The worth of a potato in gold

Watching the boy, Etta, be carried into the distance, Lumière smiled softly.

To Lumière, it seemed as if the Dwindlers were both a treasure trove of perspectives, but also a collection of strange souls who presented immense mystery in their individual stories. He shook the event quickly away from his mind, and nodding to the Sister, adjourned to the monastery.

He threw his coat to the wayside as he felt the warmth of the front hall wrap around his skin like a blanket of comfort. He then made his way to the kitchen, lacking in its functions, for there was often no food nor ingredients that required more than a simple large iron pot and a wood fire.

So, he prepared the fire.

Quickly, he stoked the coals in the iron stove that sat in the corner. As soon as they were exposed to air, they burst forth with crackling embers. Lumière then slipped a few sticks into the stove, bringing a small crimson flame to the forefront.

He pulled out the potatoes from the burlap sack, skewering them with a long metal rod before placing them right above the burning embers. For a short time, he turned them over the red-hot coals, before they had developed an even char on their thick skin.

He then pulled them away from the flame, allowing them to rest on a wooden plate he had prepared beforehand.

Lumière stepped outside as the potatoes were resting, where the cold afternoon air had already fallen away to the rainfall's dreary mood. Still, the Father and the Sister sat outside, bearing the downpour as they handed out porridge to the poor miserable wretches that had gathered.

The one thing that the Dwindlers would seem to carry with them was a wooden cup as if it were a universal belonging. In the age of rainfall, there was no worry for water. One could set their cup upon the street and wait for the daily bout of crystalline droplets. So, they asked not for water and accepted the porridge that the church handed out every day without wanting for more.

Lumière placed a hand on Father Benedict's shoulder and leaned his head down in between them as he smiled.

"You two are almost done, right?" Lumière smiled.

"We're never done being kind, Lumière." Sister Alinde spoke with a grin.

"You know that's not what I mean." Lumière lamented. "When you're finished up, come inside after washing your hands. I've prepared a meal for you."

Father Benedict and Sister Alinde looked at Lumière with faces full of surprise, but their elations nor their questions rang out to be soothed because Lumière immediately adjourned to walk back to the monastery.

He climbed up the shoddy wooden stairs at the side wall, entering the hallway where the door to his room sat at the end. He then walked through the door on the right, entering a small dining hall where Lumière and the Sister usually ate. The Father would sometimes join them, although he was often too busy managing the monastery to even fathom eating a proper meal.

In the centre of the room was a well-polished circular table. The wood on the legs was slightly splintered, and the accompanying chairs were warped by age. There were decorative candles placed in the centre, although they had never been lit, so they retained their waxy gleam underneath the lamplight.

As he took a seat at the table, the door swung open, and the two holy figures of the monastery stepped inside, with curious expressions plastered on their face.

Sister Alinde saw the steaming potatoes on the table, and while her face immediately filled with her excitement, she pursed her lips and reserved herself. Father Benedict looked at the same sight, and with two furrowed eyes, he spoke aloud.

"How much did you spend, Lumière?"

The Magician, who had been caught with red hands, turned towards him with a smile.

"That's insignificant."

Father Benedict's eyebrows twitched as he spoke once more.

"How can it be insignificant? You know how stringent our income has to be to provide for so many. The Upper Cathedrals can only spare so much for a background monastery on a near-nameless street...."

"What do you mean by that? Should you say that every essence of our being should be offered to the Dwindlers, down to the very last penny? By your words, Father Benedict- when and where should you derive your smile from? I've spent the money already, so it's an irreversible fact of reality. I've cooked you this food, so you should have a seat and enjoy it."

The irritated colour immediately flushed out of Father Benedict's face. He let out a sigh, abandoning his anger as he smiled.

"You're right. Sometimes it's alright for us to experience our own blessings too, isn't it?" Father Benedict spoke softly. "Thank you, Lumière."

Excitedly, Sister Alinde sat beside Lumière. In the same fashion, although quite more reserved, Father Benedict took a seat at the round wooden table. There was no head of the table when it came to the church of the Crown of Thorns. It was to symbolise that despite social standing, whether a wretch or a noble, one was ultimately a servant of the Goddess. As such, no one would sit above one another.

Lumière looked down towards the potato that he had plated for himself. It was steaming hot, releasing thick clouds of smog into the air around him, and its surface had been smeared with a small amount of the creamy sour butter he had purchased from the merchant.

He met the gaze of the Sister, who smiled back at him excitedly, and in unison, they dug their withered iron forks into the potatoes in front of them. He lifted the fork towards his mouth but hesitated as his gaze wandered back towards Sister Alinde. Lumière watched as she placed the piece of potato into her mouth. Her eyes seemed to light up bright as she chewed, and her cheeks grew red with satisfaction as she let out strange groans of delight.

While the Sister always smiled, the side of her that was brought out by food was something that made Lumière's heart feel light and airy. He averted his eyes once more and bit down on the softened potato on his fork. Lumière's eyes immediately lit up just as the Sister's had. The taste was heavy and rich. The softness of the potatoes mixed well with the slightly sour and salty harsh butter that had melted and mixed into its flesh.

Looking over towards Father Benedict, he could see that the pious and reserved man had already cleared his plate of both the potato and even the butter that had dripped down onto its wooden surface. Lumière chuckled inwardly as he witnessed this scene, as it wasn't often that the priest he had called a friend his whole life broke free from his religious facade.

Suddenly, Sister Alinde's face lit up in horror as she stood up.

"I'm sorry, but I'll have to take my leave for now." She apologised as she bowed her head.

"It's all right." Father Benedict shook his head as if to allow her to leave immediately.

Sister Alinde then immediately adjourned from the dining hall, shutting the thick wooden door behind her. It was then the Father and the Magician alone in the room together. There was a quiet awkwardness between them as if there was nothing more to be said without the Sister acting as a conduit. They had long lost their commonalities as soon as Ainsworth Benedict had dove headfirst into his duties as a priest. Lumière sometimes wondered if he had begun to miss the days when the three of them were simple servants in the monastery.

He let out a heavy sigh, thinking that it would have gone unnoticed as he stood up and walked towards the door that led out of the dining hall. Yet, Father Benedict turned towards the Magician and parted his lips as if to speak.

"Lumière." Father Benedict spoke out suddenly.

Lumière turned towards the priest with curious eyes.

"Yes?"

"Don't worry too much about understanding others." Father Benedict smiled. "While it's important, I think it's more necessary for you to be happy with your own life, and I don't think that empathising with others is where you'll find your answer."

Lumière stared at the Father for a short while as he hung at the edge of the doorway, his head pressed up against the wooden frame.

'I shouldn't empathise? My own answer?'

'Does he mean my performance?' Lumière thought tentatively.

His eyes were softened, like two marbles of grey-coloured clay.

'Is it really that simple? Can I not understand them because the things that I love- my 'sun' in a cruel world has lost its passion?' He pondered. 'But still... isn't my malice from this world separate from my lack of passion? I can still cry out for others without vying to understand them, can't I?'

Lumière's brain felt like a mess. It was all like some sort of cluttered spiderweb of thoughts he couldn't make sense of.

He wanted to hate the world, but everyone told him it was okay to do otherwise. When he tried to understand their worldviews, he was told that the root of his problems was himself. Then, he wondered how he could fix such a perpetual cycle.

If he were to change the world, would his mind stop being so messy?

"Alright." Lumière nodded simply towards the Father, before closing the door to the dining hall behind him.

However, he wanted to exhaust one more perspective before he began to try the Father's way of moving forward.

So, later, Lumière stepped into Sister Alinde's room on the second floor, and he was immediately greeted by the smell of linseed oil and turpentine. Dozens of sheets had been scattered about her floor, now covered in a variety of coloured splashes. Dyes, paints, and brushes littered her desk, and her cheek was marked with a soft streak of violet that seemed smeared in an attempt to clear it away.

He surmised that she had left suddenly to pull the painting away from the windowsill. She would often let the layers of colours dry against the wind, but she had to make sure to set it back inside the safety of her room before the bouts of rain began once more.

Setting down her brush, Sister Alinde looked with a gentle expression out the window by which gentle orange sunbeams peered out of the dark grey storm clouds.

"It's a pretty afternoon, isn't it?" She spoke softly. "Do you need something from me, Lumi?"

He hesitated for a moment, but grasping at his shirt, he steeled his heart and spoke out.

"Do you understand why the Dwindlers can be so happy?" Lumière asked her.

"I do."

"Even though you aren't one yourself?"

Lumière's expression grew curious.

Sister Alinde turned fully towards Lumière, placing her hands on her lap as she smiled.

"Isn't it beautiful, that despite how cruel the world is, we're still standing?" Sister Alinde spoke aloud. "We humans, we resilient humans, who crumble to each other's touch, defy the nature of fate. We humans who hate each other, who grieve each other, stand against storms. We humans who love, and who anguish, beware fire, belove it, and feel the warmth of the sun. Isn't it beautiful, Lumière, that we humans can do all of this? Isn't it beautiful that we get to live in a world where we can defy our fates with a smile?"

Lumière's eyes softened, yet shimmered with a hint of frustration.

"So, can I not demean this hurtful world…?" Lumière cursed, gritting his teeth as he refused his hand to soothe his aching chest.

In turn, Sister Alinde simply smiled.

"You can demean all you want. But then, if you realise the world is so cruel…"

She paused for a moment, her gaze turning back towards the window which had started to turn a pale purple.

"…then why aren't you fighting tooth and nail for the sunlight?"

Lumière could feel his heart shatter, and the entirety of his body became enveloped in a deep and suffocating feeling.

"Why am I not fighting for the sunlight…? Why would I do that?"

"If the world is so cruel, then shouldn't we treasure every little thing that makes us happy?" She smiled in return.

Sister Alinde reached out her hand in an inviting fashion. It looked warm and soft, and Lumière swore he could have memorised the comforting patterns of the lines upon her palms in an instant. But, he hesitated to take it.

'Someone like her… she's really on an entirely different level, isn't she? Can I really think like her? Me?'

His fingertips hovered over her open hand shakily. Suddenly, he lurched forth, pushing Sister Alinde down against the bed, his hand propping him up as he hovered over her. She looked at him with an expression full of surprise, but it quickly calmed when he saw his eyes which teared up so indignantly.

She reached up with her two softened hands, whose palms were engraved with intricately gentle lines, and adjusted Lumière's falling glasses onto his face.

"The world will be alright if you choose not to worry about it for a moment." Sister Alinde spoke, placing her hands upon his cheeks which seemed to carry tears like rainfall. "So when we wake up, why don't we go see the sunrise, and I'll tell you all about how beautiful the morning time can be?"

With an exasperated breath, Lumière fell into her arms with his head against her chest and closed his eyes against the rhythm of her quiet heartbeat.

"Tomorrow, huh…? Alright then."