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Written by tunabina
Morning on Level 94 never truly began. The sun was already hanging over the hills, its soft golden light falling on the identical houses, neat white fences and perfectly manicured lawns. A sweet scent, like a childhood memory, drifted slowly through the streets on the wind. The animations went about their endless chores. Above it all, a castle towered atop a transparent hill. Its windows caught the sun's rays and broke them into hundreds of shining streaks that crawled along the streets as if alive. From a distance, the castle seemed like a toy, but as you looked for a little longer, something unsettling began to linger in its silhouette. Too… perfect.
In one of the castle's upper halls, Reverie sat at a long table large enough to accommodate several dozen guests. Today, she was the only one there. In front of her stood a porcelain teapot with gold patterns, three cups, and a tray of pastries. The girl idly twirled a spoon between her fingers, watching the sunbeams slowly glide across the white tablecloth. Her long ears hung slightly lower than usual, which, for those few who knew how to read her mood, meant boredom. She could command the animations to prepare a performance, or travel to the farthest reaches of the level and scare some random wanderer until their knees trembled. But today, none of that was in her head as everything seemed predictable. Even irritation required effort.
One of the cups suddenly shifted of its own accord. Reverie looked up-for a moment, she thought she saw her father enter the room, but it turned out to be just a ray of sunlight shifting its angle in the glass wall. The girl snorted and returned to her tea. Such mistakes were happening more and more often: sometimes she'd even catch herself preparing extra cups in case of an unexpected visit. It was at times like these that she especially hated her own thoughts.
She picked up the teapot and began pouring the drink into the cups, even though she knew perfectly well no one would come. Hot steam rose in thin spirals toward the ceiling. Her face flickered in the reflection of the liquid: Princess. Heiress. Motion’s beloved. Everything looked exactly as it should. And that's precisely why it irritated her even more.
Reverie rose from her chair and walked to the window. She moved easily but in every gesture there was a strange discontinuity of old stop-motion photography. The level spread out below her like a huge toy town. The motion continued below-figures moved between the houses, retracing familiar routes and disappearing around corners, only to reappear after a while. If you watched long enough, you could notice patterns. It became clear that nothing new would ever happen.
Suddenly, a lone figure on the outskirts of town caught her attention. It was standing near a bus stop. Not an animation, but a person.
Reverie narrowed her eyes.
A tall man in a shabby red suit sat on a bench, staring off into the distance, as if he'd completely forgotten why he'd even come here. Animations played around him, but no one noticed his presence.
Lorenzo Windsor.
Her mood instantly changed. She knew he appeared on the level from time to time, and he was impossible to control. He couldn't be read as easily as others which made his mere presence irritate her. He was proof that there were things in the world that didn't obey her wishes, but at the same time he remained one of the few truly interesting variables in her perfectly predictable kingdom.
Reverie stared at the figure below for a moment longer, then slowly smiled. It seemed today's tea party wouldn't be a complete waste of time after all. She placed the cup back on the table, rang the small silver bell, and spoke calmly into the empty room, "Prepare the garden gazebo. And bring that rose set. No, not that one. The one I usually feel sorry to use."
Outside, the wind swayed the tree branches. At the bus stop, Lorenzo still sat motionless, watching the clouds of his own thoughts. He didn't yet know that the entire next day had already begun to slowly reshape itself around him.
Lorenzo had been sitting on the wooden bench for several hours. Maybe less, maybe more. Time rarely retained its familiar shape around him.
Before him stretched the quiet street of Level 94. Large white clouds drifted over the city. He watched them and thought that his mind was somehow like that sky. Thoughts came and went by, leaving no trace. Sometimes, fragments of something enormous flickered among them. They appeared for a few seconds and vanished before he could hold them. At such moments, a sense of loss arose-he had long since become accustomed to this feeling. It had become a part of his existence as natural as breathing.
The soft clink of porcelain made him look up.
Before the bench stood an animation in the uniform of a butler. He wore an impeccably pressed black suit, white gloves, and held a silver tray. On the tray lay a thick cream-colored envelope with a gold seal in the shape of a crown. The butler bowed slightly and extended an invitation. When Lorenzo took it, the animation immediately turned and walked away. He examined the envelope for a moment. Inside was a short note:
Lorenzo,
You’re ruining the view from my window.
Normally I don’t mind guests on Level 94, but people at least move. You’ve been sitting there like a piece of furniture.
So I’ve decided to find a more suitable use for you. Come have tea.-R
Lorenzo reread the text several times, then folded the letter back up. He sat motionless for a few minutes, then slowly rose.
The path to the castle led through the entire city. As he walked along the neat streets, the animations greeted him with identical smiles, but Lorenzo paid them almost no attention. Over time, they ceased to be perceived as separate entities and became part of the level, as if they’re living furniture.
The castle grew closer; the stairs climbed the hillside like a long white ribbon, the wind rustling the flowering bushes on either side of the path. The higher he climbed, the quieter the city became. When Lorenzo reached the top, he was already awaited. Reverie settled into a small garden gazebo on the back terrace. It overlooked the entire level: hills stretched to the horizon, the toy houses seeming to be arranged on a vast green map; roads gleamed between them, windmills spun lazily in the distance.
The table was set with excessive luxury, even by her standards-three kinds of tea, fruits, and desserts of every taste and color.
Reverie sat in a chair, resting her chin on her palm, watching him approach. Today she wore a light pink dress with gold embroidery, her white hair cascading down the back of the chair almost to the floor. She looked flawless, as always.
"You’re late," she said.
"I was busy."
"busy sitting on the bench?"
"Yes."
She was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed. "Okay. At least that's honest."
Lorenzo took an empty seat at the table. For a moment, silence remained between them. Reverie poured tea into cups while Lorenzo watched the clouds. Somewhere far below, music continued to play.
"Sometimes I think you only appear when I start getting bored," Reverie finally said.
"I don't think I'm capable of planning that well."
"Yes. That's probably true, too."
She handed him a cup. Lorenzo accepted it-white flower petals floated on the surface of the drink. A breeze swayed the curtains of the gazebo. For a few seconds, everything seemed strangely peaceful, but somewhere deep inside Reverie, the familiar irritation that arose every time she was near him was already stirring. Everytime she saw the man who existed so close to her father's memory.
And everytime she diligently pretended not to feel a thing. So far, she was succeeding. So far…
Lorenzo accepted the cup and simply held it. Steam rose between them like a thin white thread. Reverie watched him carefully over the rim of her own cup, as she always did. Most people became uncomfortable within seconds, but not Lorenzo. He simply sat there silently, and that was what irritated her most.
She understood fear, admiration too. Even hatred was understandable, but indifference seemed wrong. She existed to occupy space in others' thoughts. Sometimes she felt as if if everyone stopped paying attention to her, she would disappear along with the scenery of her level.
As time passed, the conversation began to slow. Reverie noticed Lorenzo's attention gradually drifting off somewhere else, as it always happened with him. Sometimes, right in the middle of a conversation his gaze would become distracted, as if part of his consciousness had suddenly wandered off to another place. She was familiar with all this. He hadn't forgotten anything right then; rather, something had surfaced from the depths of his memory and distracted him from the present for a few seconds.
"Again?" she asked.
"Probably."
"Did you at least remember anything useful?"
Lorenzo paused for a moment. "I'm not sure. I think it was snowing."
Reverie stared at him for a few seconds, then snorted. "You just spent a whole minute remembering snow."
"Perhaps."
"Sometimes I'm beginning to understand why Father preferred to keep his memories away from people." This time she said it casually, as if it was a joke. But after those words, a brief pause ensued between them. She was the first to look away-a rare occurrence.
Outside the gazebo, everything remained the same: the animations continued their cycles, and the castle stood motionless. Reverie suddenly felt tired.
She set her cup down on the table. "You know," she said, considerably quieter than usual, "Sometimes I think you’re the only person on this level who isn’t trying to get something from me.”
Lorenzo looked at her. “Maybe because there’s nothing I have to ask for.”
“You’re a terribly inconvenient person to talk to.”
“I’ve been told that before.”
“I was the one who told you.”
“Yes.”
Reverie smiled unexpectedly, this time without mockery, but then the familiar expression returned.
She rose from the table and walked to the gazebo railing. Far below, tiny animated figures were still moving among the identical streets. Everything looked exactly as she wanted. Everything was under control. Everything was right. And yet, somehow, it felt insufficient. Behind her, Lorenzo calmly finished his tea; they were silent for a while.
Strangely, this silence turned out to be the most pleasant part of the day.