Pageantry of Feathers

The idea that he could amount to more than a spectacle- like an animal in a zoo, was starting to become foreign to him. He was a sight to be adored for a moment and then cast away in the next.

'Welcome the heartache, knowing well that it is where Sinners derive their pleasure, and where saints lament their blessings.'

The Father of the monastery would say that often to Lumière. 'There is some good side to all of your struggle' was the general sentiment, even if Lumière couldn't readily see it. There was supposedly beauty to all things, but as he eyed the jeering expressions of the crowd, he began to perform an act he had performed so many times that it had lost all excitement to him. Mediocrity- repetition- to him it was mind-numbing.

A large crowd sat before him as he pondered the ordeal, cheering and laughing aloud as they danced about like little figurines meant to bob along to the show tunes of the orchestra that sounded out from the stage beside him.

Lumière brandished a polished black cane that matched his wardrobe, raising it into the air in a showy manner. Sparks began to crackle and dissipate in the air, and before long, the cane began to glow alight. It felt like he was holding the sun in his hand. He dropped it towards the ground, but not a single sound resounded throughout the show hall. Suspended within the air, the cane floated without contact with its surface, still burning brightly.

Such a sight shook the hearts of the ongoers, and their cheers quickly faded away as their eyes filled with awe. To Lumière, it was just a performance of many hidden preparations. It didn't seem magical at all. He let out a quiet sigh, but still kept a false smile on his face as he looked back up at the crowd.

"It's a little bit exciting, isn't it? Well, like all things, such magic is only temporary." Lumière laughed aloud.

It felt painful. Extremely painful. Acting was hard when such a performance was so boring. His fake smile, his enigmatic attitude, it all felt awful.

Lumière snapped his fingers, and in an instant the flame extinguished, and the cane dropped to the ground with a loud clattering sound.

Magic used to make life so special to him as a child, a simple trick able to capture his innocent heart. Yet, on the other side of it, he felt like a laughable spectacle.

He felt he would have been a better clown than a magician.

With a face painted with some sad mixture of humour and anguish, he raised his gloved hand gracefully towards the audience and smiled wide. Letting out another quieted sigh, his fingers rubbed coarsely against each other before snapping loudly, and a bright dancing flame appeared in his palm.

Because he had chosen to live out his dreams, his childish heart had been shattered, and so the world felt of nothing but cruelty. He could have been content, being clueless on the other side of the stage. But his greed led him to despair. The fence had been greener on the other side, and he had blindly crossed it, only to find wilted grass underneath his feet.

Out of the flames that burnt char against his glove, a red rose appeared from its cinders, the smoke dissipating within the cold air.

As they watched, the awe of the crowd sat still on the air, but as Lumière lifted the rose, their cheers began a rising crescendo once more.

'The world feels dull when the meaning behind euphoria is revealed.' Lumière thought as he turned his hurt gaze away from the cheering crowd. 'Would I be as ignorant as them, to ignore the secrets behind my illusions? Then, I'm sure it would still feel magical to my heart…'

Still, he thought, his tragedy was much less befalling when compared to the cruelty the world bestowed unto others.

At least with the falsity of his performance, he could make the miserable wretches within the audience smile for a short time, if only to distract them from the blinding gaze of a harsh world's nature.

"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, wouldn't it?" Lumière spoke aloud with a smile.

'Rather, where did I first hear such a saying?' He began to humorously think as he looked on towards the crowd. 'A dreamer dreams of an adage not meant for this world, I suppose...'
Such was the folly of a cruel universe, to be parted with brilliance in place of lies.

In an instant, the same sheen of dancing flame overtook the bright red rose. The crowd, in response, began to cheer even louder; it was a fortissimo of grand effort- as if the spectators were trying desperately to drown out the orchestra with their excitement.

Lumière had all but blocked out the anguishing noise, and so he continued without so much as a twitch upon his cheeks.

When the flame had died down, in place of where the rubied rose had stood in his palm, a bright-white dove that fluttered around with its graceful short-feathered wings had appeared.

'This trick only works with a certain size of dove...' Lumière lamented in his mind. 'So, I'm sure that after this showcase, the creature within my hands will be slaughtered and eaten by someone other than I. Even then, in comparison, it will have endowed more than menial purpose, unlike me.'

With a beaming smile, Lumière held the dove towards the cheers of the crowd and parted his lips as if to speak.

"So, I will name this 'rose' Juliette, and pray to the Goddess that it adorns the world with its beauty regardless." He smiled.

In one swift action, Lumière threw the bird up into the air. Cascading through the air, the white streak fell against the backdrop of the ceiling, and in a bright burst of light, it exploded with dazzling, multi-coloured sparks.

As the crowd's cheers peaked, Lumière tucked the docile bird that still sat in his hand into his coat jacket, and mourned the loss of his bright-white handkerchief that had been switched out.
With a softened bow, amidst the roaring of the audience, Lumière began to lament his performance once more.

Such was the life of an illusionist.

Such was the life of a career liar.

Later, he stood quietly backstage, when the crowd had sunk away to return to the misery of reality, valuing the peace of momentary silence for a short while.

However, it was quickly interrupted by clicking footsteps that echoed against the gaudily tiled floor of the show hall.

As Lumière turned around, he met the expectant gaze of one who always acted the better of himself. In reality, it was likely as such. Such a woman could bring so much more purpose to the world than him, at least in his belief.

She was nearly taller than him, despite her raised silk shoes adorned with regalia. Her gown was a bright yellow colour, and her earrings, gloves, and brooch were all of sky-blue regard.
In aesthetic, as a noblewoman, she was a beautiful summer's day. Her bright flowing auburn hair fell against her shoulders, matching well with her light-blue eyes that glimmered underneath the glare of the oil lamps on the wall beside them.

Although, no beauty, even one such as hers, could stir the heart of a man who did not believe in such a thing.

Lumière took off his white-banded black top hat and stepped towards the woman who wore wealth like it was an aesthetic.

"In regards to pay, Madame..." Lumière began to speak before she had stopped her waltz into the room.

Her gaze furrowed upon him, with an expression that spoke out as if she had eaten a sweet that had soured.

"You would speak of such a thing before failing to greet me properly?" She replied with a bitter tone of voice.

Lumière's eyebrow twitched, but he hung a smile desperately on his face as he touched a hand to his head as if pinching at his hair, bowing slightly in the meanwhile.

The lady nodded softly in response as if it was only proper to receive such a courtesy.

"As for your monetary imbursement, Mr. Croft, you know well that it will be lessened. We've already discussed this much." The woman said with a stern expression on her face.

He could barely contain the annoyance that wanted desperately to knit itself into his falsified smile. Luckily, as a showman, conjuring a pleased expression was his greatest talent.

"Very well, then I will bother you no more regarding such a thing." He spoke assuredly towards her. "My apologies, Madame."

Wanting no more to be in her presence, he speedily adjourned from the show. His low-cut leather boots clicked against the tiled floor as he walked, his quickened waltz loud in its desperation to cry out.

Such was a world of harsh nature.

The rain fell harshly on the flagstones that littered the dusty pathway of Leiden. The city was sprawling in its architecture that seemed to try desperately to pierce through the smog of the stormy sky, with towering buildings made of brick and mortar by the goddess of stonework's design. Gears could be heard whirring in the distance, of mechanical contraptions that powered the city, and of the giant clock tower that rested in the distance of the middle borough.

Slowly, Lumière made his way through the street. Since the bright red sun had nearly set, all manners of people had started to make their way home. Those coming home from an exhausting day of hard labour rode on the double-deckered engine-driven street trains. The middle class would hire a carriage pulled by well-groomed horses, and the wealthy would ride along the wide streets in their own motorised carriages. Even in the main street, the disparity between the three classes was intensely obvious. If one could afford it, those carriages would be driven by attendants, and for those who owned the greatest wealth, their motorised carriages would be driven by mass-produced human-like automatons.

In place of the sun which had pulled away its light from the streets, oil lamps on posts had been manually lit by the lamplighter that stomped his way through the city. So, the street was basked in a bright orange glow from the flames. Lumière knew that even the lamplighter was prone to losing his work at the behest of advancing industry. More and more had electricity begun to fill the streets with bright incandescent light, and so flame that had been gifted to humanity took a quiet backseat.

Alongside the glow of the lamplight, the lilac-coloured moon had emerged, alongside a singular green, blue, and red star. A raven had settled underneath its light above Lumière, a terrible omen of despair.

But alongside bad luck was simply the only way one could live. A man would be made to know his worth, whether most of all, or naught in the slightest, and then he would be made to fight against life with the sharpness of his family's name, or bare-handed against hunger and strife.
Suddenly, movement stirred in Lumière's jacket pocket that had been sewn carefully and shoddily into its interior. Reaching inside, he grasped hold of a wriggling, soft mass. As he pulled it out, he realised it was the dove he had pocketed during his performance.

As he looked at the bird, he let out a soft laugh- one that almost completely dispelled the harsh feelings that had been churning in his heart, and the tension that had been knitted into the muscles of his shoulders.

As if a portrait of a bird against a stormy backdrop, Lumière held the dove high up into the sky as he stared into its bright black dotted eyes.

"Bread made from inferior, cheap, bitter flour and a bowl of warm porridge... that's all that awaits me." He spoke softly towards the animal who paid him no mind. "For a night, we could eat like Kings within the monastery, if I were to take you back with me…"

With knitted eyebrows, he looked with an annoyed expression towards the swirling mud on the ground.

"Although, if the Madame were to learn of this, my pay would be cut even more so, wouldn't it?" Lumière laughed dejectedly. "I know well that birds are quite expensive."

Without illusion, Lumière threw his fist into the air, and with all of his strength, the dove was launched towards the stormy sky. It seemed to fly off into the distance, where in the lower borough, a massive city-like structure of stacked buildings could be seen.

"Well, you owe me a handkerchief. Still, fly free, Miss Juliette. Birds happen to fly off all the time, don't they…? I'm sure such a matter won't be traced back to me." Lumière smiled gently. "Although I'm sure in no time, you'll be struck down by the wrath of the lightning. That's just how the world seems to work…"

Lumière stepped down a long pathway of flowering steps enveloped in brush and foliage, almost as if it was a secret path to the middle borough, where the show hall was, to the lower borough, where Lumière lived. Because of constant rainfall, there was a large stone slope plastered onto the large hillside separating the two boroughs, so that the rain would avoid pooling in the middle borough, and make its way far below. As such, a large portion of the lower borough was flooded, and so boating services were common in the massive stacked city.
The stacked housing district of the lower borough, named 'Etten-Leur' by the people around it, meaning 'false hope' in the local language, was an amalgamation of towering slums that had been desperately stacked atop one another to avoid the floods of constant rainfall. The lower level had become a waterway for the transportation of goods for organised crime groups- and of paltry transportation for workers who worked in the middle borough, or sectors of the lower borough.

However, many chose not to live in Etten-Leur, for fear of the gangs, or of wanting to avoid the floods, without money to live in one of the many hovels that had been crudely plastered onto the face of the towering district.

As Lumière finished descending the flowering steps and continued down the street, he soon came upon a man dressed in tattered cloth, that seemed far too worn to be patched up, and too dirty to truly even be considered clothes.

He had bright-white hair that fell dirtily against his shoulders, and a nose as red as roses, that incessantly dripped snot onto his upper lip as he muttered to himself and scrawled etchings into the stone wall beside him.

Sitting down beside the raving old man, he eyed the scribbles upon the wall. Each sentence that had been scrawled in spotty chalk was by his short descriptions, in how fractured they could be, the 'secrets to the endless expansive universe'. Of course, how true the mutterings of a crazed elder could be was completely subjective to a person, and Lumière did not agree to pay his thoughts any real attention.

But despite his apprehensions to treat the world with disgust, pity had been carved deep into his bones by the father of the monastery; so, every day he would sit beside the lunatic of an old skeleton, and offer him the warmth of friendly company.

"Mr. Carthel, have you eaten anything today?" Lumière asked him with a gentle smile.

The old man's gaze flipped immediately over towards the poor magician. Continuing his incoherent ramblings under his breath, he reached his hands out as if to accept anything that Lumière would offer him.

Slowly, Lumière slipped his jet-black performer's gloves away from his long, thin fingertips with a sigh.

The career liar then reached into his coat jacket, where a pocket had been sewn carefully into the interior, and pulled out a white linen cloth that had been bunched up carelessly. Tucked inside was a small piece of bread, one made of inferior flour from the lowlands- a piece of bread that had by then grown stale and cold.

"Father Benedict always makes sure I'm carrying something to eat… but I know well that within the lower borough, there are those that are far hungrier than I." Lumière spoke in a hushed tone.

'That fool cares for others far more than himself…' He cursed inwardly.

As he lamented, he could only sigh once more.

Hurriedly, the old man accepted his offering, sparse as it was, and in an instant, it had been tucked away within his frail gut. For a Dwindler of the city-state of Leiden, one would urge them to eat slowly, after living for days without a single bit of food crossing their lips - as if to save them the sickness of an upset stomach.

However, in the case of Aineth Carthel, Lumière was not so afraid of refusing him the cautious tale of his word. He was sure that no matter what he would say to the skeleton whose skin clung desperately to his bones, he would not live much longer.

Such was a world of tragedy.

Still, for some reason, the harsh beating in Lumière's heart wished he would live to see many more ruby sunrises. So, every so often he would make his way to the man on the street, if only to feed him whatever he could, and make sure he was warm. Although the monastery Lumière was taken in by would often feed those without homes that gathered outside of it, and would shelter them from the cold of night, Aineth Carthel seemed completely opposed to gathering in a group, and so he stayed by his muttering lonesome on the side of the street.

As he stood up to continue his walk back home, the old man suddenly shot out with his hand, grabbing Lumière by the wrist as he lurched forward. Turning to look at Aineth Carthel, Lumière could see that his eyes had widened desperately, shaking at the edge of his eyelids as they nearly bulged out of his thin skull.

"Murderer." The old man spoke aloud, his voice sounding out as if a hundred men and women had spoken at once, a cacophony of voices layered atop each other.