The lights were already on when Altima climbed to the proper floor, stifling her

yawns behind her fingers. Many of the patients were still awake from the night
before, heeding their own clocks and rhythms. She paused before the door -- reading
the aetheric currents in case of any unannounced distress -- and dissolved her
mask, reshaping it as a plain, white shell.
After knocking, she smoothed her robes down and waited for the call to enter before
stepping within. "How are you feeling today, Galene?"
The woman inside was already bent over a broad worktable, her fingers splayed over
three sketches at once, flitting between them erratically. "Busy!" she laughed
back, a broad grin creasing her face. "Always, always busy. There aren't enough
bells in a single sun to contain it all." She straightened up gaily, pushing back
her hair in rumpled, hectic waves. "I ought to do that. Change time, I mean. I'm
certain there was a blueprint for that in here somewhere. Have you seen it, Xenia?
Now, where did it go -- "
Altima offered a careful smile in return; the door clicked shut as she swung it
closed behind her. "Until you come across it," she suggested mildly, walking into
the room and reaching up towards the ceiling to pull awake the aether, "do you
think you have time to work on your memory constellation with me?"
Luckily enough, the star globes were still in order from Altima's last visit, their
connections undisturbed. Each palm-sized orb recorded a moment in time, cradling
entire landscapes in miniature: days remembered, conversations long past, triumphs
and sorrows and celebrations intermingling freely. Many of the spheres already held
some of Galene's favorite concepts, the ones she had been most proud of during her
career. Within the glossy crystals, trees ambled from place to place, setting down
their roots to follow specific undergrowth needs. Scaled hawks hunted through the
mountains, shedding metallic feathers to facilitate the spread of seed pollination.
Mural paintings mimicked the changing of seasons, altering their own pigments to
turn from summer to fall, and then into snow. Individually, the designs were
scattered bursts of creativity, erratic as errant sparks; together, they wove the
story of an entire legacy of inspiration, a solid framework which now glittered on
the air as art.
It was hard work. Galene's stars were arranged in the design of a winged woman
rising out of a flower, petals and feathers mixing in her wake. Though they had
managed to fill out both arms and some of the face, there were still several
thousand years left to go. At times, Galene would confidently mark a particular
chain of events -- only to correct herself in the next sentence, splitting the
stars back out again and restringing them in fragmented arrays. Altima had been
able to sketch out the initial chronological framework through the Capitol's
records -- awards given, debates recorded -- but until Galene could grasp it on her
own, the constellation would be little better than pictures upon a wall, fancies
that would drift away with no ground to moor them.
After half a morning, they finally managed to pin down one of Galene's concepts for
regional temperature moderation, using the natural migration of certain birds to
affect the wind currents being traveled upon. As Galene described the route that
her inspiration had taken, the aether in Altima's hands unfolded in rainbow
streams, until a flock of jeweled geese took wing as one, bursting from her palms
towards an illusionary sky.
In that moment as the translucent birds wheeled overhead, Altima thought she
finally saw a flicker of clarity in the woman's eyes. She held her breath -- but
Galene was already frowning, shaking her head in refusal. "No, no, it's not quite
right. That's all out of order. All wrong." Scowling, the woman rubbed her long
fingers against her temples, making exasperated noises under her breath as she
struggled. Finally, she pushed the stars away entirely; rainbows strobed across the
walls as the spheres swayed and bounced together, scattering like marbles in the
air. "It's time for the morning meeting, isn't it? Emet-Selch will never let me
hear the end of it if I keep missing them. My mask, I need to create my mask -- "
"The Convocation meetings are on hold for now," Altima claimed, reaching out to lay
a soothing hand on the other woman's shoulder first. "You don't have to worry,
Galene. There's no need to rush. Here in Amaurot, there is always enough time."
But the moment of awareness hadn't vanished entirely. Rather than resume her
fretting, Galene directed the sharpness of her glance at Altima next, a hint of her
former keenness shining through. "You may say such a thing, but we've met before,
have we not? Not here," she added impatiently, flapping a hand at her quarters.
"But elsewhere in the Capitol."
Altima felt her stomach lurch, hope bubbling up unexpectedly even as she tried not
to fall prey to it. "We have. It was... a very important time for us both. You
entrusted me with something irreplaceable on that day." Despite her self-control,
the aether lingering in her grasp shimmered in response, attempting to obey the
emotions that rushed forth from her own memories. She managed not to let it
manifest completely, but fresh colors bloomed around them anyway: a haze of blues
and golds that seeped throughout the room, a clear sky, a bright sun. The cheers of
the crowd. She could still feel the shape of the mask as it was placed in her
hands. She could still see the other woman's smile. "On that day, you said to me,
'every dream must exist for the sake of our future generations. That is why we
dream at all.'"
But the rest of the light had already dimmed out of Galene's face, crowded out by
millions of other memories which fought for illumination first. "I'm sorry," the
woman confessed. "I don't remember. There are too many other things to keep track
of, concepts I need to -- I need to finish. I must recover quickly, so I can resume
my work. Where did that canine template go..."
Breathing out carefully, Altima let her hold on the aether go slack, sweeping it
away before it could agitate Galene further. Patience was her armor; she refused to
trade it for despair. Above them, the star constellation shone with all the
brilliance of a vast, rich life, bearing concepts which beckoned to the imagination
even now -- as they had once inspired a young girl who had marveled at a tide of
endless diamond wings rushing past, and who had whispered to herself, I want to
make those too, someday.
"Take all the time you need, Galene," she repeated softly. "Amaurot will always be
here, waiting for you to return -- and so will I."