Morning Dew Outside The Window

Princess Fatima Adara Ash-Shahab opened the broad window of her bedroom, stepping ouside at the balcony. It was a bright, crisp early September in her Father's Mansion in the suburban area of Sacramento. She looked upon the citrus grown near the stools in the balcony; it was as though they greeted her by producing such an abundant, raw, cool dews she could almost wash her hands and face with it. She rubbed off the dew, feeling their coolness.

Far away at the horizon she gazed, her olive-dark eyes shining of welcoming a brand new day. She was the vigorous princess.

Morning dew and a bridge of rainbow at the horizon... she would be encountering something special today.

And her premonition turned usually to be true.

Tia-Zahrra... she winked at her coming maid.

Tia-Zahrra smiled with utter understanding. Well... she didn't mind it to play the role as the princess of the mansion, it was just... quite annoying that she needed to change clothes everytime her miss asked her to.

The 18 years old Joshev Rabin shone among the many porcelain-skinned face strolled along the alley in Arden Fair. All eyes starred upon him(especially the women's), astonished to see such a creature so adorable. As he walked, the wind felt so breezy and the sun seemed to be shining more tenderly. An androginy tried to nudge him. But his body swayed so buoyantly he could not be touched. However, the androginy was a little bit luckier than the staring women due to his previous attempt. He could smell the fragrant musk odour from Joshev's jacket. For the androginy, it was another heaven.

Joshev Rabin walked inside Nordstrom and took a tour in lingerie section. As he was about to climb the stairs up, an abundant volume of clothes fell upon him and he stumbled down. He felt a rather heavy burden impinged him on his chest. He got to his feet and looked upon the culprit. It turned out to be a plump girl(he estimated to be around 20)with a long nose carved upon her Middle-Eastern feature. She looked rather awkward.

But Joshev smiled cheerfully and offered his hand, gently helping the girl got to her feet.

I am sorry... the plump girl blushed.

That's allright, replied Joshev friendly. Such an enourmous shop you have today. Well... I'd better get going.

He nodded and waved. And walked away outside the store.

The plump girl went stunned, astounded by him. What a polite gentleman!Never did it occur in her present appearance that such a fine looking guy treated her as such...

Tanja! she waved at her hastely coming shopping maid, holding more bunches of outfit.

I know, I know, she winked at her lady.Tanja had witnessed the previous occasion, too. So shame that you didn't ask him his name!

The plump girl smiled while gazing at the direction Joshev Rabin went to. She could still smell the musk odour...

She did not know what made her so sure to meet the gentleman again.

But her premonition usually turned out correct.

The Kiss

Lady Yelena Agnessa Fedorova had for so many years fallen in love with her distant cousin, Dmitri Mikhailov. She was captured by his calm, poise manner and thin smile, his cold blue eyes, his dialectic proficiency, his beautiful violin playing, his waltz dancing, his horse riding... his everything. The fragile princess was actually the one true heir of her Father's weavery business around Kudryashovskiy. If only she had not been that fragile, his father would be really pleased to introduce her to the whole detail of the job... but he just couldn't.

The fragile lady did not excel at school; Master Fedorov just reckoned it as another misfortune of his, that the only child he got from his beloved late wife inherited the 'slow brain gene' (he called it) of the whole family. She could not play good piano but one two songs, her body was quite weak she could move no gracefully nor merrily in the kitchen. The Father has run out his wit; he was even fullheartedly willing to 'sell' his daughter's body, the only possession he thought the lady has left, to any gentleman he thought would be prominent enough to be his son-in-law. No, he doesn't have to be really rich, just steady job would do just fine. He has to be caring enough or else, pity his daughter enough to take care of Yelena at least Mr. Fedorov would not feel really guilty towards his wife.

(Being an Orthodox Catholics, quite a pious man, but not really into the church, he did not remarry and concentrate some of his time to manage some private schools for disabled children)

However so, he never let his daughter knew what he really thought about her. For Lady Yelena, their relationship remained just fine... and she really wished she could make her father proud. In her opinion, she could not excel at academic life because she was sick so often she could not catch up with the materials. She did not really like to play music, just to listen to anybody else playing it would be enough for her.

But however hard it was for her memory to keep up wih her biology recitation, sequences of mathematics formula and algorithm she must cope up with, she memorized it so well all the details of her first encounter with cousin Dmitri.

It was March 9, 1884. A spring celebration was held among the Braunsimovas(family from her Mother side)in the family Grand Citadel in Novosibirsk's country side. And she saw the cold blue eyes as innocent as Siberian cat... at that moment she knew why The Braunsimovs were called The Russian Sky Blue. His mother, Lady Antonina, introduced him to her. She smelled the fragrance of masculine lavender the time the boy kissed her hand.

She was about 4, and the boy was about 9. But until the next 23 years, never did the fragile lady stop dreaming to be his bride.

During those times, Dmitri Mikhailov maintained such a cordial cousinship between them. He was, as usual, loving and caring for his families, of course including her. But however there exist already many tease and gossips towards both the Lady and the Gentleman to be wedded, since many other family member noticed how Dmitri concerned a lot about Yelena...

Dmitri married another lady. Who bore him a son, Ricardovich.

Yelena was sad. She locked herself in her room for so many nights as she managed to keep nobody noticed.

She maintained good relationship with Duscha, Ricardovich's mother, and became one of the persons the boy loved most. She did not marry anybody else. She just could not stop praising Dmitri.

Until one night, that very night that gave Lady Yelena a chill to the history of her heart. She was in Dmitri's citadel for her usual visit.

She usually wandered around at the northern tower to observe the sky with her little telescope. When her step died suddenly as she passed Dmitri by. He was sweating, and his eyes looked so sad. Yelena knew something has strucked him so bad. Only once did she ever observe his eyes looking as such...

And suddenly, tenderly.. Dmitri held her tight in his chest. And kissed her.

That night would never be forgotten by Yelena. It was the night when Dmitri Mikhailov proposed her, made her Madame Yelena Agnessa Braunsimova.

Meanwhile, Mr. Fedorov could not believe the fact. Yelena gained such a strong position before him. He became to love his daughter very much for obtaining such a fine husband. And he could no longer stare towards Dmitri's eyes. He inherited his business to Dmitri who then manage it on behalf of Yelena.

And so the kiss... became such a local legend the society around loved to speak about. About a girl who finally reached her desired love after a long wait. After a long submission.

Due To Raden Saleh

Dmitri Mikhailov was a fine gentleman in his early 35. Young but barely felt, his wealth expands from the heart of middle land in West Siberian Plain to Nanjing, Shanghai, Hongkong, Erdenet, and Irkutsk in the East, Toolonlahti, Amsterdam, Den Haag, and Braunschweig in the West, which then would he use all of them as his milestones to conquer the Lands of the South.

A prominent noble man from Russian Empire himself, as one true Heir of The Great Braunsimov dynasty, he was of course served with the best in almost every western country he stepped on that Russia has good relationship with. One of the most progressive lobby towards him came from the Netherlands' dynasty of Van Rijkmaar.

It was a warm summer morning on the bank of the River of Ob, where he could see a pair of naughty fox beneath his favourite hawthorns grown near the transparent white door of his study. Seeing those foxes together disturbing the little squirrel before they both chase and savour it, again, he knew, together-- reminded him of how he once struggled to establish such a dream family of his own. A family where... the wife and child would be so close to him. Yet so obligant.

Master, a knock on the door across the hall sounded, and Dmitri sipped his tea. He pressed the button beside his left hand, ringing the little toller above the knocked door suggesting he was ready to receive whoever coming. It was Bogdan, his 54 years old Head of Household.

There is a present for you, said Bogdan, with a chuckle. From Lord Van Rijkmaar in Netherlands. Apparently he still tries to offer you Lady Marianne Wilhelmina...

An African-European man entered in, bringing a vast rectangle wrapped in brownish paper. He opened it in front of Dmitri before then dismissed himself out of the room.

It was a portrayal of two beautiful young ladies, daughters of Lord Van Rijkmaar himself. The Dutch left a note saying that it was painted by the notable Raden Saleh, the great artist from the Land of The South where Dmitri planned to invest. Marianne Wilhelmina, was of course, the prettier. And the prettiest among the two. The Lord had repeatedly asked him to marry her. What made him still so reluctant to deal was that he knew the history of the old Lord. His family had long he knew to have strangling debt resulting from his speculative deals in the wars for the ownership around East-Indies. Thus to marry the daughter meant that he had such a morale obligation to help the old Dutch with his debts.

However, my master... doesn't she grow all this time? Bogdan said while preparing to hang the portrait in the gallery. The Braunsimovs have long been known as Russia's most notable collector.

Dmitri remained silent. Indeed that he planned to travel to Netherlands imminently, to observe his tobacco business there... but the present was as though adding him more obligation to visit Van Rijkmaar family.

The face of the more beautiful than before Marianne Wilhelmina lingered over his mind.

He could just make her his concubine, he had more than enough power to do it. He doubted that the old Dutch would mind it, but he had not too much idea of this girl Marianne. Once they met five years ago, she was this timid 13 years old little blonde girl, she barely even dared to steal a glance towards him.

He thought about his son, Ricardovich, from his legitimate betraying wife, Duscha. Those little blue eyes were each day being more and more overcasted than ever, one could hardly believe that it belonged to the young face of the Heir of the mighty Braunsimova dynasty. Ricardovich was only five but he never smiled, or laughed, as other five years old did. Dmitri knew that the child missed his parents.

But Dmitri could not look up to the little boy's face. It reminded him too much of Duscha, those bright blue eyes... of the love they once shared, of the betrayal she did, with that bastard. It reminded Dmitri too much of how sick his heart was to love Duscha so much to receive her betrayal in return.

So Dmitri made up his mind that indeed, Ricardovich would never be his successor. That boy would only grow as lame, coward man just like his mother, and, ha ha ha... Dmitri chuckled bitterly alone, it was indeed, maybe his unconscious mind driving him to create such a disadvantageous, uncomfortable circumstances that Ricardovich grew up in.

So The Readers saw the aftermath, unfortunate condition could a boy like Ricardovich endure because of the decision the mother once made.

The Father was at present prepared his journey to the Netherlands to find himself a new wife, to provide him a new son, a new Heir for what supposed to be Ricardovich's throne.

A Fall Break in Frost Street 13

Two weeks before the Fall Semester started, the Faboulous Five (they called themselves)stayed together in Charlotte's residence. Miranda slept in the same room as Anthony, Carrie stayed together in the guest room across the stairs with Samantha, and Charlotte stayed in her own bedroom. The Mashburns have owned the house since 1974 and since they befriend each other, it has become one of their favourite place to spend semester breaks. While it actually less in size compared to Samantha's or Anthony's(the richest two among them), there was something so homy there Miranda tried to rationalize it at present.

'Well, so... Carrie, now it's your turn...' as she measured one by one of her friend's temperature body and 'state of mind'(don't really know how she determine it)to survey the girls' responses of coming again to the house.

Oh come on, Miranda... you can't quantize something so peculiar like this... for example, protested Carrie, I just broke up with Ashton, so how could you take the conclusion that everybody is happy when they come here? Not to mention that this is our first day here!Of course, I'm happy to be here, Charlotte...

Charlotte and Anthony giggled, Samantha said nothing as she was busy with her eye lashes. Ann helped Charlotte served the tea, and she admired the order of Charlotte's kitchen, the choice of cookies in the pantry, and the classic Julia Child's cookbook laid inside the first row of the buffet.

Mr. and Mrs. Mashburn were shopping downtown, and she promised to welcome them with the family's secret recipes of stuffed luncheon and tre leche. The agenda at present as Miranda planned was tea and schedule planning. Samantha had to fulfill her promise to bath in the lake nearby as she lost her bet to Carrie, Carrie needed to be accompanied to buy some consolation shawl to forget her break up with Ashton temporarily, and all of them wanted to go around Syracuse University to meet some cool guys. They were all needed to be scheduled carefully.

I bet it's the family, Samantha sipped her tea. You know... the house is full of your parents' love, Charl... something barely I get backhome.

All four of her friends went asilenced. They knew that Sam's parents divorced when she was eleven and that she had faced it roughly. Sam was once rehabilitated for using light-level metamphetamine for her frustration and more on that, maybe later.

Ha ha ha... I know you'll be speechless! she laughed so hard that Charlotte, Carrie, and Miranda giggled awkwardly.

Nope... I just knew it that it was your silly tactics, Ann responded casually, once again establishing her reputation as the cold-blooded one in the clowder. Samantha jumped at her and randomized her hair. You cold blooded twat! She giggled.

Well, if only her friends knew that indeed, Ann did not really interested in being sympathetic towards any of such feeling of Sam, or Carrie, or Miranda, or Charlotte's about their personal problems. At this level, when she was only 16, all that she cared about of maintaining the friendship was so that she could observe how did her fellow teenagers cope up, interact with their environment and problems. She wanted to become a neurobiologist someday... she thought she needed to train herself from now on to get used to social problems.

So Anthony... how is Dave doing? Charlotte shyly asked. Carrie and Miranda booed and Samantha hugged her. Yes, if there was any, then the only reason that Charlotte would befriend someone so weird as Anthony was because she had such a lovveeely brother! And Charlotte meant it; no matter how Anny told her that he was one of the greatest playboy on Earth Ann knew, Charlotte had been ready to endure all the consequences. She got to be the last one for David!

Anthony laughed. She glanced a bit towards the window, at the reddening maple leaves across the street in front of the house.

She thanked God once more, before starting to spill her report out to Charlotte about her brother, Davidovich. As these two weeks would be another fun Summer Break...

The Shiny Pathway

Anthony could still remember the shiny pathway that led one following it to the Grand Citadel of Stanislav-Andrei Markov on the bank of the River of Ob, West Siberian Plain. It was spring 1977. She, Jo, Dave, and Mom, and Papa were taking a short trip to the land of their Ancestors, The Soviet Union.

Even the 5-years old Ann could understand the tension happening during their visit. Papa said that she couldn't cry there or hug Mommy too tightly as usual... she should not trouble everybody else. It was a very strange trip, since after they dropped themselves out of Helsinki, Papa drove all of them inside a rotten-looking jeep for six days in a row, and suddenly they arrived in a freezing, serene pine- wood where there shaped a five hundred yards flat snowy space. A helicopter picked them up, and a military-dressed stewardess,Anthony felt she would poison them no matter how beautiful she might seemed, offered she who curled anxiously on her brother's lap a cup of hot chocolate. She reluctantly gave it a little sip now that Jo sipped it first.

When they arrived, eventually she felt a little better. It turned out to be quite a spring down the town they supposed to head. They stayed for one and a half month in a building(she later knew it to be the Novosibirsk Legislative Provincial Building) where she, Jo, and Dave played cricket every morning in its backyard. Papa and Mommy always tried to smile but Ann, as well as her two brothers, knew how worried they really were.

And it was so strange that during the last three nights, Anthony kept on dreaming of this heavy voice, calling her name down a foggy alley. Anthony, in this dream, followed the voice and suddenly she arrived to a fog-shaded tall, big figure she could not see his face.

But she knew the figure was smiling at her.

On the forty-seventh day, another military-uniformed one, this time a blonde, cold-eyed man guided them heading towards this place... where the gate towards the main building was shining beneath the spring sun. Jo was the one standing next to her little steps, holding her left hand tightly. The guiding man, turned out to be leading them towards a mighty citadel she always dreamed of to be castles Mom told her in stories some nights before she slept when she was 3 years old. The story was portraying Vassilisa The Brave, a name of a girl whose legend so famous her uncle, Fadev, made it his daughter's name.

More military-guys emerged and the five of them was guided to a high-ceiled, medium-sized chamber where Papa and Mom busily signed some papers and documents. The bored little Ann silently slipped her legs away and strolled around the surrounding alley near the chamber. Luckily Jo saw her, and quickly followed her.

What's up Ann? You can't trouble us, you see... Jo whispered in her ear. He raised her in his arms.

Jo... I heard a voice! Ann whispered back.

That moment, they arrived in a deserted alley with a wide, empty semi-dark creak with a broad window importing a ray of sun light to the room. Jo smiled, shaking his head. Oh, it must be Ann's another imaginary friend...

It's calling me, Jo, from here!

Ann, we'd better get back...

But as he turned his body around, Ann frantically pulling his ear, Look Jo!

Jo turned back to the wide empty creak. He was stunned.

A transparent figure of an old, bearded man with an early 1900 Russian-style tux was beaming peacefully towards... Ann. He waved his hand, and slowly melted within the morning ray of sun-light.

For a moment neither he or Ann spoke. Then slowly Jo turned his head upon his sister, who yawned. I miss Mommy, Ann said while curling her head on his shoulder.

Silently the still-shocked Jo walked with Ann in his arm, back to the chamber where Mom, Dad, and Dave were still struggling with papers. Seemed that nobody noticed that both of them were missing for a moment.

The family eagerly packed their bags and headed home. To Nantucket.

In the airport in Helsinki, Jo told Mom that Ann and he saw the mysterious old, transparent figure. Mom told Dad, and he was beaming. So strange that the smile reminded Jo of the old figure's .

That was your Great Grandpa Dmitri, he patted his head. You know what, Jo... he finally accepted us.

Jo casted his gaze upon the bright blue sky that also shared by the Baltic Sea. He remembered all the six days cruise in the jeep, the tension for one and a half months in the building where they lived, the papers signed, their taken photograph in order to validate their family's ownership to the tourism of the citadel.

So that was his Great GrandDad Dmitri, the one who was notoriously known in their circle to be the man who was disgraced by the marrying of Grandpa Ricardovich and their beloved Grandma, Brendamilikan.

Eye of The Golden Horses

The Readers might always find the happy frames of Brownsimov's daily lives.

But not The Clan of The Hidden Horses. What they usually observe are blood, plot, and big pictures. They shadow the every step of Anthony's. Every move Davidovich made. Every place Joshev be.

Once there said that Fritz Novozybirsk Braunsimov, one of the Great Great ancestor of the current Brownsimova who lived circa 1500's made his journey to the Land of The Vast Desert in the Far East... where there said that there lived The Ancient Wise who mastered the art of conserving talent. Yes however weird and cheap it must be, he sold talents in shape of children, or baby, to whoever desired them.

Fritz bought this Eurasian little boy who had so much traits of the mighty Genghis Khan himself inside his blood. That time, rarely anybody could understand the method of Fritz' extrapolating one's potential. The Eurasian boy was seen to be this lame guy by his surrounding.

Until, Fritz bought him and cure him, but more on that, maybe later.

He was called Khaka. He became Fritz' personal bodyguard, was shared some of his stocks in global market in East Japan, and was asked to make his own dynasty.

Khaka married two descendants of the oldest Viking family, and paid his debt of being raised by Braunsimovs by being their paternal bodyguard, which was continued on by his descendants. They called themselves The Hidden Horses before The Brownsimova. Because they operated like the hidden horses inside some puzzling pictures.

So be careful when you wanted to mess with the Brownsimovs... the time you had your weapon ahead of them would be the time some of the Hidden Horses snipers had theirs ahead of you.

La Claire de La Lune

Ricardovich Alexandrov Braunsimov was rather a jittery man at heart when he was younger. Some psychologist might conclude that he suffered a deficit-attention disorder made him insecure all the time, even rarely dare to look straight in his talking partner's eye. His mother died when he was two, and somehow his father, Dmitri Mikhailov, was trembled so bad he kind of forgot who he really was. He never looked straight into his son's eyes. Up until Ricardovich turned 12, his father rarely spoke to him... and Ricardovich could not understand but to swallow it uneasily to his throat to believe that his father remained an arrogant man in front of him.

Ricardovich was tutored privately at home. He was never too brilliant at anything; no matter that how Petrov, his mathematics tutor was one of the best algebraists in Russian history, something just blocked Ricardovich's mind to comprehend the materials he learnt. And it just did not happen in math; he could not excel in everything from Russian literature, geography, history, government... he just hated academic lives so much. The only thing he could bear was music. He had been good in it, being able to master the Hungarian Rhapsody when he was 12.

He always had been happy to play with piano. Every maid and Kruschev the old gardener praised him a lot and seldom did they continue their work when the Young Master played his fingers down the grand piano in the Main Hall inside the manor. For a moment could Ricardovich smiled at himself to listen to his own playing and felt that he worthed something.

Music is the only thing made him dare to stand before his father about his capability.

No matter how his father ignored him, as usual, of him and his talent and his everything.

One day when he was nine, the Grand Piano in the manor's Main Hall broke one of its strings. The bored little Young Master Ricardovich was waiting and waiting for the repairer to fix it so he could continue playing, but it took some time... so he strolled along the alley of the third floor where it was deserted because the maids were busy cleaning in the lower storeys.

He leaned himself before the small window balcony at the end of the alley, quietly humming Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. It always felt night at heart, and the light only came from the generosity of the moon... the music, the only thing he excelled of. He missed his father. He never knew his mother, but Father would never disignore him no matter how good he played the piano.

He casted his gaze around the scenery of the alley behind him. Something looked really strange... but what did? The tapestry on the wall on his right side was silently glued as usual, as well as the reddish empty brick wall on his left side. The empty brick wall, strangely, was different in colours... he just realized it now. Well, he did rarely observe this floor, though...

There were five rows of milder red colour along the left wall.

And inside the rows, there were even subtler periodic pattern of colours... our Little Young Master became quite intrigued to figure it out. His head was only full of pattern of music, if there were any, so he didn't really expect to be able to see some meaning behind the pattern. Gosh, he could barely able to see pattern in simple maths... how could he expect to derive something special of some subtle pattern on the wall he barely see?

So funny how five rows reminded him of five rows in alphabetic music notes(he was quite fluent at it, too)... na na na na na... he could remembered the sequence of the first verses of moonlight sonata... it should be here, here, here... as his hand traced down the rows of different colours

... to be surprised that every finger-tap he made on the different-coloured rows touched his hand upon the subtler colours of the pattern! His heart chilled... how could this happen?

But he started to feel excited. I found something here! The pattern sings Moonlight Sonata the first verses in alphabetical music notes! He anxiously tapped on every following sequences until the end of the wall...

and the wall slid opened!

Anxious but excited, the Young Master stepped inside the medium sized, high-ceiled room where he saw a painting of a very beautiful, strong young lady with a balalaika in her hand. He was strucked at heart by her beauty... it was as though he met his long-lost first love.

But what distracted him from the painting was a gigantic black, Grand Piano slightly covered by dust at the bottom of the painting. He was really happy. Not only was he able to find this secret room all by himself, he also acquires his new friend! Gosh... and this piano is the Boesendorfer Concerto Grand Piano, one that he always wanted! Doesn't any maid and servant here know about this room whatsoever?

He opened the grid and started playing Moonlight Sonata...

Suddenly, his Father appeared behind him with a loud noise.

Ricardovich turned his head around, so anxious that for the first time their eyes met, what the little boy saw was an outraged, furious man he hardly believed it was his Father. The man who should have been loving him all this time...

You tedious prick! the grown up man roared, and slapped Ricardovich so hard on his face.

The maids and servants hurrily ran along to the thunderstrucked Young Master, who sadly wailed before Dmitri Mikhailov.

The Father who should have loved his son.

Wine Toasting at Gare de Lyon (2)

What are you doing here?

It was two am in Paris in mid December 1988. Two young men, both wearing long coats and two kinds of hat; the shorter one wore a navy blue beret and the other one tightened his medium semi-boy scout-ushanka. They strolled along the area of Paris Champs Elysses, somehow this freezing cold forced them to look for a temporary shelter so they could go home after the snow stopped storming.

The taller gestured so the shorter followed him enter a small restaurant at the end of the road. It was one of his favourite place to hang out. The shorter man was quite surprise to see that inside it was spacious. It reminded him of some trick he learned from Fitzwix the old Royal Architect back home, but he used magic anyway... these Human Race merely used some (he found out later) interior tricks; less pillars, high ceiling, and of course, stairs that lead underground instead of upstairs. They seated themselves in the ground floor near the broadest window.

A waitress sticked out a pen and a note, ready to scribble down their order.

What, you have not been eating anything before? the taller man asked, raising his eyebrows. Hmm, said the shorter. He was indeed, confused. Why don't you order me the same one as yours? he shrugged.

So that was how they ended up together each savouring a bowl of beouf bourguignon, a bowl of boullabaise, a couple of profiteroles, and a bottle of red wine.

I do have heard this concept, though, said the tall man, Davidovich James Brownsimov. He smiled understandingly at the young man before him, whose face reddened because of the wine's heat and mannered like a child having his first sweet candy. The concept of dual... each vector space has their own unique pair in dual space. He straight realized it the time they got face to face earlier in the cafe he went into apprentice. That glint of excitement and naughty shine of the boys' eyes just reminded him of his own.

Suddenly the reddened face become sane, and the boy grinned extremely naughty. This is my first time arrived here, I don't know why The Door led me here, he said with a yawn. Usually I got to the other side of the world where the people are brown-skinned and women kept on offering themselves.

David laughed. Yes,this is definitely his dual. Oh well, he hoped that this boy would turn no boring at all in the end.

So, tell me... what was it like in your world?

Why so hurry? What, so you could sabotage me rightaway? The other boy sneered.

Both of them laughed and toasted. From now on, each one of them should be really careful on each other's mischieves.

The Sight of Two Skies

The brunette gentleman with his blue eyes gazing upon the Soedra Strandgatan was sipping his coffee while leaning upon the stainless fence on the bank of the river. The river that leads him to the Lake of Hjalmaren, where he felt extremely blank at heart.

Erik Wilhelm Ahlgren his name was. As he spoke people would notice his heavy German accent, no matter how his tongue spoke in Russian, Swedish, or even Japanese. His blue eyes sharpingly casted his talking opponent and, as he always did in his presentation be it in Uppsala Universitaet or in that Medical School in Cambridge, MA, words were coming curtly and so much in efficiency from his mouth. He did not have many friends; as far as he remembered, he only get socialized either with his medical colleagues in the state oncology department back then when he was in colleges, or with cashiers in department stores where he usually shopped. Since he was born people recognized him as that Silent Brilliant-at-School Guy.

Last summer he had a promotion from his co-supervisor, Prof. Koenig. The old internist had been a family physician for this rich noble-blooded Russian family for thirty years, and in their present generation one of their ladies had been very sick. Koenig contacted his supervisor, Prof. Sinai Joachim. Joachim and Erik specialized in therapeutical treatment of oncology. Koenig believed that Joachim could handle the lady's disease best. During the whole previous year, Erik had helped him examine the lady's medical records and symptoms and concluded the most appropiate medication she should endure.

They agreed that the miss should spend at least two years in exposure of mild sunlight to help increase the concentration of vitamin D in her body. So the family villa in the Lake of Hjalmaren became the choice of the first summer of the therapy. In the winter time in Europe, she will be moved to Melbourne, Australia. Erik signed the contract that it was him who will be in charge of the miss' health procedure. He was given full wage and a bedroom in the villa and a car so he could go back and forth from the villa to his office in Oerebro. Today would be their first encounter as patient and doctor.

Excuse Me! a voice of a man called upon him. Erik turned around. A big, tall muscled man wearing a long coat approached him. Could you please tell me where I can find a ride to rent?

Erik was about to open his mouth to answer, when he realized that they were being watched rather casually by a maiden wearing a greenish morning coat. He explained the direction briefly, and the big man said thank you. When they left, the maiden nodded to Erik with a slight smile.

Not a bad first stranger experience in my second time to Oerebro, thought the blonde maiden.

The town of Oerebro was shining tenderly as usual, displaying the castles and contemporary baroque building.

However, the maiden still could not forget her first sight of the town of Karlstad three hours ago, despite the additional encounter with the handsome brunette young man who gave direction to rent a car here in Oerebro.

The sight of two skies, apparently, does not only belong to Garmisch-Partenkirchen.

Afternoon Tea Party of Little Miss Anthony

Maybe because Rose Mary, her beloved Mother, was half-English, was that how her appetite and habit ran also in Anthony's vein.

Anthony was exquisitely a big fan of teas and every occassion involving it: she loved to invite her friends and colleagues when she grew up to afternoon tea parties held before her green house, or held her little birthday parties with tea-themes. By tea themes means that as much as possible should every element of the party contained tea: she will dress herself with rose-tea fragrance, and slip some tea leaves at the back of her ear, and so did her friends in her social group in high school: Samantha, Carrie, Charlotte, and later on, Miranda(familiar with their names? Sure, they're typical American names). The served dish would be tea-flavoured cake, black tea cookies, and the cammomile tea would be the girls' favourite choice of beverage. Sometimes they would also made tea-flavored consomme from the recipe Dave, Anthony's brother of whom the other four really idolized-especially Charlotte, who became madly in love with him since the first time they met(she said) gave them. The scheme with consomme usually marked a pyjamas party of the five.

Samantha had Danish and Spanish blood, Charlotte and Miranda were Germans, and Carrie was half Irish and French. But they fully grown as American teenagers, and came from rich white collar families. They were really intrigued by how Anthony and her royal half Russian and English blood continued their daily noble tradition, starting from their poise, calm manner to their yules and debutes.

But little that they knew about Anthony's small fragment of childhood, one that maybe Anthony herself nearly forgotten now.

It involved her tea- fanatism as a child, when she was about three or four, playing afternoon tea party with her favourite toys: Teddy the Bear, Mrs. Norris, Goldstein, and Bloomsburry, the maid-dolls which she portrayed to have noble bloods. (So funny that each of them might be Ann's resemblance of her ideal friends, and maybe that was why in her more grown up lives she tended to choose befriend four people)

And magically, the toys spoke back to her.

That was why she always loved to spend her afternoon alone just by the four of them in the backyard (that time her family made her live in the villa in Nantucket). The maids were busy cleaning the house and somehow felt naturally thankful that Ann wasn't being nosy as the other four-years child might be, so at least for two hours every day Anthony would be left alone playing by her dolls there.

The habit was observed heavily by some child kidnapper who wanted to kidnap her to extort her father's fortune.

One day, Julian, the name of the kidnapper, who accidentally, always operated alone, sneaked down the backyard and arrived behind little Anthony who were unsuspicious of his presence. She merely turned her head a little to see who was coming, and offered him to join her playing tea.

Yes, Sir, come play with us...

At the time the dolls were also inviting him, that was when the actually- superstitious Julian ran for his life. For God sake! The dolls are talking!

As she grew up, Anthony eventually forgot to play with her toys. They were now stored, although properly, in the warehouse.

But sometimes some childhood memory about the occassion echoed at the back of her head. Sometimes she felt lonely, and yet she knew that maybe she needed to see her old friends-the dolls- to kill the feeling.

Anyway, to totally dismiss a hospitality with something we were once close to, was rather not a good thing.

Inside the Green Wall of Fyrdeusch

It was a sweet time, to be able to run along together with no mixed feeling but a sincere friendship. The boy was six already, and the girl was about four.

The parents were sitting around the Garden of Fyrdeusch-at least that's how Ricardovich, the owner of the manor, called the green area surrounded by his walls; the wives were serving the husbands English scones, bagels, or Danish pastries, who, unlike them women, let their faces sun-burnt instead of wearing laced-veil hats.

The Family painter and photographer, Szascha, and his African-European assistant, Mahmoud, were busy mixing colours after taking a brief camera-shot of the children; there were actually six of them, four girls and two boys. All around four to seven years old. Szascha did not ask them deliberately to pose; he simply took their natural motion and spontaneous expression when they were busy picking daisies and running along.

Szascha loved to re-establish the photographs he had taken into a painting. Today, the lucky picture to be re-painted was the picture of Jeromovich and Liliana, the daughter of some viscount-descendant from Leningrad, the Byrzinskis, who came around not merely for a cup of tea but also to ask for some loan.

The Byrzinskis went bankrupt after World War One. They picked the wrong side. And today, Magdalena, the wife of Sergey Byrzinski, was shining all over her face seeing her daughter Liliana who was pictured together with Jeromovich, one of the prime heirs of Brownsimov dynasty.

Szascha the ancient painter was believed to bring luck to whichever pairs he portrayed; a pair of shoes he photographed were sold thousands of dollars, a pair of rabbit could turn into a gemstone after painted(well-- this one's sort of lacking sense, however, Magdalena struggled to convince herself that after this Liliana and she shall have some fortune), and many many examples of Eurasian men and women who were once his customers were known to be married and lived happily ever after the time he finished their portrays (in which, of course, the future spouses in the same frame).

So, Jeromovich Vladev Brownsimov had actually began his peculiar love story involving Liliana, and to lead a lesser surprise... her mother Magdalena.

And yet he was merely six.

The Gleaming Eye

They said that she was descendant of some gypsies.

Many are swallowed by her gleam of innocent eye cast.

As she grew up semi-asperger-ly, with such eidetic memory and nerd behaviour,

people kept on fulfilling anything she wants.

But not one boy, this boy with the jet black hair.

She was astounded to see herself inside the boy- same lazy eyes, same ignorance, same passion for books... same obsession towards tobacco and numbers scrutinizing. Same interests towards patterns. Same hatred towards the smell of durian.

So they became best friends.

Majority of other girls in campus gestured her with jealousy. Like, what- that Albert, the most prominent science bach with his famous ignorance-making-cute-manner, can be closed-related to her? Seriously, that to be the blonde, curly hair Carole makes more sense... but this slow-head gypsy? What has she done to Albert?

And indeed, Albert That Bachelor married her at the end of the day.

From The Bank of The Hjalmaaren

Therryana was sitting on the terrace of her bedroom facing the Lake of Hjaelmaren in 1989. Her maid, the lovely Britta, was combing her shining black hair always making her like the 19th century English Queens despite her Russian blood. Britta has taken care of her since she was five years old, and each passing day was it love that Therryana grew on Britta. Therry(her little name) was so sweet Britta could not help but to promise she would take care forever of this lady.

Therryana would spend at least two years of her youth here in the forest of Sweden due to her health. Father told her that Arthur,her brother, would visit her at least once in two weeks when he was out of his equestrian competition to keep her company and less lonely. Apart from the young doctor who would regularly check on her, there were also Miguel Fortissimo the Italian chef to cook her healthy (mostly salmon) foods, and of course Britta, and Beatrice, the androginy gardener to take care of her favourite roses.

But today she was expecting another company. Her only girl cousin, and thus that might makes her the favourite cousin of Therryana's, would come to visit. She called her Anny.

Anny and Therry have spent two years together in a boarding school in Switzerland, where Anny's father grew chocolate and sold cheese fondues. She knew her as much as she knew her own diary, and so did Anny. They admired each other and planned to travel the world together in their gap year after high school.

There was rather an uneasy secret Therryana kept from Anny. It was about her other brother, Albert Davidovich.

Albert seemed to be very fond of Anny.

He even spared his time at present to pay her(Therryana) a visit, something which was rather surprising, yet so awkward for Therryana given he seemed to never pay her too much attention compared to his physics books. Therryana felt like it was rather because Anny would be there too.

Therryana felt a little jealous to Anny. She wanted her brother to care more for her too.

Therryana casted a look at the far tip of the Great Lake in front of her. She missed everyone: Father, Mother, Arthur, Albert, and her beloved cousin... Anny.

The Converging Time

The time would converge and passed with only one moment. So would a life.

A baker might dreamt of becoming a teacher and an ironsmith all at a time.

But he would only become a baker. He chose the path.

Down in the realm of mighty Boston, a boy was growing up.

He saw colors patching up every bit of reality.

He saw mapping.

And he enjoyed it with a pack of tobacco in a pipe.

His goal might only be a happiness.

But he chose to use science to obtain it.

He chose the serene path.

The serene path unique in its own way.

'Albert!' said a voice of a woman.

The boy turned over.

Another night with another lady... will it be a brand new start?

After The Lightning Struck

Once there said that the Nature of Opylus was created from a drop of The Great Lion blood.

The Great Lion sacrificed his life, due to his deep remorse of killing his own son.

His bone became the basis of the Land. His blood shaped the whole Island of Opylus, crushing the rocks of the land and carving streams and rivers across it.

Years and thousands of years passed by and suddenly, out of nowhere, the Land of Lion Remnants were occupied by these clans, the People of The Fair Skin.

Thus came the People of The Pale Skin, the Beckruth clan.

The Beckruth clans have now reached their second generation, ruled by King Beckruth Erzogamherst Steuschenberger.

His wife, of one of The Fair Skin clan, the fairest one, bore their son, Brilliant Bedliszt.

A feast was held in seven nights in a row.

But one Guest was forgotten in the whole invitation.

The Naturalist was not invited and this outraged him.

So after a lightning he emerged in the night of the seventh day.

A curse was laid to the little born Prince.

The blood of the savage Lion who once killed his own son would also run in the Prince's vein.

He would not be able to control his emotion nor reflect clearly.

No matter how the Queen plead, the Naturalist would not retrieve back his curse.

Coldbloodedly, the Naturalist left the suddenly heartbroken Royal Family.

The party that supposed to celebrate a merry was ruined. The merry changed into misery.

Underneath the twinkling starry night sky, the newborn child, Brilliant Bedliszt his name was, innocently waiting for where his fate shall take him.

He might now be shielded on his mother's lap.

There soon come time where he has to endure it all himself.

One Magical Night in Bellevue

It was Thibauld, name of the brownish equus with the two classic siblings on top of his back. Of the first lineage of Ricardovich Brownsimov, exactly is from Fadev Nikolay Brownsimov, the brother of Jeromovich, could we see such an amorous relationship from a brother to his sister.

Therryana Vassilisa Brownsimova was on the front. Arthur was on the backside of the horse. Down the forest of the State of Washington in a warm summer night went they along the river near Bellevue beneath the moonlight. Sometimes Arthur would tell her the stories of their ancestors. Of how that one day came Great Grandpa Dmitri down the Southern Hemisphere to the Shore of Andalas. He fell in love with the Land so tropical he took off his ushanka.

His son, Grandpa Ricardovich turned 25, and decided to marry merely a woman of his life, from the blood of a modern Aramaic maiden, Brendamilikan. Grandpa Ricardovich could not stand his future children to endure the pain of him having more wives. Great Grandpa could not stand his eldest son marry a woman from different culture. Thus Grandpa moved to the Land of The Free to buy his family their freedom.

The embryonic American Brownsimov family maintained a great relationship with the Italian merchants, The Fortissimos. They collaborated in distributing wines and pork-loins.

Arthur mentioned his curiosity to his father once. Why, father, that upon the choice of the Road, could we still trade wines and pork loins?

Arthur told Therryana, his loving sister, everything that Albert Davidovich,his second sibling, often responded sceptically.

Therryana always listened to Arthur with great admiration of an innocent perspective of a younger sister.

She shared him burnt-marshmallows and roasted meat from a hare Arthur shot the nights they shared the talk.

The Meson

He was never an average little boy.

His eyes shining fiercely, pupils gleaming of being so excited in watching the world around. It was just 10 AM that he sneaked already inside the Great Library of The City, no one but he himself and God know how on Earth could he sneaked in, with such limp, and crippled body.

Yes he was a crippled young boy with a heart full of tons of desire to learn.

He read everything.

Mathematics, geography, old newspapers, new newspaper, Les Miserables, The Illiad, Mathematical Physics, Physics, biology, evolution, econometry, philosophy, history, advertisement...

And he could see beautiful patterns.

He could see things he could not share with anybody else nor could anybody understand. He could see the star, twinkling up high in the sky, signaled him that the dual and and its dual of one of their forms had met somewhere in the Western continent.

The Inventor was playing his game on them.

Far outside the window, right at the place where the boy sat...

People could see such an eye of a mesonic blizzard was drifting around the boy.

It was the year of 1947, a night that gave everyone who accidentally stared at the window of the library where the boy sat, such a mystical goosebump.