Leaving Varience City westward, one can find a small, winding road, paved with marble. It runs along the coastline and across a river. A few miles away from the city it reaches the first and only house - a beautiful, modern villa, standing by the seaside. It runs through the gate, across a carefully maintained garden, up a small hill, and ends just at a courtyard of the house, in front of a very distinctive statue.
The statue, carefully sculpted from white marble, represented an angel. She was holding a sceptre, ended with a strange symbol. Her cape waved, as though it were caught in a stronger wind breeze, rendered masterfully by the sculptor. But the greatest impression was given by the wings - spread for almost four yards, with extreme attention given to every single feather.
On the statue's pedestal two people were sitting, a woman and a man. The man was leaning against the angel's right leg, looking into the night sky. The woman laid her head on the man's stomach and looked at his face. His two-colored eyes, blue and red. His black, almost obsidian hair. His always calm and focused expression.
He turned his look on her. She was a mastermind, an avatar of reason and iron logic, hidden behind a face of innocence. She closed her eyes and smiled slightly. "Deadly, yet charming. Just like a rose," the man thought, and looked into the stars again. There was no reason to speak. They cherished the moment.
"When one is made of glass, everything looks like a stone."
After about an hour, he started to feel tired. He realised he had been looking at the stars and not moving or thinking at all. A state of complete mind clarity. He heard the woman's calm, regular breath since she had fallen asleep. A bright smile appeared on his face as he moved slightly, waking her up. She opened her eyes and looked around.
"Oh. How long have I been sleeping?" she asked, then stretched and rubbed her eyes.
The man nodded. "Not for long. We should go to sleep though." He glanced to the right. The red glow of the rising sun had already started to appear in the sky, shedding faint light on the angel statue.
They stood up and walked towards the house. He opened the sliding, glass door and let her pass first. She turned the light on in the lounge. The room was furnished with elegance in mind, but the man had seen it before many times. Each time he visited, he never wished for much and slept either on the couch or sneaked out to his ship, not wanting to abuse the hospitality. He was unbuttoning his jacked as the woman walked up the stairs to her bedroom. Midway, she turned towards him.
"Tsk. You were away for such a long time. I missed you," she waved her hand invitingly, then continued walking up without looking at her guest. He hesitated for a moment, but followed her upstairs.
She remembered falling asleep holding the man firmly in her arms. For that, she was surprised when she woke up, he was standing at the window, looking towards the seaside.
"Tori..." She rubbed her eyes.
"I asked you not to call me that name," the man responded, without turning back at her.
"Why do you not like it? I know you don't, but you never told me why." The woman stood up and put on a robe.
"Because it has a meaning," he responded, still not turning back but carefully observing her dressing up in a reflection in the glass. "Tell me, does your name mean anything in particular?"
She squeezed a few drops of cream and rubbed it in under her eyes. "No, no. It doesn't. That's why I prefer to be called Seraph, not Catherine. Apart from practicality, it means something. Also, it stuck with me for, what, twenty years now, might as well get used to it."
He turned around and smiled. "It seems then that we prefer our nicknames for exactly the opposite reasons."
They looked at each other until Seraph spoke. "So? What does it mean?"
"Bird cage," he turned towards the window again, his expression clouded. "It sounds wrong. It makes no sense." He looked up and sighed. "I don't know why I've been called that. I never cared to ask my parents. But, I don't use the name anymore. Zettsu stuck to me, because it has no meaning. Two random syllables that sound well. That's why."
She kept looking at him for a moment, perfectly aware that he can see her reflection. "Well," she shrugged, "I will be downstairs, feel free to come when you get fed up with staring at the window." She kissed his cheek and left the room.
"When one is made of glass, everything looks like a stone."
Zettsu went downstairs to see Seraph pouring down water for tea. One of the many things they had in common - the golden Bretonian beverage, so often forgotten in Liberty on the account of coffee. She dropped nutritional pills into both of their cups and without looking at him moved towards the glass door leading outside.
He followed the woman, wondering if she was actually upset because of his words. As they left the house, she put the cups down on a small table. Zettsu started,
"Listen--"
"Don't," she stopped him. "Let's not go back to this again."
"I did not mean to--"
"Don't," she repeated, as she lay on one of the sunbeds beside the table. "Let's cherish the moment."
Zettsu hesitated again, but shrugged and lay as well. Seraph never was very open with her feelings. He'd decided to wait until she brought up the conversation again.
But she had already given up on that subject and thought of something else. About the old times, the better days. Before they became adults. She reminisced about their school, the college in Varience.
"Do you remember when we met?" she asked, without even looking at him, like she was speaking to herself.
Zettsu turned towards her. "Why do you bring it up?"
"I don't know. I was just thinking."
"But why?"
"Why not?"
He stopped looking at her. "Yes... Yes, I do. You were a mystery back then."
Seraph smiled. "Aren't I now?"
"When one is made of glass, everything looks like a stone."