Fourth Test

I had worried too much, as I always did. The philosophy exam had gone relatively smoothly. After that night, Gika and I would talk about all kinds of things, with her slowly but surely speaking more and more Magranpolian, though only in private. We discussed a wide spread of ideas, her vocabulary much larger than I actually imagined, though her pronunciation was still somewhat off. 
"I just don't get it!" I said, desperation clear in my voice, "if I'm supposed to think metaphorically, then how can I draw any sort of objective answer out of it?"
Gika sighed and turned the book, Symbolic Relations of Aspect One, Two and Three Volume 2, around read through the text then flipped a few pages back, pointing to a paragraph:
"Souls, being the most chaotic of all substances, are unpredictable in their attraction. To bind and capture a soul, the most commonly successful course of action is to create a vessel associated with the most prominent aspect present in the soul. Unlike the binding of other materials, all objects and substances associated with the aspect are usable for this task, even objects that are only metaphorically associated with the aspect. It is not recommended to perform such a ritual in the presence of individuals, corpses or depictions, since doing so may cause possessions, hauntings or the raising of often violent undead."
"Right," I said, "souls respond to metaphors, but I still don't understand how I should know which metaphors are 'objectively' the best."
Gika pointed to a small number next to an alchemical symbol.
"Sekor." She said.
"What?"
"The score!"
"Oh I see, this is their rate of effectiveness. Thank you!"
Gika smiled back, then returned to her own book. I'd always assumed working alchemy was unique to this world, but given her extreme wealth of knowledge it seemed that in whatever world Gika was from, alchemy was similarly common. It made me wonder if alchemy back on earth was also possible. I remember reading about alchemists, about names such as Nicolas Flamel and Jabir ibn Hayyan, as well as about people wishing to create a philosopher stone. A question suddenly crossed my mind.
"Gika," I asked, "do you know if alchemy in this world also has a material considered 'perfect'? In my world they called it the 'philosopher's stone'. Does such a thing really exist?
Gika was visibly in thought for a few seconds before she stood up and made her way to a tower of books we had put in the corner. She carefully pulled a book called 'Advanced Aspect Combination' from among them, then put it on the table and opened it up. Her finger glided down the index, then thumbed through the book to find the correct page. There, there was a chart, showing the seven alchemical aspects encircling a symbol I hadn't seen before.
"What does this symbol mean?" I asked, pointing at it.
"Perfect." Gika answered.
I looked at the chart more closely, each of the seven symbols being the exact same distance from both each other and the central glyph. 
"A perfect combination of all seven aspects, I assume?" I asked.
"Son- eh… yes." She answered.
I read the text above the chart:
"All seven aspects, combined in equal part, form a perfect material, given that each ingredient is of a similar sort, for every weakness of one aspect is covered by another. For example, combining each of the seven metals (gold, silver, copper, lead, iron, mercury and tin) in equal parts will result in a steel stronger, more durable and more rust-free than any other."
"This seems useful," I said, "why don't we just use this for everything?"
"More aspects is harder," Gika said, "like water and oil."
"Where would I be if I didn't have you to ask all these questions?"
"Failing your test." Gika said, smiling.
"Anyways, that's enough studying for today I think," I said, closing the book in front of me, "let's go do some sketching."
Gika nodded and closed her book as well. We stood up and went into the main studio, where an enormous blank canvas stood ready to be painted on. Two chairs with piles of paper on them stood facing it. We both removed the piles, grabbed a single sheet of paper from them, sat down and began sketching. We sat in silence, only the sound of pencil scratching paper being audible for the next two hours. I finished first, then waited patiently for Gika while pretending to draw so she wouldn't feel the pressure to hurry up. Finally, we compared. I had drawn the sight of a forest, one all too familiar for me and Gika, with the composition cut in half by a tree on the foreground. Gika, on the other hand, had drawn the studio, with me, her and being busy on the sides while the old man was staged large and central, working on the masterpiece he never got to finish. 
Gika glanced over at my sketch.
"Not very personal." She said.
I looked at hers.
"Your composition leaves too much uncomfortable space."
As if we were one, we sighed, crumpled up the paper, threw it over our shoulder then grabbed another sheet. We giggled at our strange synchronicity, then continued. After another several hours, my drawing began to significantly slow and my eyes started to close despite my commands. Gika didn't look much better, almost falling over from exhaustion at one point. Recognizing that we were at the end of our productivity, I suggested we stop for the night, and Gika agreed. We gave each other a goodbye-kiss, after which I went home. 
The following morning I left the house humming, ready for another day. It wasn't an easy daily schedule me and Gika were following together, but it was nice. I loved every moment I spent with her, no matter what we were doing, and while it was obviously difficult to create an artwork that would honor Paolo's legacy, I was sure we'd be able to figure it out. My thoughts must've been cursed, I must've jinxed it somehow, because when I finally neared the studio, something was wrong: the door was left open. I rushed over, hearing furious shouts from inside.
"Tisoni ku! Tisoni ku!" Gika shouted, her voice echoing with rage. I ran into the building. Gika was there, but she was not alone.
In the studio stood Gika's mother.