Oroa & Seolf : The twins

The light dimmed quite a bit when moonlight started to shine through the leaves of the small park. Near the central hub of the harbour town, where you could find the city hall, a small market and dozens of food stalls all lined up in the five streets departing from it, Justice Park is known as one of the few places where you can observe the unique Rosaris Alveolus. A small bush tree engineered by archmagi right after the last war to be as ecologically viable and to produce as many edible fruits as possible. With an acidic taste with a tinge of rose petals, like an infusion ; a delicacy savored at sundown, the small fruits are considered a national treasure of the young country.

Here, lazily resting in the shadows of an old oak tree, Charlotte is wasting away the early night, whistling one of her hometown’s tunes. Dressed in a fluid coat with a black cowl almost pointy like an elf hood, she has everything of the adventurer in **** need of a new trip to distant lands. She slowly taps her fingers to the rhythm, her nails painted in blood-red fragments of twilight. Eyes blue-grey, discolored behind radioactive-sun tinted round glasses, she is mindlessly fleeing from the urgency she’s in. The urgency to find lodging for the night… Locks of raven hair swirls down her face, crashing on her forehead like waves on the shore. She always liked the last evening hours, the softest hours. The perfect time to understand the value of soft lights, deep-seated insecurities and instrumental music. She almost wishes for the sweet release of summer rain to explode on top of the city, breaking through this scalding atmosphere of the heat waves and estival joys. As the first stars set themselves ablaze in the twilight sky, a chorus of voices rumbles through a side street. Children, for the most part, but with them a young adolescent, in the heights of puberty. The age when you know you’ll rule the world someday. He already seems like a perfect little dictator, commanding his army of minions, seven young lads and lasses eager to please the eldest as they re-enact some kind of war as told in the fairy tales.

Slightly further down the road, a mochi stall is roaring with customers. The “ Rosar delicacies ” as the merchant dubbed them, sell like hot cakes while an endless flow of tourists and citizens of the port town alike wander through the sundown lit streets. The war between the sun and moon for who would get the honor to bathe the city with light finally ends when the sun sinks beyond the horizon.

But then, drums. Thundering drums. Frenzy fills the city’s evening. A new world suddenly opens as streets seem to part to make way for a strange procession. A phantasmal mix of dancers, artists, performers, acrobats, clowns and almost every shade and color of weirdo under the moonlight begins to wander around in the dimly lit streets. Instrumental music slowly dominates the soundscape as onlookers drift silently towards the back of the circus, either dancing or merrily watching as they pass by. A violin takes to the skies and breaks the monotony of the drums’ rhythm. A few older women sitting at the mochi stall clap in dubious synchronicity as they cheer for a young man dancing on a table supported by four older, bulkier guys. The dancer, almost naked if not for his undergarments, tatted from his feet to the back of the skull, mimics the lightning with his moves. The entire world shakes whenever he stomps unto the table which remains strangely stable as they eerily move without shedding an inch of sweat. Charlotte gazes at the strange spectacle, but her eyes are attracted to something else. Something a bit more to her own tastes, a few circus numbers behind the lightning man…