Edith Montanari, "Puppeteer"'s Links
Well, Alexander, he's quite a piece of my history, I must say. No matter how hard I might've tried, that man's a memory I can't easily shake. Childhood pals, if you'd reckon that's the term. Back in those days, his mere presence was like a thorn in my side. Oh, how his ways did ruffle my feathers, indeed. Perhaps I failed to understand him, his peculiar quirks and such. Time, though, it's got a way of transforming things, doesn't it? As the years rolled by, I began to perceive the world through a different lens. Perhaps those quirks of his weren't all that peculiar after all. And perchance, just perchance, there existed a thread of sense in his being that I hadn't seen before.
Those afternoons we'd while away, gathering my dolls and plush companions, concocting these miniature stage dramas where we'd play the role of detectives, cracking phantom cases. To think of it now, it appears rather quaint, but back then, it was our escape from the harsh grip of reality.
Here stands he, all grown and cracking real-life cases. A poetic twist, don't you think? And despite the seasons when our paths diverged, a certain fondness does nestle in my heart for him.
Edith? She's a childhood friend, at least that's how I personally see her.
Although we were both very lonely as children, she was perhaps the person I could more or less understand and respect the most.
When I learned that she was finally opening her Theater, I jumped at the opportunity to go see all her performances very discreetly. I didn't want to impose myself out of respect, after all my character is not very appreciated. Although I don't tell her, I'm very happy that she can play on her passion just like me and her performances are all excellent, I even went to see some that I had already seen for the first time.
(When I mentioned her name and profession to Oliver, I could see that the idea of going to see one of her shows would please him. So we'll go and I won't leave for greetings, I think meeting Edith with Oliver , will do us all good! ^^)
As I awoke in that manor, my world was shrouded in darkness, both literally and metaphorically. My legs were gone, as were my eyes – it was a terrifying experience, one that left me questioning my very identity. Who was I? I struggled to recall. It felt like everything was painful, except when Evander was around.
I remember them gently brushing my hair, their fingers moving through the blonde locks with such care, creating soft waves that framed my porcelain mask. As we gazed into the mirror, their eyes held nothing but kindness.
And then, there was the day they fashioned those remarkable wooden legs for me. They weren't mere prosthetics; they were a masterpiece, each curve and joint crafted with an almost obsessive precision. With those legs, I could dance again, every twirl feeling like a small triumph. I seized Evander's hand and whisked them into an impromptu dance, an act that surprised and delighted us both. It was truly adorable. We danced on, until my wooden foot protested as if it were true flesh and bone.
As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, it became clear that what we shared was more than friendship. It's a wonder who wouldn't fall for such a soul...