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Author: Guess who?
Genre: Sci-Fi, Drama, Psychological, Fantasy
Good traits: It is written by that nice person Styx
Flaws: It's loooooooooong, it's slow, it's boring, it has too many characters, and that nice person Styx is not a native English speaker.
Other notes: Must warn for heavy stuff at times.

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Luminiscence

"This is everything."
Two cerulean blue eyes statically chased a rope wrapped around an enigmatic sack, and held by a no less enigmatic female figure.
"It is everything you are aware of, everything you experience, everything you know and feel. This entirety, this eternity... What more could there be to you?"
The blue-eyed girl was staring at the average-looking sack and rope and couldn't help but wondering if its contents were really granted such importance.
It suddenly moved as it was pulled away by its mysterious carrier. Her bodily light was drawn further and further away from the curious young lady that ogled her.
"You may follow if you can. These possessions are yours more than anyone else's."
Looking for something means admitting you lost it, and looking for what you lost equals more thinking about what you lack than about what you have left.
The woman politely declined; she chose illusion over detachment. The luminiscence faded along with the rope and sack. But Everything was still safe and still preserved.
...
A living creature has no other choice but to cling to what it has rather than what it might have had by an alternate outcome. The girl, in essence unaware of this law yet obedient to it all the same, knelt down and groped the floor beneath her feet. Grass, and no more than that.
Why did she let Everything go?
She started to have second thoughts, then third thoughts, and before she knew it she was caught in a flux of approving and disproving her recent decision. All she knew was that she no longer wanted to be in that same place.
The space she now roamed was unsatisfactory, or maybe she was just insatiable.
All she knew was that she wanted to leave. All she knew...There were times when she had known more.
...
The grass degraded into a thousand faces, all of which familiar to the young woman, and all of them known as water. Aquatic riddles hovered in the air, shapeshifting every once in a while to remain how she wanted them to be: unfamiliar but reminiscent of the things she knew.
She could tread the surface of the unknown ocean, which was ornamented by impressions of light. The young lady walked and judged. It was water that invited, water that allowed her to think. Water that showed its friendly faces.
"Soon...", she whispered to her aquatic confidant.
There was no sky. A coral pink frame that lined and rounded off the work of art, but no sky. The girl would have gazed at the substitute firmament for as long as she could ask unanswerable questions about it, but she was more interested in the liquid stasis she had now plunged herself in. A docile and most fascinating muse, beautified by optical tricks of an unexisting sun. She thanked these freckles of benevolence, thanked them for not knowing what they were, for inspiring her in ways the old times could not, and for reminding her that Everything was still safe and still preserved.

Unless there came change.


Opus I: Encroachers
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"Well, I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind. I left my body lying somewhere in the sands of time..."
- 3 Doors Down (Kryptonite)

"So how's the Trojan Barrage coming along?"
Aryane swallowed her beef.
"Mmm...Well, it's not my prime project, but I'm finishing up. Having a little trouble with the facial expressions, actually.", she answered.
"Why? Just make 'em panic. You've been there and done that.", Joy countered before grabbing some peas with her fork.
"I want to give them a special kind of panic. The kind that makes every critic and even its creator shiver. Panic so intense that feeling it would be an art itself.", she said gleefully. The boy who sat right in front of her suppressed a slight frown and smiled.
"You're an odd wench, Aryane. And odd wench...", Joy concluded, and with a "Hmm...Had better.", she finished her platter.
...
"Say Joy, why are you so interested in her work anyway? Don't take this the wrong way but you've never shown interest in other people's paintings."
Nenck, the boy who had lunch with the two girls, had listened to their talk and talked for the first time since he had stopped eating.
"Does it matter? I just respect her as a painter, that's all. Besides, I encourage her change of theme. Ancient mythology happens to be my favourite.", the American girl retorted, her tone betraying the near-offense she took in that remark.
It was hardly a secret that Joy liked the Greeks and Romans. Her choice of theme was limited to pompous sceneries; battles and ordeals of the gods, warped and colourful landscapes. Her concepts required magnificent skill, and rivals often whispered that she painted for the sole purpose of displaying that skill.
"Just asking...", Nenck muttered.
"Let's go ditch our plates.", Aryane suggested. A change of subject was well in its place, and they had all finished anyway.
...
Aryane Lagrange had a strange way of walking. Gracefully cautious, as if she could end up somewhere else at any moment. Her steps scanned the ground, befriending it. Coaxing it into allowing her entire weight to be channeled from her feet into the vastness.
The three of them went to their respective dorms after another day of art school. Nenck suddenly accelerated as he saw a familiar face:
"Hey, Serge!", he shouted. Nencks muscular older brother looked in his direction. The man he was with went on.
"Oi, bro. Aryane, Joy. How's it going?", he greeted friendily
"Cool, cool. The usual routine. But what about you? We don't see you on the Bessel very often.", Nenck asked. Serge worked on many different ships indeed, and you never knew when and where he was going to pop up. Nenck and Serge always had talking to catch up on.
"Gettin' some sculpture transported. Block A6. I'm in no hurry though.", the big brother said.
...
"So what happened to the stuff I gave you guys? Still cherishing it as a memento to that fine bloke Serge Dercinches?", he asked mockingly .
"Sheesh Serge, don't act as if you're dead.", his little brother chided teasingly. "Anyway, mine lies next to my bed as always."
"I hung my spear to the wall. It looks very neat there.", Aryane answered.
"Meh. Mine's stashed in my showcase, along with some other things.", Joy shrugged.
...
"You kept it? I thought you didn't want it?", Aryane asked her friend when they had parted with Serge.
"I don't. It's junk. I don't even know what it's called anymore."
"Then why didn't you refuse it? It's called a tonfa by the way. Now you're stuck with it.", Nenck remarked.
"Because it's impolite to turn down a gift, you hick.", the fair-haired girl retaliated. Aryane and Nenck were quite suspicious of that argument. It didn't sound like Joy at all...
"When people take the trouble of willingly handing something over, then you thank them for that by keeping it no matter how worthless it is."
Then again, that did sound like her...somehow. More like a mysterious knight in Joy's agate armour, doing her bidding and even going as far as to pose as her, which he often had to do.

Gifts are links between two people. Reminders of a relationship, whether it still exists or not. Whoever gives a present shares a piece of himself; his affinity with the recipient. Gifts are discoveries without having been somewhere per se. Memories, often physical ones.
Aryane had many physical memories, and she considered them all gifts. Pausing her introspection, she looked at the Trojan Barrage, lying meaninglessly on its easel.

Soon...