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tanq !!dkZQYaUV9DYID: yokhENIZ/qst/6270534#6270534
7/6/2025, 1:11:02 PM
What have we done to deserve heaven? If it is our place, why are we here? We are unjust and terrible creatures, and our hell is to ever look at heaven and demand that we be allowed entry. Utopia is heaven- Socialism is heaven’s gates, yet Heaven is no place for humans, is it? We are allowed our glimpse of paradise, yes, but we shall never claim our dreams. We would suffocate as a fish does out of the cold seas.
-Charlot Doumer, “We Are of the Night”

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It was afternoon on Monte Nocca- a lovely place for most who came here in the beginning of summer, but the one held in highest regard upon it was thinking of being elsewhere.

Vittoria Bonaventura had returned to the mountain once again- that lonely clutch where one half of her bloodline hailed from- and if mother and grandfather were to be believed, they had been there since before even memory of mankind, but to her that was just the Vitelian disease and Mosshead arrogance intermingling, in a way she refused to let fester in her head. The Judge had been merciful in making it blonde like father’s. Yet that did not deter grandfather from calling Vittoria by her new alias, and more comfortably than he spoke her name. Remiel. The same name was what she was summoned by now, further up the stony trail.

“Don’t drag your feet, Remiel,” her tutor in mystic lore and art said from ahead, his voice seeming more like the wind that blew over the mountain trees than particularly human, through that mask of his. He loomed as high as a peak too, in a way. “If this is to be your last lesson for a while, then you should pay close attention. Get a good score, heh heh. Prepare you for where you’re headed.”

“Whatever you’re having me do,” Vittoria said, “I don’t think any of it’ll have anything to do with the Azure Halls. The Dawn and the coming days in its light.”

“If that’s so,” Zeitgeist said as he walked slowly, his steps cloistered by his coat as though a curtain rose and fell on each foot forward. “You’re off, soon, to have your head filled with the dreams of others. To, heh heh, be told how to be wise, Remiel.”

“As though you’re against the concept of education,” Vittoria grumbled back, amusing herself with her teacher’s pace by weaving back and forth amongst the stones on each side of the mountain trail, “Utopia is the future, the inevitability. I might as well be an expert in it, especially if I want to help father. I can’t be of any use if I don’t know all there is to know. You said yourself that this tradition and mysticism is trapped in the past.”