. You're a really excellent writer, you know. It is so like you to turn a glitch into such an intriguing character with such a unique storyline. Just fantastic.

[lepapillonrouge]

Oh my goodness! I feel like every time I read the updates on this story the writing seriously gets better and better. I love the fairy tale vibe so far.

[Deme]

Ok, first off, the comments: I had put them off in hopes that, if I just waited a bit, I'd have something to show with my replies. This was dumb, and I'll try not to do it again.
But do know I read them well in advance, and they really made my day. Thanks, just in general.

Oh my gosh so good! I loved this chapter. I hope the next one comes soon. This reminds me of a real fairy tale--not Disney or a reference or anything of that sort, but one of the old fairy tales. The offering and refusal of the treasures, the rule of three, all of it. Fantastic. You're a really excellent writer, you know. It is so like you to turn a glitch into such an intriguing character with such a unique storyline. Just fantastic.

I've done a bit of studying of classic fairy tales, and while Venus's style strays from that from time to time (because Venus is bad at focusing), this whole story is written with the elements, style, and motifs of fairytales in mind, so I'm really glad you picked up on that and enjoyed it. Coincidentally, because of this, it's the first Venus chapter not named for a preexisting fairytale.

Oh my goodness! I feel like every time I read the updates on this story the writing seriously gets better and better. I love the fairy tale vibe so far.

Aww, thank you! I'm glad you think I'm improving; sometimes, I feel like it's hard for this story, particularly (since it's had some hard times), to get in a good groove.

Second off, boy. That was a crazy...month. It featured my birthday, some part-time work that took up pretty much a solid week, and sort of my autumn scattering, where I can't get any work done. Oops. Glad to be back, and showing this to you. Hope to get a more regular pattern of updates soon.

Enough jibber-jabber. Enjoy.
Part 17: The Girl and the Door of Time (2 of 2)

   ^{Continuing from the diary of Venus ‘and sometimes Venus’ Alchimia}

   And I came at last to my own home once again, where the other me was waiting, wearing a false skin around her shoulders.
   
”That is not warm enough.”
“What is cold to me?” What is cold, when my father weeps? This line of thinking did not impress my other self.
”Look, if you don’t have toes, because you lost them to frostbite, and I don’t have toes, because I only sort of wear this doll’s body (which does not have toes anyway), then who will have toes?”
“…Ooh, I would not like that.” It was not that I was concerned about losing my toes to frostbite; what was cold to me, as I had said? But the two of us needed at least one set of toes. She needed me to have them, for her sake.

“Wait!” Said the girl, who was me, to the doll, who was and was not me. “I came to ask you – Do you know of a man who opened a door of time? I wish to find the door he created; I want to go wherever he went, and learned whatever he knows.”

”Is that not what you went forth to find?” Asked my sister-self. She petted my head, running her hands with soft, lumpy fingers through my hair. The touch felt echoed or intertwining, the reflections of light bouncing off water onto walls in the dark, like an underwater cavern lit by a distant sun.
“First, I asked the penates, and though they knew of the man and his door, they did not know where either might be; then, I asked the falcon, and though he knew of the man and his door, he did not know where either of them might be; then, I asked the wild horse, and he knew of the man and the door, and what the door had been made to do, but he did not know where they were. He said that only I would know. However, ‘I’ do not know.” The two of us clasped hands. “In the memory you have, and the memory you do not have, is the door there?”
She – I – the other girl, who was and was not myself – turned her head.
”Please, ask me anything but to remember that. Can you not ask me what I love?”
“I already know: I hear it in your voice.” Again, I asked her, “In the memory you have, and the memory you do not have, is the door there?”
”Please, ask me anything but to remember that. Can you not ask me what I fear?”
“I already know; I hear it in your heartbeat.” And for a third time, I asked her, “Please, for your home, and for your family – in the memory you have, and the memory you do not have, is the door there?”
”Is it truly my home? Is it truly my family?”

”The paintings on the walls are of you. The sculptures are of you. Mom studied photography for days straight on no sleep – for you. The room is your room and the hair is your hair and the toes are your toes. You’re the one who goes to school, and who will fall and love, and who will get married. There’s…There’s nothing of me there. Or anywhere in the world. It’s not my home.” This was what she loved. And this was what she feared. For a moment, I thought I felt beneath the cloth of her hands real bones.

“Don’t be dumb.”

“It’s your home. How could it be anything but?” I shook my head, the hair she’d braided and pinned whipping like scary snakes. “It’s my home, and that means it’s yours, too. It’s my home because it’s where you belong. That’s what home means, silly-billy. Home. Noun. The place where you and I are together.
If it wasn’t…
If they weren’t…
Then I couldn’t have those things, either. It’s the same as toes.”

We were pulled into an embrace, in which neither one of me could move or speak, for that moment. All of causality was one big knot; had I pulled her? Had she pulled me?

It was like a ball of yarn that had crossed and knotted itself. The knot had formed, and it couldn’t be said which piece had knotted the other.

It was a long time again until the other me spoke, breathing warmth into my back and shoulders.
”I…I remember something. A place, where the mountains had faces. Where the man stopped and read the stars in the circle of stones… There, I was unmade… No, no, no...” She didn’t sound distressed. Her voice was soft and far away. ”I had never…existed…” The breath on my back is hot. ”Go into the mountains, past the second star on the right…And chase the moon across the sky. There, you will find it. That’s all I know.”
And the doll-who-was-a-spirit, who was me, looked at the girl who was me with soft candy-button eyes, and ran a hand down my face, and did not know what to say.
“I’m glad,” I tried, to soothe her. ”You remember a little bit more now – maybe there’ll be a clue there, too!”
She smiled like a flower and a sun, and nodded.
”Maybe. Stay warm.”
She called out after me.

And I ran into the night air. Over the hills, I ran. Over the sands, I ran, shining silver in the moonlight, like a road of stars. My feet slid over cracked, parched earth. I went past the second star on the right, and chased the moon across the sky.



And I came at last to the grove where the door of history waited.

 In the grove was a shining, pronged object, gold as the sun and silver as the moon, alien as the stars. And still, somehow, a door; made to open, made to shut, with something on one side and something on the other; how could it have been otherwise?
Around it was a shrine, full of things from the other side of the door; good things, bad things, ruined things, shining things.

And beyond that were the faces of the mountain.

”Hello, Girl,” Said the great stone head at the mountain’s foot, watching with the big carved eyes, where the wind had chipped away his face.
“Hello, Stone Head,” said the girl, who was me.

“I came to ask you – Do you know of a man who opened a door of time? I wish to find the door he created; I want to go wherever he went, and learned whatever he knows. I asked the spirits of our house, who said to ask the beasts of the wild; I asked the beasts of the wild, who told me to ask myself; I asked myself, who said that you must know, for I am sure, here it is.”

”Yes,” said the stone head. ”We know all of this. However – you cannot go where he has gone.”
“Why not?”
”You cannot learn what he knows,” Answered the stone head.
I asked again: “Why not?”
”Because these are not things for you.”
And so I asked a third time, “Why not?”

And then the stony man – perhaps a man – who sat beside the stone head spoke.

”A story cannot end in the middle; the princess, in her tower, cannot simply climb down whenever she wishes; the prince, blinded from the fall from the tower, cannot be healed until he has wandered in the desert and found her again. Hansel and Gretel cannot arrive at the home of the witch while she is casually out, snatch the gingerbread from her walls, and flee before she arrives. Everyone plays their part, and everything comes in its course.
How could the princess find that man?  The queen with golden hands must find him; she weeps and weeps, and one day, her tears will wash her clean enough that no devil can take her. Perhaps then.”
The girl, who was me, just lowered her head. What if I’d not done it right; what if I couldn’t do anything at all?


”Oh, quit being that way!” Said one of the twin stone men, with a soft voice. ”You needn’t despair, young lady.”
”They’re quick to despair, young girls,” Said the other, its twin and opposite, in a harsher tone. ”After all, nothing’s been lost yet, and it’s not like we’re stopping you yet, either.”
“You’re not?”
The stones did not move, but only answered:
”All you need to do is say what you really want.”
“What I really want?”
”Yes, what you really want? What good would finding this man be, that wise man, that fool?”
I nodded.


“Well, he’d be able to help Daddy. And then we wouldn’t be all scared all the time, except for all the times he would be because Daddy’s always going to invent things to be scared about, but then I could fix those, too!”
I explained more the problems that made the gentle prince, my father, weep.

”Ah, then girl,” said the great stone head with his voice like rockslides and his face chipped by the wind, ”You have found all you need, and all there is, and come at last to the place you have sought.
Once, a man was presented with a future, born of the history that ought to have been. But it was a future that denied his great work. How could it not have? His work ought not to have existed, and spat in the face of fate.
And so, he came here, to us – to the gateway of the potential. All futures pass through this moment – through all moments – if only here. And from the limitless potential, he made this door, of steal and wire. He trapped the future in its tines – his future, which recognized the continuation of his work.”
“What was his work?” I asked the stone head.
”No one knows, just yet; it is still unwinding. And you are helping it.”
Whether that man was wise, or foolish, I clapped with joy. I wanted to help.
”But a future determined in advance – a future determined by one man – is a trap. Everything in the world is decided. If your father fails, he fails; it’s not his fault. It was decided not long ago,” said the stone head, with its carved crown and its face chipped by sorrow.


“But that’s not fair! Why should daddy have to suffer? He didn’t ask for this. Why, if you asked me, any future that stops us… I’d destroy it. Turn it to dust. Crush, crush, crush,” my sing-song voice filled the room.
”Is that what you wish, divided maiden?”
“…Would that work?”
”It would. But… There would be no more telling what the future holds; no certainty in all the world. If things ended well, or ended badly… That would be no one’s decision, even ours. No protection from fate – no protection of fate.
All we would need to do,” explained the stone head like thunder, ”Is destroy this door, and let all futures flow through once more.”

At first, I made a noise like glass breaking, or lightning shattering the sky. What a funny laugh.

“Didn’t I say it?”

The machine shook when my foot hit it, pounding over and over, kicking it until it rattled. Rattle, rattle.  crack.
“Any future that stops us… I’ll destroy it.” That’s right.
“An undecided future is best of all.”

”Is that what you wish?” Asked the twin stone men, up on the hill. ”Success or failure – they may take a miracle.”
“I believe we can make a miracle,” I told them.
”Is that what you wish?” Said the stone man who sat alone. ”There will be infinite potentials rushing by, and the right one might not be found easily.”
“I believe we can find it.” The voice of the girl, who was me, trembled.
”Is this what you wish?” Asked the great stone head.
“I believe in all of us,” I said, with a certainty in my heart, where I felt myself, waiting for me.

”Step back, child.” The stone head said, very low and quiet. When I’d stepped away…

I felt a door slam shut behind me.

The great door, which was not a door, was buried under the rock – and all the treasures and echoes of the future it opened to had vanished like a morning mist. The air smelled burnt and bright.
”You are free. For better, or for worse, you are free.”

I stared at what I had wished for.

And the girl, who was me – who was perhaps not the girl who went out, who was not the girl, who was me, who stayed behind, but who was still that person, if a little older – fled down the hills again.


”…That family,” said one stone man to the other, watching her back. ”Well, all we can hope is that she got what she wanted.”
”Only she can decide that; what she got is out of her hands. I hope he’s not mad.”
”The alchemist? I’m sure he’ll understand. They’re his, after all.”

Perhaps, the girl had ruined everything. Perhaps, the girl had ruined nothing.

But the girl’s father felt better, and did not know why, and maybe they could live happily ever after, after all.

Well, that was sure something, wasn’t it?
I said I’d thought of a way to approach this – the record does show Ferrus unusually stressed, and this strikes me as allegorical – the young Venus, growing slowly more aware of the tasks and demands placed on her and her father, in turn begins to articulate this awareness… In her own, special way… By giving herself a metaphorical task, for the good of everyone. This fantasy might be her own sign of internal readiness, told through the language and symbols she understood best: the quest, full of magic and cryptic spirits.
Perhaps it was even influenced by recent events – news reports show an unusual landslide occurring up in the mountains, recorded only by the seismic shock, during the time of Venus’s childhood.
Regardless, it is by that reading that I’ve decided to include it in the recounting of the lives and immortalities of the Alchimia family – it’s not important for what obviously didn’t happen in it, but as a sign of how Venus was coming to understand the world around her.
Next time, we’ll return to the real world, or as close as it as we’ll ever be able to come again, with Venus in the house.