Story Reader / Event Story / Stellar Narratives / Story
During the festival, Constellia is even more dazzling and colorful than usual. Perhaps it's best described as tipping an entire paint box straight into water.
That's exactly what they would say with a perfectly straight face.
Lost in thought as you weave through the crowd, you suddenly spot a familiar flash of silvery white at a nearby stall.
Drying flowers before they wilt is a fascinating process. Question: how long will their original colors last?
Tests show that within the stated ranges of temperature, humidity, and artificial light intensity, the colors last about one year on average.
Good day, Commandant.
The white mechanoid woman looks mildly surprised, and a subtle warmth softens her voice.
It's been a while. A pleasure to meet you at the exhibition.
Pressed-flower collages. You arrange specimens into any pattern on paper, glue them down, and preserve them. It's a vintage craft popular among plant enthusiasts.
This is my first time seeing the craft in person. The diversity of artistic forms truly is amazing.
For the Double Seventh Festival craft, our stall provides materials for on-site creation, and the second participant is free. Would you like to join?
I've already paid. Thank you, Commandant.
Following Haicma's gaze, you notice an elegant bouquet of lilies in full bloom beside the table.
I cultivated these myself. I've treasured the memory of rescuing flowers with you and had hoped to use this bouquet to express my feelings.
But I have found a way to preserve those feelings even longer.
Besides, making this with you now makes the experience priceless.
The stall owner ushers you and Haicma behind a simple wind-break curtain and sets out the materials and tools one by one.
Steps: design the composition, choose the flowers, arrange and glue them, then frame the artwork. Wishing you both a pleasant Double Seventh Festival.
The mechanoid bows with clumsy sincerity, hums away like a lawn mower, and leaves the two of you alone.
A wooden crate before you holds many sealed jars. Vivid petals and leaves are frozen at their liveliest, waiting for a creative hand to grant them new life.
Humans call spontaneous creative thought "inspiration." After running a self-check, I can confirm that whenever I'm with you, inspiration always bursts within me.
"Galaxy" is such a beautiful word.
Even though luminous celestial bodies are nothing like liquid and come in far more than one color, once I understood how it feels to gaze at the stars from the ground, it became one of my favorite metaphors.
Since this is a joint mission, you should choose the materials. I trust your taste.
If you pursued the literal meaning of "galaxy," you would choose white, but remembering the sparkle in Haicma's eyes when she mentioned "inspiration," your hand shifts course.
White light is the sum of every color, just like the mechanoid woman before you, filled with endless possibilities.
Instead, you pick up a jar of tiny petals that match her eye color and gently place one against her temple.
A colorful galaxy? I see.
Haicma fixes her gaze on the empty black cardstock, running unknown calculations.
Moments later, she picks up angled tweezers, takes a little from each jar you selected, and quickly arranges the dried flowers into a pattern on the card.
It's an H-R diagram. It marks stellar temperature and luminosity with color, which perfectly suits the colors you chose.
Your praise is so direct that I can hardly stop myself from wanting to talk with you more and spend more time together.
The white mechanoid's expression remains calm, yet her words overflow with sincerity.
Quoted from "Human-Machine Interaction Guide: Intimate Relationships".
"When you wish to grow closer to a human, you can express your feelings like this," the book says. Did I use it correctly?
You pick up the tweezers, and both you and Haicma immerse yourselves in creating.
The white laceflower and baby's breath suggest the reserved curiosity of a first meeting;
Marigold and yellow violet recall the lingering longing of separation;
Portulaca and red dianthus evoke hearts leaning gently on each other.
The universe is lonely and cold, with vast space and endless time keeping people apart, yet humans build bridges of radiant imagination and pray for reunion.
The composition is perfect. We can proceed. Please hand me the specimen adhesive.
With the two finished collages weighed down to dry, the white mechanoid sits perfectly still at your side, waiting for the glue to set.
Humans cannot sense the magnetic fields, wavelengths, or other signals mechanoids use to communicate, yet she still tries so hard to sense you.
Perhaps the understanding between human and mechanoid is itself a miracle as vast as the universe.
A line from astronomer Carl Sagan. The common view is that his opinions about his field—especially the unknown—were overly sentimental.
Speaking from the heart, I admire another similar line of his and have tried adapting it.
[player name], when I look at you, I too glimpse the outline of the universe.
Haicma hands you the framed flower-and-leaf galaxy with both hands, then gently takes your wrist.
Although I traded that bouquet of lilies for the gift, I've planted another pot that should bloom next week.
Even if it isn't a festival, may I still give them to you?
Her smile, bright as the galaxy, is answer enough.
