Chapter 58: Between the Author, a Daughter, and the Mother of All

The Tower is silent; not dead, not asleep, simply in standby the clocks no longer chime, the carpets no longer float, even the dolls, usually bustling, seem to have held their breath at the summit, in the office that only exists when the author goes there, you are present, sitting cross-legged on a cushion of woven memory, a notebook on your lap  the quill rests in your hand, dipped in an ink you can no longer read everything is there the worlds, the names, the ideas scribbled on torn papers, and you… emptied.

You whisper into the void, without addressing anyone: "I've written too many miracles not to believe in exhaustion anymore." You set down the quill:"Too many silent screams too many chapters begun at the edge of an abyss."

The tea beside you is lukewarm an overturned grimoire continues to turn its pages alone, as if the wind wished to reread your memory you didn't hear her come, but she is there. Saphira, barefoot, a blanket clutched to her, approaches silently her gaze is older than her face she makes no unnecessary gestures she sits beside you, knees drawn up to her, looking straight ahead then she says: "I think you forgot something." You slowly turn your head, a furrowed brow, no irony:"Oh really?" —"You." She sighs her shoulders barely tremble:"You gave me the tower, the nightmares, the living dolls, a divine mother, an armor of tenderness… but you forgot to write yourself into it." You don't answer right away. You look at her, and in this girl born of dreams, there is… a little too much of you.

A presence ascends from the base of the tower she does not walk; she is The Primordial Mother she appears without fanfare, without brilliance. Just a scent of origin, a gentle warmth like that forgotten after birth she slowly settles on your other side, balancing the silence her hands rest on her knees, and when she speaks, it is an eternal caress: "You wrote her to watch over others, but who watches over her, when you fall?" Saphira doesn't move, but her voice becomes softer:"I heard him sigh last night. I felt him... far away." 

The Primordial Mother nods slowly: "You are more than pages, little queen you are a memory offered to someone who needed a home." You finally place your hand on her shoulder:"I never knew if you were a refuge or a storm..." She laughs. It is light, an air bubble in a sea too dense. —"I am both. I am your weariness, but also your tenderness." She lowers her eyes, hesitates —"You drew me to soothe others, but I also want to keep you awake not to write... just to stay." You murmur: "You're just a little girl you don't have to carry a broken author." She lifts her eyes, with a seriousness too great for her. "You created me but you also adopted me." And this is no longer a character, no longer an idea it is a child, a queen, your imaginary daughter who comes to watch over you. 

The Mother extends her hands, and in the air, without spell, without light… a circle is drawn. A simple bond, not magical, not spectacular, a mutual commitment:"You owe each other nothing, but you chose each other and in this world, rare is what lasts longer than a shared choice." Saphira holds out her hand to you you hesitate, then you take it and the Mother whispers:"Here is an author, an embodied dream, and an ancient source." Saphira leans her head against your shoulder:"You can take a break you can even not write for a year but don't leave me alone without telling you… that I am proud of you." You smile you don't know yet if you will continue tomorrow you don't know if the story needs a chapter 59 but what you do know… is that she saw you, and you saw her too.

End of Chapter 58 — Between the Author, a Daughter, and the Mother of All