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[Cezanne Abella]

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“Nobody here!” Paytience proclaimed almost proudly. She peered in behind bushes and under tables throughout the theatre’s garden, and finally returned to Cezanne, looking reassured.

“Aye, it’s been quiet here this morning. Not a soul passing through.” Cezanne looked over Paytience’s features, wondering how she had never seen the resemblance to Arahim before.

Paytience walked, one foot in front of the other, around the white arcane circle emblazoned amidst the grass and mushrooms. “Ara has one of these on his roof, too.”

Cezanne smiled. “Aye, we used it once, he and I.”

Paytience paused and looked up at Cezanne, squinting in the bright morning rays. “Used it for what?”

Cezanne traced the circle with her gaze and tried to explain in a way that wouldn’t be perceived as threatening to someone as stoic and independent as Paytience. “It’s used for the casting of an arcane circle. A meeting of souls and minds. A sharing of communion between two or more spirits, when entered into with perfect trust.”

Paytience looked down at the circle again, tentatively, then seemed to steel her nerve. “All right, if Arahim can do it, so can I. Ara trusts you, so I do too.”

Cezanne smiled and stepped into the circle. “Are you sure?”

Paytience nodded as the energy in the circle pulsed and began to synchronize with their own. Cezanne held out her hands to Paytience, palms up. Pay did likewise, and Cezanne, grinning, instead clasped the girls hands gently in her own.

Cezanne could feel the panic beginning to rise in Paytience. “Breathe. Just breathe, focus on that, Pay.” Paytience breathed slowly and steadily, and the panic began to subside.

“When you are ready…follow my lead.” Cezanne closed her eyes and spoke in a soft and musical tone.

“Myrshalee.”

[Cezanne Abella]

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In an instant, Cezanne found herself surrounded by the images that Paytience wanted the world to see. The tough girl, the loner. Gangs and weapons and strength in numbers.

Faintly, from beyond, she heard Paytience utter the word as well. “Myrshalee.”

The façade crumbled. Left behind were the aches of loneliness and rejection, brilliant blue eyes that judged her every decision, her every move since the beginning of memory. Flashes of solitude and struggle. Cezanne picked her way through jagged sorrow, laying her spirit down upon the jagged edges to soften them. She suddenly found within herself a hidden strength and courage that she had felt only once before. Only within him.

Paytience’s spirit moved within Cezanne, filling the spaces where her own lacked courage, and reinforcing where hers was weak. And when she came to some image that blurred and resisted, she heard the voice of the girl clearly, eloquently, speak “Please, not there. Leave that for another time.” Bereft of the premise of a gruff loner, the words were softly spoken.

The images changed to those which brought the girl some measure of joy and peace. A skirted man with long golden hair and tattoos across his sunkissed chest, and the laughter that soothed her soul. Long days at sea with nothing but the billowing waves for miles in any direction. And him. Her brother, Arahim. His features so very like Paytience’s own. His protective guidance covering her, and the warmth, love, and acceptance she both gave and received by his side. And here lay the crux between Cezanne and Paytience. Here their spirits met and meshed, on common ground. And here where she heard the gasp as Paytience felt it too. With a few seconds’ lingering, Paytience allowed the moment to fill her cup, and then she stepped away. The circle was open, but unbroken.

Cezanne opened her eyes and watched Paytience. The girl’s eyes were wide with wonder, and she averted her gaze, stammering excuses for why she should be going. Cezanne patiently allowed the ruse until Paytience turned to go.

“By the way,” she called, pausing Paytience near the teleporter.

The girl turned. “Yeah?”

Cezanne grinned mischievously. “I’ll take it easy on Chad. Maybe all he needs is just a little patience.”

Paytience’s eyes grew wide and she blushed. “Yeah. Gotta go.” And with that, she stepped onto the teleporter and was whisked out of the garden.

Cezanne smiled and watched from the balcony as Paytience left the theatre, then spoke softly, half to Paytience and half to herself. “You’re awfully like him, Lass. You’re lucky to have found each other.”

[Paytience]

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“Myrshalee.” The word was spoken softly and in an instant loneliness and a sense of restlessness were accompanied by soft music and laughter. As if caught on the breeze and whisked into a cyclone of energy, she heard it clear as day.

Her hands clasped tightly in Cezanne's, that same cyclone seemed to whip and tug at the woman's long dark tresses. The tension was palpable and as sure as she felt her own walls drop involuntarily, so did she feel the wall with the figure opposite her go down.

The images quickened then. Tall trees and firelight mixed with hunger and a need to express something that only she possessed. Gold coins that would stack up periodically. Years of saving gold piece by gold piece and a desire to have something entirely her own. The theatre, came clearly into focus then.

A gentle breeze seemed to play through Pay's thoughts at that moment as if to strike home a note of comfort and his face appeared. The feeling was unmistakeable and Pay let it wash over her, as it was not something she let herself feel freely, before it drited to the side of the images and remained there.

Hunger pure and present errupted then. Past and present although for different things, she could feel it. And every last emotion connected with Paytience in a way that little else did. Her core connected to the angelic figure opposite her and she felt the images subside, their essence resonating deep within for what she was sure would be eternity. Every crack in trust that Paytience had was filled in, the false self assured air was replaced with real and the lack of faith in others no longer existed

Stepping back and catching her breath her own dark eyes met Cezanne's for just a moment and lingered. Fear and self conciousness met with unerstanding and pride. Warmth, caring and a general sense of happiness flooded her and sense and she began to rub her arm absently. Cezanne's voice, soft and melodic called to her across the expanse as Pay ducked and dodged looking for any reason to vacate the premises.

"We are lucky to have him." And with that small statement Pay conceeded a feeling she had never given path to. Cezanne's smile seemed to follow her down the stairs and out the door.