but I'm singing like a bird about it now
The lights, the sounds, the decorations: it’s beautiful, but well, it’s all too much.
Most of Katerina’s time—most of her life, even, up until now—is spent in the quiet solitude of Delumine’s library. Even at its busiest, it is nearly always silent. People have the good sense to whisper when they talk. They’re careful to flip their pages at a sensible rate. The library helpers, especially, have found their talent in working their jobs without making a sound, shelving books and padding down the halls on the lightest, most silent feet known to man.
So this is… different, to say the least. Katerina was not sure what to expect. She’s still not even sure why she decided to come. But here she is, good idea or not, and Terrastella’s court has exploded into a glorious display of life.
Everywhere she looks, there is something to be awed by. The sheer volume of the crowds, which dance and split around her only to reconvene; piles of gifts wrapped in satin and patterned paper, tied up with bows; bands and soloists both play cheerful, chirpy, bell-accentuated tunes in different places around the citadel, but Katerina’s eyes are drawn to the pine tree in the middle of the room.
She stands directly underneath it, gazing up, and still cannot find the top. The entire room is filled with the smell of pine sap, and green, leafy needles frost the tiled floor. Around her, Terrastellans bow its branches with ornaments in every possible size, shape, and color; as she watches, someone hooks a large, silver-dusted pinecone on a low branch, and Katerina looks over just as the woman begins to speak.
This stranger, whoever she is, is friendlier than Katerina could ever hope to be. Her coat is dappled with gray, like bubbles rising to the surface of the lake, and the huge, dark wings held at her side almost perfectly match the wings of the crow who flies down to roost on her shoulder, introduced only a moment later as Hasta.
The Deluminian blinks, as if in surprise. A heartbeat passes as she watches the mare and her companion. It takes a moment to respond, but after an inhale Katerina seems to come awake again; she flashes a reserved smile at her new acquaintance. “I’m Katerina. From Delumine. I suppose I am here for the festivities, but I… hardly know where to start.”
Again Katerina falls silent. Her ice-blue eyes turn up, up, up to the place where the pine tree almost brushes the vaulted ceiling of the citadel. In every inch of the tree there is something new to be fascinated by—wreaths of flowers, animals made of blown glass, ornaments covered in real silver and gold.
She has never seen anything so opulent.
