16. Architecti
Architecti
A s dark as the underworld is, the celestial realm is light. Listen, I understand it’s a cliché, but I’m not a god. I didn’t design our realm, I just live in it.
I was four the first time I realised there was something different about my twin.
Fresh blades of luscious grass tickle the base of my feet as I sit in the middle of the glade. Watery morning light showers my cheeks in warmth, the scent of daisies, spring blooms and dandelion fur fill me with delight as I play.
Other children run and dance and fly through the glade, sing-song laughter drifting on the breeze.
My wing feathers graze the grass, soaking up the warmth as I build a play castle.
I pull beams of light, bending and twirling and shoving them into place, my tongue poking out in concentration.
I suck dew from the air into the walls, making the light glisten, and rainbows paint the grass.
Taller and taller I build, stitching stardust and debris into the crenellations and windows until a masterpiece stands before me.
I stare at it, my hands on my hips. Something is missing.
“Interitus, come see,” I call to my sister.
I pluck another beam of light from the air and squish it up, forcing it to shine like the moon, and place it above the tallest turret.
A little darkness for my sister.
There. Done.
Interitus emerges from the shadows of a silvery tree. Her wings drag behind her, they look sad. The darkened wingtips leave a trail of angel dust as they carve through the grass.
She traipses over slowly. Every step an agony as I bounce on my tippy toes, desperate for her to see. Her eyes never leave my creation.
“It’s for us,” I say. “To play with.” I clap my hands in delight.
Interitus tilts her head to examine the castle but stays silent, so I add, “I thought we could play imagination and make up stories about the people living inside. Look, I added a weapons room and a moon for you. And a painting room for me, and that’s a?—”
“Prison,” Interitus interrupts me.
I blink at her.
Once.
Twice.
A frown forms between my brows. “No. That room is the Great Library.”
She shakes her head at me, indignant. “Then it’s a prison of words.”
She circles the castle, her finger poking at the walls and punching in and out of the crenellations.
It makes me feel funny; I want to tell her to be careful. She knocks some of the turrets out of line, and I scurry after her, repositioning them.
“Don’t you like it?” I ask. My stomach rolls like the dandelion fluff on the wind.
She glowers at the castle.
It’s rubbish.
I’m stupid.
I wish I hadn’t made it.
It was a silly idea.
Interitus stops suddenly. “I want to see what it sounds like when it breaks.”
My eyes widen. It took me four hours to build, I don’t want to break it.
I raise my hand to stop her, my wings following. But Interitus is already kicking out, her foot spearing right through the centre of the castle.
The structure implodes. Light sprays my body, glistening particles and rainbow strands clatter to the grass and wink out. The funny thing is, the sound it makes is beautiful.
A tinkling like classic pianos and springtime birdsong. The tinny patter of autumn rain and the crackle of winter fires.
It’s a beautiful sound, and yet I feel horrible. Like a piece of me shattered when the castle broke.
It’s gone.
Not a single brick or beam is left. I stand there for a long moment, my bottom lip trembling, my toes digging into the grass as I try to understand my sister.
Finally, I turn to her. “Why did you do that?”
Interitus is calm, her eyes and body still compared to the upset vibrating through me.
“I told you. I wanted to know what it sounded like when it broke.”
“But…” I whimper.
“Don’t you feel it?” she asks.
“Feel?”
She nods enthusiastically. “The after . The completeness?”
“It was complete before.”
“No,” she says. “I finished it.”
I remain there for a while after she leaves, trying to understand what she meant. Finished, as in ended the castle’s life? Finished, as in the castle wasn’t complete until it was back in the original forms of its parts?
No matter which way I try and piece her words together, it doesn’t make sense. I watch her walking away. Her wing tips no longer drag on the ground, and she stands a little straighter. She doesn’t return to the shadows.
Mummy said I was born for creation, and Interitus was born for destruction.
I just didn’t think she’d destroy something I made for her.