“Why don’t you want to sell this apartment?” the real estate agent asks, surprised.

“And why should I?” the elderly owner of the flat counters with a smirk.

“They’re offering you an enormous amount of money for it. About three times the market value. Forgive my bluntness, but it’s time for you to think about enjoying the rest of your life.”

“No one knows how much longer I have to live. You certainly don’t,” the old woman dismisses her confidently, without a trace of irritation, though the conversation has been unpleasant from the first word.

“At least consider the offers,” the agent suggests, more calmly.

“These people?” she looks skeptically at the young couple near the front door.

“This pair offered the least exorbitant amount of all the ones we voiced. The unvoiced amounts are even higher. And not just three times the value,” she hints with a sly look at the astronomical offers and the old woman’s refusal to the young couple.

“Why does everyone want this apartment?” the old woman looks out the window indifferently.

“It contains something for which many are willing to pay a fortune.”

“It also contains something that is more precious to me than what everyone wants.”

“Are we talking about different things?” the agent clarifies the direction of the old woman’s thoughts and values.

“Everyone wants this,” the grey-haired woman points to an unusual, wall-sized painting.

“The last work of a very famous artist from the last century. Some believe it was created after his death. They say the mystical painting absorbed his soul.”

“Is that a value?” the old woman looks calmly at the picture. “I don’t believe in fairy tales about magical paintings. Or in the stupid notion that the soul exists. How many soulful people have you seen?”

“Fine,” the young agent suppresses her anger at the owner’s flagrant ignorance. “Tell me, what is so special about this apartment for you?”

“Special,” she smiles, shifting her gaze to the floor, the interior doors, to the agent, and out the window. “My entire life was spent here with a man who is more important to me than all the most outstanding artists in the world and all the money they’re offering me. If someone’s, as you say, soul remained here, it’s his. Other men have never interested me like that. And they won’t. Sit down and make yourself comfortable, I’ll tell you how it all happened,” she pours tea.

“I absolutely don’t have time for this,” the agent protests, pushing the cup away.

“Don’t you want this apartment?” the elderly owner hints persistently.

“I do,” she softens and lowers her tone, returning to the tea.

“In that case, drink your tea,” she slides the cup closer to the young woman.

“I’ll be just a second,” she walks over to the young couple waiting for a decision.

“Did it work?” the young man from the couple who offered the minimum-maximum price asks.

“Not yet,” the agent reports optimistically.

“How much longer do we have to wait?” the young woman asks, afraid of missing out on the precious opportunity, which could later fetch a fabulous sum.

“Don’t wait. I’ll contact you when everything is settled. Go home and wait for my call.”

“All right,” the young people reluctantly agree. They’re ready to sleep on the doorstep just to get their hands on the treasure with windows and doors. “Be sure to call us when everything is figured out!”

“Goodbye,” she sees the young couple out of the apartment with a dry phrase.

“Is everything all right?” the sweet old woman asks with a smile, sitting on a little sofa upholstered in burgundy velvet with a cup of tea, looking at the real estate agent’s nervous expression.

“They’re all settled,” she smiles, controlling her true emotions. “Tell me your story!”

“You’re in luck. I remember everything just as vividly as I see you. Although, my memories are more real to me than your presence. Listen carefully. Then you decide whether or not to sell this apartment.”

“Well, darling, shall we start?” Luter asks me. My husband.

“Start what?” I ask back, utterly unable to recall what I’m supposed to remember.

“Did you really forget what we agreed on a week ago?” he drops his hands, which hold a brush and a can of white paint, in disappointment.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I remember the agreement, turning to my husband. “My memory’s completely tangled up in a mess of thoughts about everything at once.” Moving into this apartment threw me off.

“It’s nothing,” Luter tries not to show how upset he is.

“Okay! I don’t understand, where’s my brush?” I ask in a serious tone, looking for any paintbrush. I’m ready to paint with my bare hands just to avoid upsetting my husband.

“Take mine!” Luter brightens up at my enthusiasm.

“What about you? Which one will you use?” I can’t deprive the person who started all this of his main joy.

“I have another one. It’s just as good,” he pulls a second brush from a cardboard box filled with metal cans. Paint streaks on each can indicate the color inside.

“That’s wonderful!” I’m happy that my love’s mood is lifting. “Did you finally settle on white paint?”

“We’ll start with white, and then we’ll add colors based on our mood and impressions.”

“Great idea!” I kiss his still-clean cheek and take the can of paint from his hands. “Did you get the solvent and rags?” the question sounds more like a checklist.

“I did,” he shows me the bottle of solvent and pulls an old pillowcase from the box—it’s stained with every possible color, even ones that aren’t here.

“What should we paint?” I stand ready, brush in hand, looking for a target.

“Let’s start with the doors, and we’ll see from there.”

“All right, let’s begin,” I reply, drawing the brush across the slightly wavy surface of the bare wood.

“What is that?” Luter is surprised and scared at the same time.

“I wish I knew,” I drop the brush onto the floor and step back. The single stroke of white paint transforms into a red stripe under the pressure of the brush.

“Maybe they used this brush for red paint before?” my husband suggests, picking up the brush.

“There wasn’t a single drop of red on the bristles,” I'm sure of every word. “Look closely.”

“No, not a single red drop,” Luter examines the white paint on the brush, comparing it to the red stripe on the door panel, which fades out toward the bottom. “It’s definitely white paint in the can.”

“Tell me what this means,” I plead, desperate for him to dispel the fear gradually rising in my chest.

“I don’t know,” he admits in a whisper. He approaches cautiously and sniffs the drying paint on the door. “Let’s postpone this until another day,” he puts the brushes and the can of white paint back into the box.

“I don’t think I’ll want to continue,” without looking at the door, I pull Luter toward the other room.

“Go on, I’ll be with you soon,” he says calmly, kissing my hand.

“What about you?” I don’t know what I'm more afraid of: staying alone or leaving Luter by himself with the inexplicable thing.

“Go,” he gently insists on his decision.

“Fine,” I walk into the next room, leaving the clean wooden door ajar. I stand a few steps from the doorway. I listen carefully.

“Why here?” Luter whispers, indignant. “Why ruin our lives?” he questions the emptiness, taking the heavy door off its hinges. The wooden corner thuds against the floor. “I won’t let you ruin our lives. Enough of all this! I won’t allow it!” the anger, compressed into a whisper, sounds no louder than the church bells on the edge of the city. “Get out of our house!” the silence sharply cracks with the sound of the door panels shattering beneath the window. Thankfully, we are the only ones living in the whole house. All the neighbors moved out long before we relocated. No one complains.

“Luter,” I call in a low voice. “Come here, I’m scared.”

“I’m coming, darling,” he opens the unpainted door and looks at me. It’s a good thing; he didn’t notice. A red stripe of the same shape and in the same spot has also appeared on this door.

“Sit down,” I run my palm across the velvet next to me. He needs to calm down a bit now. “Did you knock anyone over with the door?” I try to lighten the tension with a joke.

“Possibly,” he looks seriously through the closed door and into this room.

“Who?” I ask a little more seriously, expecting the worst.

“A fly was passing by at the wrong moment. It caught the brunt of it,” the nervous tension gives way to laughter and a relaxed embrace.

“Let’s not leave the room today,” I suggest, looking out the window, which is now devoid of daylight.

“The day passed so quickly,” Luter says in surprise, peering closer. “It took us a whole day just to make one stripe with a brush. And to throw out that wretched door.”

“I thought it hadn’t been more than half an hour,” I look at the window and at Luter, puzzled.

“That’s right. It couldn’t have been more than that.” “I think it’s brightening up,” sunlight flows across the glass, flooding the room. “Come on, let’s go look,” he pulls me after him.

“A solar eclipse!” I exclaim with relief. The stress didn’t allow us to enjoy the rare phenomenon. We didn’t even notice the darkness swallowing the sun. “Everyday life is already managing to deprive us of something wonderful,” I say my thoughts aloud, almost joking.

“Are you suggesting we just leave everything as it is?” he looks into my eyes, accepting defeat from the apartment after the first attempt to transform it.

“Yes. It’s not bad as is,” Luter looks at the walls differently.

“All right, I'm perfectly happy with everything. What’s that?” he draws attention to the door, which has opened slightly while we were looking out the window.

“What are you talking about?” I want to shield the red stripe that appeared without a brush.

“Tell me you see it too, or I’ll think I’ve finally lost it.”

“Yes, darling, I see it,” I don’t want Luter to go crazy from the truth. “I thought you knew where they came from.”

“I’m not sure,” he walks decisively toward the door. “Nothing should destroy our happiness and peace!” he takes the second door off its hinges. He carries it to the balcony and throws it onto the previous one. The cracking of wood is complemented by the sound of boards and splinters flying apart.

“Maybe you should tell me about it?” I cautiously peek into his eyes, which are full of worry and helpless anger.

“I hope I won’t have to tell you anything,” he removes the remaining doors and sends them down to join the first two. Identical red stripes appear on the unpainted boards as they fall.

“What did the paint smell like when you sniffed it?” I don’t want to bother my husband any more than necessary, but I’ll feel calmer knowing what’s going on with us.

“Not like paint,” he answers in a whisper, his intonation marking a period. “Let’s take a little walk and see how the eclipse scared people,” he puts on a light jacket right over his worn work clothes. He hands me my jacket.

“Are you going out dressed like that?” My clothes are even worse. The fabric is so old that holes appear on it by themselves.

“Not ‘am I going’, but ‘are we going’,” he corrects my surprised question. “And not ‘are we going’, but ‘we are going’,” he helps me put on the jacket, pulls a hat over my head, and pushes me out of the apartment.

“But I’m dressed like this,” I protest weakly, adjusting the hat.

“No one will see,” he locks the door and rushes down the stairs.

“But you just said we’re going to look at people’s reaction to the solar eclipse,” I remind him of the words he spoke a minute ago.

“What people?” he asks in surprise. “Did you forget where we live?” he laughs as he descends. “It’s just us and a couple of raccoons in the vicinity. Who’s keeping who company as a neighbor is still up for debate. It’s nice outside,” he breathes in the fresh, warm autumn air. “We should go for walks more often; we’re always cooped up in the apartment.”

“We just moved in,” I remind him of the known fact. “And this weather won’t last forever.”

“That’s why we need to go for walks more often. We’ll try to catch as many fine days as possible. And what about the weather? Do you think I won’t drag you out for a walk in the rain and snow?” Luter smirks.

“That’s what I’m afraid of—that you will drag me out,” I won’t say I don’t like rain and snow, but it’s cozier inside the apartment in that kind of weather.

“You’ve summoned the rain!” he comes up from behind and sprinkles yellow and red leaves on me.

“That turned out to be a leafy rain,” I catch a red leaf. It reminds me of the paint on the door. I immediately toss it aside. I don’t do it too abruptly, so Luter doesn’t catch the association. I don’t want to remind him of what we left the apartment to get away from.

“The rain took a long time to gather,” he smiles happily, looking at the sky. “I hope a real one doesn’t start.”

“That could happen,” I look at the clouds creeping up to the sun. It’s still warm, but no longer hot. In the summer, the open sun would force us to seek shade—the darker, the better. “So, do you want to go to the city, to the people, or should we walk in the forest?”

“What people?” he’s surprised by the option. “Did we specially buy an apartment on the border of the forest just to go for walks in the city?” he leads the way through the trees on the green, leaf-strewn grass. He smiles, then becomes serious for a moment, and his mood improves again. Red leaves aren’t the only hindrance to me on this walk. If only I knew what this nonsense with the paint was about. And I don’t want to pry. If he’s not telling me, there’s a good reason for it. Maybe more than one.

“Are we going to look for raccoons?” I joke, catching up to my husband.

“Excellent idea!” Luter picks up on it. “We’ll find them and invite them over.”

“What will we feed them?” I ask seriously, since we don’t even have food for ourselves.

“We’ll look in the trash can,” Luter jokes back.

“We don’t even have a trash can. I don’t think forest raccoons will eat garbage like the city ones. We should learn a thing or two about being prepared from them.”

“Are you suggesting we look for food here?” he peers between the leaves, looking for mushrooms.

“I suggest we resolve this issue before sunset so we don’t have to walk to the city for groceries in the dark,” I don’t want to spoil our nature walk with mundane questions, but we need to eat something.

“We aren’t going to the city. There’s a small village beyond the forest. We’ll buy groceries there. We just need to go a bit to the left,” he changes course.

“Through the whole forest?” I can’t hide my displeasure at the upcoming walk, which will leave my legs aching.

“It’s the edge; it’s not far,” Luter leads on without stopping.

“Do you think they give away food for free in the village?” I hint that I didn’t bring any money with me.

“I'm sure our money is no worse than city money,” he shows a few banknotes from his pocket.

“I didn’t notice when you took them. Do you always carry money in your work clothes?” I try to recall the moment the money ended up in Luter’s pocket.

“These pockets attract money,” he jokes, patting his pockets. “See how much gold is scattered around,” he points to the golden leaves all around.

“I see it, but no one will give us food for these treasures, though they might share for paper with drawings on it. So, I choose real money,” I take the money from Luter.

“Why so realistic in a fairy tale?” he looks at me with reproach. “We should’ve not taken your real money and come to the village with yellow leaves. I’d bet someone would’ve shared food even for that kind of payment.”

“Then let’s bet,” I choose a few beautiful golden leaves and hand them to Luter. “Buy us dinner with these, and for breakfast, fine, I’ll buy something with this ugly money that has no place in a fairy tale.”

“Fine, I’ll buy it,” my husband agrees eagerly. “What are we betting on that I’ll succeed?”

“If you buy food, you eat. If you don’t buy food, you don’t eat,” the terms are joking, but I’m curious how this will end.

“It’s a deal!” a firm handshake seals the agreement more tightly than a signature in blood. “Let’s pick up the pace, it’s not far now,” a few first houses with smoking chimneys are visible through the trees.

“Will they mistake us for beggars?” I feel a little uncomfortable about our appearance.

“We’ll have a better chance of buying things with golden banknotes that way,” he caresses the leaves like gold ingots.

“Then let’s go. You’ll do the talking. You can tell everyone I’m mute. I don’t want them to start asking me why we look like paupers and pitying me,” I grumble, walking behind Luter.

“No one will say anything, you’ll see,” my husband assures me, having absolute faith in the remaining humanity of the villagers.

“We’ll see,” I utter my last word before going mute.

“Landowners!” Luter calls out good-naturedly over the fence made of large stones. A wall like this won’t stop thieves, but it looks like a fortress—majestic. The family crest is painted on the metal gate. It’s unknown how authentic it is, but it looks decent and respectable. On the shield, the snake coils around the lion’s mane, holding her head near the ear of the king of beasts. The lion stares intently and aggressively at everyone who looks his way. The thought that the snake might whisper that we are enemies makes my skin crawl; if that happens, we’ll have to run back through the forest. And even that won’t save us. The lion’s muscles are like an athlete’s.

“We don’t need mushrooms!” the homeowner replies from behind a slightly ajar door. “We gathered plenty ourselves this morning.”

“We didn’t bring mushrooms,” Luter catches onto the thin thread of connection.

“Not mushrooms?” the man peers out the door with interest. “Then what valuable thing did you find that’s worth distracting me at this hour? I was having such a dream,” he recalls the pleasant memory wistfully.

“Gold!” my husband declares proudly and seriously.

“Gold?” the owner asks again, his voice greedy.

“Three ingots!” Luter proudly lifts the yellow leaves above his head so the man can see them.

“Gold,” the man whispers in a captivated voice. “Will you share?” his hands reach toward the leaves like the snake on the crest.

“We’ll trade!” Luter replies excitedly, tucking the leaves into his pocket.

“Trade?” the fortress owner repeats thoughtfully. “What will we be trading for?” His eyes gleam with golden avarice.

“We need food. Share what you have with us, and we’ll share what we have with you,” my husband states the terms.

“Come inside,” he hurriedly invites us to enter before anyone sees us. “And don’t wave gold around so carelessly. People here are so greedy they could tear off your arm along with the gold. Come in quickly,” he lets us into the house and closes the door. “I don’t have much food to offer,” he places a stick of sausage and a pyramid of cheese on the table next to the bread, pulls a box of tomatoes from under the bed, gives us a few, and four apples roll onto the table nearby. “And a personal gift from me,” he puts a bottle of wine on the table. “Now, the payment,” he extends his hand toward Luter.

“As we agreed,” my husband places one gold leaf in the homeowner’s wrinkled palm.

“And that’s all?” the wrinkled man looks at the payment as if it were pitiful pennies.

“All right, then! It’s a good trade! A worthy one!” Luter hands over the remaining two leaves.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you,” the man hides the leaves under a pillow. “Gold is worth a lot these days. When you get hungry, feel free to drop by again for another trade. Just don’t say a word to anyone!” he warns seriously. “Or they’ll set up a marketplace here.”

“As you say,” Luter smiles. “It’s time for us to go,” he leads me out of the house.

“Of course! Come by often,” he smiles as he sees us through the gate with the crest. He closes the gate and hurries back into the house, locking the door behind him.

“Don’t you think the lion looked angrier at us after our visit?” the lion’s gaze on the crest definitely changed.

“You imagined it,” Luter replies contentedly.

“I couldn’t have imagined something like that. Before, he was looking at us calmly, with interest, but now he’s glaring as if we’re enemies. And the snake used to just whisper in his ear, but now she’s looking at us too,” I peer closer, starting to doubt that I saw the crest correctly the first time.

“A sure sign that it’s time for us to head home,” Luter urges, leading me through the forest away from the village.

“Wait,” I stop the excited man. “How did you do that?”

“It’s all magic,” he answers with a mischievous smile.

“Or a trick?” I subtly suggest that I demand an explanation for his dishonest action.

“You saw everything yourself. We exchanged the three leaves you gave me for this,” he indicates the food the homeowner gathered.

“You’re telling me what happened. But you’re not telling me why that man sincerely believed he was being given gold,” I don’t want to hopelessly miss the moment when I can find out everything. If I close my eyes now, I’ll never know what really happened later. I don’t want to cause a scene. I decided not to press him about the paint, although I’m extremely curious about what it means. And now this trick with the gold leaves.

“Fine, I admit it,” Luter stops in the middle of the path, which is covered in “gold.” “That was dishonest of me. In my defense, I’ll say that initially, I wanted to buy everything honestly, but you took all my money away.”

“So, I’m to blame for everything and forced you to pull a dishonest trick? Is that what you’re saying?” My husband’s certainty of his own righteousness starts to infuriate me.

“Note that I had money, and now you have it,” he insists that I am at fault.

“You could have taken my real money to pay!” I hand back what I took from him on the way to the village.

“But we made a bet,” he reminds eagerly. “And I won!” he announces his victory contentedly to the entire forest.

“At what cost? By deceiving an old man?” I don’t so much want to awaken his conscience as I want to at least extract a promise from him not to do it again.

“I wanted to win, and I won. That’s all I can tell you,” the smile vanishes from his face.

“I’m sorry. I’m the one to blame for everything,” I catch up with my husband and take his free hand. “Understand, I need to know what that was.”

“Let’s talk at home,” he looks through the thinning tree crowns at the reddening gray sky.

“All right, I’ll wait,” I don’t want to spend the rest of our walk in a bad mood. “You did that cleverly, though,” I voice the long-awaited praise.

“Yeah, it was fun,” Luter’s contented smile returns.

“We got back faster than we walked to the village,” I notice how quickly time has passed. “It hasn’t even gotten dark yet.”

“After tricks like that, it’s better to hurry. So we did,” the trickster explains with a smile. “Careful,” he sidesteps the broken boards piled up after their flight from the balcony without looking.

“What is that?” I jump away from the pile of splinters.

“What’s there?” We both have to look at what we didn’t want to and weren’t planning to.

“They were moving,” I point a finger at the heap.

“Are you sure?” Luter peers at it. “I can’t see anything in the twilight,” he leads me into the house with a serious expression.

“Look! There!” boards on the top shower down.

“Well, look who’s here—our neighbors,” Luter says with a relieved smile. “They’re gathering boards for their new home.”

“Or they’ll settle here,” I say what I wish for. We need neighbors. And raccoons are much nicer than people.

“We should feed them so they visit more often,” Luter breaks off a piece of cheese and sausage and gives it to the wary animal. Small paws take the food. Then all we see are the paws of the scavenger running into the forest. “See? Even something scary can turn into a pleasant encounter,” he tries to cheer me up after the scare.

“Or the opposite,” I whisper as I enter the house.

“Or the opposite,” Luter repeats even more quietly, following me inside.

“Why didn’t they leave the lights on here?” I ask, placing the food out between the three candles.

“For whom?” Luter asks with a smile. “Everyone’s long gone.”

“But we aren’t from here; we came here,” I say, not even sure why I’m arguing. “By the way, why did we come here?” I’m somehow certain this is the best moment I’ll get to ask.

“You know, housing in the city is expensive. We can’t even afford to rent a small room. And these apartments are free—they’re giving them away just so this edge of the city isn’t completely empty. And it’s nice for us here without people, isn’t it?” he knows the answer he wants to hear. I can’t let this subject drop.

“I think our new home, the red paint, and the trick in the village didn’t happen on the same day by accident,” I transition smoothly to uncovering all the secrets.

“Here come the inevitable questions,” Luter sighs heavily, setting down a piece of bread and sausage.

“These aren’t just questions. I need to know what’s going on so I don’t fear every little sound from not knowing what’s behind it,” I soften my tone. I don’t want a fireside chat by candlelight to turn into a domestic row.

“I can calm you a little. You personally have nothing to fear,” he takes my hand.

“I personally?” I repeat with slight bewilderment. “This hasn’t been about me personally for a long time. We’re together; we share everything equally. And I need to know everything we’re going to be sharing. I don’t want our new life in a new home to start like this. Those awful, bloody smears on the doors.”

“So you realized it’s blood,” Luter whispers.

“Even a child can tell the difference between paint and blood. And your expression is far more eloquent than any words you could’ve used to explain things to me right away,” I keep trying not to raise my voice so I don’t upset my husband even more. “Tell me honestly, what’s happening? I don’t want a fight, but I need to know the truth.”

“Did you see the crest on the gates in the village?” Luter begins, taking the long way around.

“It was hard to miss such a large crest, painted in fresh colors on faded gates.”

“It’s not there,” he says, pausing in thought. “We see it. But in reality, the crest isn’t there.”

“Why do we see it then?” I try not to jump to conclusions.

“I see it. You’ve become a part of my life. Now you see what I see. It’s the same situation with the paint on the doors. They appear everywhere I am. And now, everywhere you are, too.”

“Why are these paints pursuing us?” I want to get straight to the point without any beating around the bush.

“It’s my family’s crest. Ours now. Ever since we became husband and wife. I didn’t show it to you before because I didn’t want to scare you. It’s passed down from generation to generation. I’m the last of our line. We will keep seeing it until an heir appears.”

“Why does it appear to us? And it changes, too. The lion’s stare scared me a little. And does that mean I’m the snake?” that sounds like an insult.

“The snake part is kind of funny,” Luter unexpectedly smiles. “The crest hasn’t changed in hundreds of years. The image doesn’t relate to you personally, but now you are depicted on it. And it appears to warn us about something, to prompt us, or to keep us safe from something. Today, it was scolding us when we were leaving.”

“We’ve sorted that out a bit. And what about the red paint? We’ll just call it that. I don’t want to say blood out loud,” I say the word, and my face instinctively wrinkles in disgust.

“It’s a sign. I don’t know who it’s from or what it means. I’m seeing it for the first time,” Luter says, looking puzzled.

“Are you involved in something?” I ask cautiously, trying not to stir up anxiety in my husband. “Is it somehow connected to the trick in the village?”

“I hadn’t considered a link. I’ve done that trick countless times, and nothing like this has ever preceded it,” he stares intently into my eyes, hiding something. “Sometimes I create an illusion of gold objects to trade them for food, like now. That trick only works on greedy people.”

“Is the wedding ring the same kind of trick?” I test the gold with my teeth.

“What? No!” Luter protests with a smile. “How could I ever deceive my wife? How could you even think that?”

“Sorry,” I apologize quietly, gazing into the sincerity of his eyes, which sparkle in the candlelight on the table.

“The trick with you was different,” Luter laughs.

“So you did use a trick,” Now I absolutely need to know what the deal is.

“Could I have managed without one? How could a girl like you ever notice a simple guy wandering around the city?” Luter grows sadder, recalling the years before the newlyweds met. “There was no chance of further conversation at all. Remember when your bicycle tire burst?”

“So you punctured it?” I feel like I’ve caught a criminal.

“I couldn’t bring myself to do it,” Luter admits with a smile. “You went to the cobbler’s workshop because there was no one else who could help you then.”

“Are you acquainted with this cobbler?” I guess the obvious possibility.

“No, I’ve never spoken to him,” he smiles mysteriously, keeping the secret further from me. “He patched the inner tube, and you rode on.”

“Did you push that old woman into my path?” I remember, indignant.

“No, my conscience wouldn’t allow it,” Luter says seriously.

“Did you steal my wallet with all my money, and then put it back in the bag on my bike?”

“That was your inattentiveness; I had nothing to do with it.”

“Then what was your trick?” I can’t recall anything unusual.

“Do you think it was easy to run after you across the whole city?” Luter says with a smile. “Without magical powers, I wouldn’t have run even half the distance. It’s a good thing all sorts of things kept happening to you, and I had time to rest,” Luter laughs.

“So that’s your magic—special powers of endurance?”

“The magic is that I saw you and realized I was ready to run after you across the entire world.”

“Then why didn’t you catch up right away, and only spoke to me the next day?”

“I doubted myself. Don’t forget, I looked even worse back then than I do now,” he gestures to his torn work clothes, which smell of the forest’s autumn dampness.

“And the next day you looked well-dressed?” I laugh, recalling the threadbare vest over the unwashed white t-shirt. “Those pants,” I can’t stop laughing. “What color were they?”

“Purple. Velvet, by the way,” he reminds with a dignified look.

“Where did you even get them?” I can’t settle down.

“A friend was working at the theater then. Maybe he still is. I helped write plays, and he’d slip me some money and clothes for special occasions.”

“And did you have many special occasions?” a hint of jealousy flashes in my voice.

“You are my most special and only occasion,” he says with absolute seriousness, as if his life depends on those words.

“Is that why you couldn’t string two words together when we met?” I make my smile softer so as not to hurt my husband’s feelings.

“I don’t know what happened to me then,” Luter explains. “On the way, I prepared, rehearsed every word, as if I were reciting lines from a play, but when I got to your house, I forgot everything. I couldn’t even remember my own name to introduce myself.”

“Yes, the word you spoke then could hardly be called a name,” I still can’t suppress my laughter.

“But you spoke so confidently, it was hard to guess that our meeting was special for you,” Luter says sadly.

“I’d had to send so many guys away before you. Beneath the slight arrogance, I was hiding the joy that you had dared to come to me,” I admit that the meeting made me happy, so he doesn’t think the moment was only special for him.

“So you saw me earlier?” He’s genuinely surprised by the turn the truth has taken.

“Wouldn’t you notice a guy running after you, stopping to catch his breath?” I can’t help laughing again. “You should have seen yourself. All red-faced, your clothes flapping in tatters in the wind, your hair a mess.”

“How did you notice me looking like that, and remember me?” Luter is surprised, picturing himself from the outside.

“That kind of persistence brings more than just laughter. I admired you then. Not everyone would dare to run such a marathon just to look at a girl from a distance. And you weren’t completely dirty. Your face was clean, and your gaze was clear. Your eyes were a little cunning and mysterious. The fatigue changed them to pure kindness and the desire to meet. I was flattered to be your cherished goal. I haven’t told anyone this. I’m admitting it to myself for the first time, so don’t take advantage of my openness.”

“I should have told you all this sooner so I wouldn’t feel unworthy of you,” Luter laments, recalling the unpleasant feeling that has lasted until now and left a sense of unworthiness.

“Forgive me, darling,” I hug and kiss Luter.

“Careful!” he catches a flash of flame running quickly along a strand of my hair that fell into the candle.

“Promise me you’ll never hide anything from me again. If the crest appears to both of us, then we’ll face the signs together,” I seriously ask my husband.

“All right,” he agrees immediately after my sincere confession.

“And try to lay off the tricks, okay? You saw how the crest reacted,” I recall the lion’s displeased expression and the snake’s reproach.

“The crest knows and understands everything better than we do,” Luter concedes.

“Are there really no more secrets?” I want to know everything so I can sleep peacefully at night without fearing an attack from the unknown.

“There’s one thing I’m still a little unsure about. As soon as the thought solidifies, I’ll tell you right away,” Luter says solemnly.

“Fine,” I agree to my husband’s condition.

“I am certain of one thing, though,” he looks seriously into my eyes in the light of the table candles. “I love you more than anything in the world.”

“And you are my light,” I kiss my husband for the pleasant words that reach my heart. “Should we leave one candle lit?” I suggest, clearing the table.

“Are you still scared?” Luter asks, worried.

“How can I not be scared here when even you don’t know everything?” I say, regretting the surge of honesty. But we agreed to tell each other the truth, no matter what it was.

“Are you scared even with me?” my husband’s heart feels self-doubt again, and my own uncertainty about him.

“Without you, I would have run away long ago or died of fear. With you, I still have the strength to hold on and not succumb to the encroaching fear. And let the candle burn, it’s warmer to fall asleep with,” I blow out two candles, leaving one in the middle of the table.

“Is my warmth not enough for you?” Luter grows increasingly insecure with every word I say.

“Stop picking at my words,” I lie down in bed with him, snuggling close. “You know what I mean. The darkness in the room itself feels cold, and the warm light soothes the eye and offers peace and hope that everything will be better tomorrow.”

“Tell me if you want to leave here. I won’t even argue,” Luter sits up.

“Lie back down; don’t stir up the cold air and don’t talk nonsense. I don’t know who you take me for. Think about it yourself. Would I have married you if I were afraid of difficulties?” I seriously remind him of the riskiest step of my life.

“True,” he takes my words as a joke for the first time, not a reproach. I hear him smiling.

“And now we need to fall asleep so morning comes sooner and the sun warms our house,” I close my eyes and see a sunny morning.

“Sweet dreams,” he hugs and kisses me.

“May we have a peaceful night,” I say on the way to sleep. We’re going to need it. We fall asleep immediately.

“What are you saying?” I wake up in the middle of the night, having heard some words from Luter. I turn, and he isn’t next to me. The blanket covers only me. “Luter!” I call out into the darkness. The candle went out long ago. “Where are you?” I get out of bed. I really don’t want to, but I have to. The only good thing about a cold night is not having to get dressed, because you always sleep in your clothes. I reach for the table, find the candle and the matches. The air is damp and cold; the sulfur on the matches is wet. The first few attempts to strike a fire result in single flashes on the box. One finally lights. I look at the flame, carefully holding it to the candle wick so it doesn’t go out. The chances of lighting another match are next to zero. The candle lights, I take it in my hands, and lift it. “Oh, God!” I drop the candle in terror. If I wasn’t hallucinating after sleep, and I'm not dreaming right now, Luter stands silently right in front of me; the candle falls onto his arm. Behind him hangs a motionless body in a noose, wearing the same clothes. I couldn’t make out the face in the brief flame. I stand, unable to move, in shock at what I see. I'm afraid to try lighting the candle, not knowing what I really saw. With all my heart, I hope it’s a dream or that I imagined it. In my doubt, I don’t move a step. Should I light the candle or go back to bed? I don’t know which is more terrifying: learning of my beloved’s death, seeing him in a strange, motionless state, or calmly lying down in bed, leaving him alone in trouble. I close my eyes and relax. My body goes to the bed on its own. I lie down and cover myself with the blanket.

“Why are you wandering around the apartment?” Luter hugs me from behind. I don’t know how to react. My whole body tenses in horror. My eyes sting from restrained hysteria. I don’t know what to believe. Is it really him in the bed now? If it is, then whom did I just see in the apartment?

“It’s alright, dear, let’s sleep.” I can’t close my eyes even for a moment. All the time, I see Luter standing in front of me and him, hanging in the noose. The candle flame adds horror to these images. I don’t know what to believe—what I saw or Luter’s voice next to me. I'm afraid even to turn around. Heavy thoughts tire me out more than a long walk. I fall asleep without realizing it.

“Sleeping sweetly, my dear,” Luter greets me in the morning with a smile and a cup of hot tea.

“Good morning,” I say uncertainly, taking the cup. I look, though I shouldn’t. “What is that on your arm?” I ask, pointing to a burn mark.

“Burnt myself while starting a fire with the door boards to brew us some tea,” he says, sitting down on the bed beside me with his own cup.

“Starting a fire with what, did you say?” It might have been my imagination.

“With the boards from our doors downstairs. I tossed them off the balcony yesterday, remember?” he reminds, taking a sip of tea.

“I remember,” I reply calmly. “But then, what are these?” I gesture with my eyes toward new, unpainted doors in place of the old ones.

“I don’t know, they just appeared this morning,” he answers completely calmly.

“Did you put them up?” I hope it’s some kind of joke to scare me.

“No, not me,” he replies with a smile.

“Seriously, tell me where they came from,” I ask, realizing that fear is creeping into my soul again.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Luter says seriously. “It’s creepy for me, too, seeing them there.”

“And you burned the old ones completely?” I get out of bed, setting the cup aside.

“To the last splinter,” my husband declares proudly. “But I also made breakfast.”

“With what?” I ask, walking over to the balcony. I look down.

“Our neighbors the raccoons brought something,” he says, showing me a roasted bird in a frying pan, something that looks like a wild pigeon.

“Are you serious?” I look at the empty space under the balcony. No splinters, no ash.

“No, of course not,” Luter laughs. “Raccoons are predators, but they don’t kill birds. I caught this early this morning with breadcrumbs.”

“My provider,” I walk up to Luter and kiss him on the cheek. “Tell me, where did you make the fire?”

“On the other side of the house, so the smoke wouldn’t drift into the windows. Or should I have filled the apartment with smoke?” he smirks, looking clever and thoughtful, expecting praise.

“It’s good you thought of everything,” I praise him without much joy. “Show me where the fire was.”

“Dress warmly. The morning isn’t as sunny as we’d hoped,” he throws on his jacket and helps me put on mine. We go down into the yard and walk around the house. “Here,” he says, pointing to a spot with no sign of fire. No boards, no flames, no ash.

“Is this a joke?” I look at Luter seriously. “Or a disappearing ash trick?”

“Please, believe me,” my husband says with complete seriousness. “This morning, I caught a wild pigeon with breadcrumbs. I moved the boards to this side and made a fire.”

“You started it right away? With no problem?” I interrupt immediately to clarify.

“No, the matches were damp from the night. I need to hide them in a dry place. If I had something to write on, I’d make a note to myself. I plucked the pigeon, fried it, boiled water, brewed tea, and brought you breakfast. The ash was still there when I left the fire. When I came back to the apartment, all the doors were in their places. As far as I’m concerned, that’s even better. We’ll always have firewood. Please, believe me, it all happened exactly that way,” he looks at me with an absolutely sincere gaze.

“I believe you,” I want to believe. “But you understand yourself that none of this is normal.”

“I understand. And I also understand that we don’t have to expect anything normal in life,” he says, staring with a heavy gaze into the woods.

“Where do those thoughts come from?” Overnight, Luter had apparently reached his final conclusion.

“Remember the paint on the door?” he reminds in a low voice of the first unpleasantness.

“That’s hard to forget even if you wanted to,” I recall the bloody streaks on the doors. “You said it was a warning about something.”

“I did. Back then I still had doubts, but now I know for sure,” he turns to me with a doomed expression.

“What does it mean?” I still don’t know if I want to know. It’s hard to let go of dreams of a quiet, secluded life with the man I love.

“You saw it yourself,” he takes my hands. I feel how much colder his hands are than mine.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, understanding what he means.

“You’re not the only one who saw me in the noose,” now I’m afraid even to hold his hands. But he’s my husband.

“We just imagined it,” I try to calm us both.

“We both couldn’t have imagined it,” he smiles sadly, squeezing my hands.

“What was it, then? A possible future?” I propose an option that may not be too late to avoid.

“I don’t think so,” Luter’s hands turn blue. A rope mark appears on his pale neck.

“What’s happening?” the hysteria I suppressed last night finds a way out. “Luter, what’s wrong with you?” I can’t believe what I see. I don’t want to let go of his hands. It feels as if once I let go, I’ll never be able to touch him again.

“That’s what the coat of arms was warning about. Now it belongs to you,” Luter’s hands slip from mine. My husband walks away from me, dissolving into the depths of the forest as he goes.

“Stop! Don’t go! Luter! Don’t leave me here alone!” I scream hysterically. Everything inside and out aches unbearably. I want to run after him. I can’t move from the spot, just like last night. Luter vanishes among the golden leaves.

“Luter,” I whisper, gazing into the calm forest.

Our raccoon neighbors are looking at me from behind the trees. At another moment, I would be happy to see them, but now not a drop of good feeling is left in me. I don’t know how I can live here now, or how to live at all. My hands clench into fists. Clenching my teeth, I walk into the house. The raccoons follow me. I certainly won’t shoo them away. Living creatures won’t be superfluous in such a gruesome place.

I step into the apartment. I can’t say I'm entirely surprised. I already saw it tonight. Luter didn’t leave completely. My husband’s body is hanging motionless in the noose. I close my eyes in silent horror. The raccoons stop beside me. Their presence alone shows more sympathy than I have seen my entire life among people.

“You don’t have to help,” I say with a smile. I pick up the stool that holds Luter’s last steps. I set it nearby. I spread a sheet on the floor. I take the knife from the table. I climb up, feeling neither my body nor any emotion. I cut the rope. The body falls softly and heavily onto the sheet.

“I’m sorry, darling, it probably hurts. I can’t do it any other way,” I climb down to him. I remove the noose from his neck. I wrap him in the sheet, tying it with the rope.

“Let’s go for a walk,” I drag the heavy dead body down the stairs. The neighbors from the forest follow. They want to help, but they don’t have the strength.

“It’s okay, I’ve got this,” I reassure my helpers. I don’t want to watch the body struggle as it descends the stairs. We walk out into the yard. My palms are burning from the rope.

“Can you tell me where I can get a shovel?” I ask the neighbors. The larger one goes toward the old shed, expecting me to follow him. He led me correctly.

“Thank you,” I take the shovel.

“Let’s go to the forest, take a walk,” I drag the magician’s body in its shroud across the golden leaves. I dig a grave in the damp soil with its stones and roots. I don’t know what’s harder, dragging the dead body of the person I love or digging a grave for him. I drop the body down. It seems like this is just another one of Luter’s tricks.

“I hope you come back again,” I slowly bury the grave.

“How could this happen?” I ask out loud, hoping someone will answer. I count the hot tears without blinking.

“Just a little more, my dear. Now we’ll cover you with earth, and you won’t freeze. I'm sorry that our house isn’t visible from here. It would be too hard for me to see you every day,” I throw the last handfuls of earth. I gather the leaves, sprinkling the grave with gold. Instead of a headstone, I roll a moss-covered boulder onto the hill.

“Don’t worry, I’ll visit you. I’d stay now, but I’d better go. I need time to come to terms with the idea,” I take the shovel, trekking back through the forest. I can’t understand why there is such a numb void inside and a feeling that this happened a long time ago and I just had to wait for it. I return the tool to its place. Maybe someone will need it to bury me.

“Come with me if you want,” I invite my forest neighbors to share the empty, lifeless dwelling with me. We climb up together. I leave the door ajar, in case the raccoons want to leave. I give them the roasted pigeon. I take a sip of the cold tea and lie down on the bed. I wrap myself up in the blanket over my head. I scream with all my might.

“I hope I didn’t scare anyone?” I peek out from under the blanket. Everyone is in place. I try not to think about Luter. It’s the same as falling into the ocean and not thinking about water. I remember how we met.

“I never got to say that I noticed him before he saw me. I first spotted him at the theater for which Luter helped write plays. It was amazing how he fit such long life stories, full of pain, worries, passion, happiness, and despair, into a short performance. Talent attracts immediately. And it doesn’t matter what a person looks like. But you don’t want to look at a neglected person either, even if they’re insanely talented. If you don’t find the golden mean, then even if you stay at the edge of cleanliness in appearance and mind, it won’t help. Am I right?” I ask the new residents of my and Luter’s apartment.

“How long are you going to talk to animals?” a male voice sounds from the table.

“Luter, is that you?” I ask, looking at the extinguished candle.

“Almost,” the unfamiliar voice answers.

“Then who is it?” I get out of bed and walk up to the table.

“Prick your finger,” the unknown person urgently advises.

“Isn’t the pain I’m experiencing enough for you? Do you want to see my blood too?” I answer, exhausted after losing my beloved. Now I have nothing to lose except life, and that’s not a value. Luter’s golden leaves are more precious.

“Don’t be dramatic,” a female voice stops my self-pity. “Cut your finger. Drip blood onto the paper.”

“As you say,” I angrily cut my finger with the knife I used to cut the rope that took Luter from me. The sharp blade goes deeper than I expected. The blood doesn’t drip, it pours in a thin stream onto the paper, which is spread on the table instead of a tablecloth. The red paint spreads along the embossed tracks, filling in the drawing. The family crest appears. “Did I cut my finger for you?” I exclaim in indignation before the lion and the snake on the crest. “Couldn’t you have poured wine instead?”

“We wouldn’t have manifested in your life then. Only blood can bind us to a person. You are now the last bearer of the name. The crest is all that remains of the noble Ronec family. We served the family for hundreds of years. With your blood, you have finally bound yourself to us,” the lion explains. “From now on, we serve you.”

“Why didn’t you save Luter if you served and protected him?” I throw the accusations.

“We warned him,” the snake replies without a hint of regret. “The rest was up to Luter himself. We do not take direct action against the personal will of the family bearer.”

“Personal will?” I ask again, unable to believe the truth of the words. “Luter couldn’t have wanted to die.”

“And that is your personal opinion, which we are not entitled to refute,” the snake evades.

“What if my opinion refutes the truth?” I don’t know why I’m even starting a conversation with the crest drawn in blood. If someone saw me from the side, they’d think this was the first step on the path to irreversible madness.

“Truth is irrefutable,” the snake says harshly, leaving no way out of the argument. Checkmate.

“I don’t have time for arguments with you right now. Tell me, why did Luter commit suicide? I never noticed even a shadow of a thought of it in him,” I try to recall the slightest hint. I don’t remember anything like that.

“The desire was real, which is why we couldn’t stop it,” the lion on the crest replies thoughtfully. “It seems the house, the forest, or your trip to the village influenced him. Did you notice anything strange?”

“Strange?” I ask again, smiling painfully. “Everything here is strange! Luter hanged himself last night. I personally buried my husband and am left alone in an abandoned house near the forest. Now I live with two raccoons. Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s enough to start figuring things out. For starters, let’s not get nervous,” the lion says with understanding. “Was there anything difficult about the person you took food from?”

“Besides the blind greed that made him take the leaves at the mention of gold, there was nothing unusual. The food was fine, even delicious. Everything was fine when we ate dinner. Something happened at night. And for some reason, only to Luter, not to both of us. The mystery was left in the night,” I recall the sight of my husband when I lit the candle. The burn on his arm. His body was already hanging in the noose. “Strange, Luter simultaneously turned out to be dead in the noose, alive in front of me, and seconds later was hugging me in bed.”

“Are you sure it was Luter lying with you in bed?” the snake asks, highlighting my biggest mistake. I got into bed without knowing who I was with.

“His voice was his,” I recall the words behind me. “And I know his hugs for sure.”

“Was everything familiar?” the snake clarifies.

“Everything was as usual, except for the warmth,” with memories of the last night, a deep sorrow returns, releasing tears.

“What was wrong with his warmth?” the lion doesn’t let go of the memories.

“Before, when Luter hugged me, there was always a heat between us, capable of warming not only us, but it seemed like the whole world. But that night, I only felt my own warmth. We were alone in bed. He was hugging me, but my feelings told me that I was alone. And I was afraid to look not because I might see something horrible, but because I didn’t want to see my husband’s absence,” my hands instinctively reach out to hug myself, instead of Luter’s arms. I feel sad and tearful. I fall silent, realizing that the conversation with the crest is an illusion. I return to bed.

“Don’t withdraw into yourself,” the snake advises persistently, noticing the change in my behavior. “There could have been many illusions. Starting with the red brushstrokes on the doors. Everything is real. But Luter’s golden leaves are a pure illusion. You must grasp the difference.”

“Fine,” I can’t stop the conversation, in which lies the last chance to find out even a drop of truth. “If you left the marks on the doors. Then who put the doors back after Luter threw them off the balcony and burned them? Who brought hot tea and a well-roasted pigeon? There is no electricity, no gas either. No planks or ashes were left, and the doors are in place without your warnings.”

“That’s what we need to figure out,” the lion concludes my speech seriously. “Try to remember, at what point was Luter still alive?”

“For me, he’s alive even now,” I remember the warmth of his hands before bed and his smile in the warm candlelight. “He was still alive before bed. And in a good mood,” I pull myself together, which is what the crest advisors expect of me. “At night in the noose, he was definitely a dead man.”

“Are you sure it was him in the noose?” the snake thinks seriously.

“I doubt it. In the morning, Luter was hanging exactly the same way in the same clothes. I returned to bed and only heard Luter; there was no warmth. The burn remained on his arm, so it turns out Luter was alive when I lit the candle,” I want to distance myself from the bright, unpleasant moment.

“Luter said he burned himself on the bonfire while making breakfast,” the lion reminds me. “We didn’t see a bonfire, so I believe your words.”

“Why didn’t you see it?” I am surprised, looking at both images. “Aren’t you omnipresent?”

“Don’t confuse us with all sorts of magical things. The family crest only appears for a warning,” the lion staunchly defends itself.

“Then you should have followed him at arm’s length because everything here turned out to be one continuous danger,” a fleeting outburst of anger escapes my lips. The lion and the snake understand this, leaving it unattended. I try to restrain my emotions even more. It’s difficult. “I can’t understand the moment Luter hanged himself. Everything was fine before we left the house. Downstairs, we spoke like normal people, then he disappeared. I returned home and found Luter hanging exactly as he was at night.”

“So, it happened the moment you left the apartment,” the snake concludes.

“Then it turns out I didn’t see the real Luter. He must have secretly stayed in the apartment to carry out his plan,” it’s difficult to think rationally when no circumstance seems realistically possible. “Suppose Luter stayed alive in the house, and I went out with a ghost. Then how did the ghost appear immediately if Luter was still alive?”

“It turns out he wasn’t,” the snake makes a logical conclusion.

“Then why wasn’t Luter in the noose when I left the apartment?” I ask a direct question, attacking the crest’s logic.

“Only one option comes to mind,” the lion says uncertainly. “The real Luter, hanging in the noose, was hidden from you by an illusion of normalcy. You didn’t notice anything unusual, calmly left, and when you returned, the illusion was removed. That’s how you saw the truth.”

“Why would someone go to all this trouble just to make me suffer?” I can’t understand who and why this might be necessary.

“Tell me, do you know everything about Luter?” the snake asks mysteriously.

“Not everything,” I admit honestly. “We’ve only been married for a few months. Before that, we knew each other for a few months more. Can you really get to know a person in six months?”

“And you married a man you didn’t know?” the lion voices my shaky position as a sensible girl.

“I married Luter. The way I saw him, and always will see him,” I answer harshly and confidently, implying that no one will be able to change my mind with a single word. “I didn’t forever renounce my family for the sake of regretting the only act guided by my heart now,” I wrap myself in the blanket, turning away from the crest. My gaze falls on the place where my husband lay just yesterday, who suddenly left under such unusual circumstances.

“We are not trying to turn you against him,” the snake gently reassures me. “The honor of the family is our paramount value, which we are called to guard through the ages. Help us figure things out to clear the defiling shadow of suicide that has fallen upon the family due to Luter’s case. Did anything happen to him before you arrived here?”

“Nothing serious. He acted a little strangely on the road,” I recall the barely noticeable changes in Luter’s behavior. “He was worried, his smile changed, it became more anxious. His gaze kept drifting away from me more often, although before he always looked into my eyes or at my hands. He was quieter. He used to tell me things.”

“That happens when people spend some time together,” the lion says cautiously. “The first wave of admiration and passion passes, interest fades, stories end. It starts to seem like the person has changed, although he remains the same as he was before meeting you. And that peak of wonderfulness between you gradually descends to the level line of ordinary life.”

“This is different,” I stop the lion’s doubts. “There was never any coldness between us, and it didn’t appear with these changes. Luter was worried about something external. As if he was expecting an attack from outside.”

“Tell me, did Luter ever perform that trick in the village with anyone before?” the snake still can’t forget that incident, which caused them to appear before me for the first time.

“I don’t remember that,” I was sincerely surprised when Luter did it in front of me for the first time.

“And was there anything symbolic along the way, after which there were sharp changes? Maybe you passed a cemetery, a church, a crossroads, a bridge?” the snake is extracting more and more memories from me that I never paid attention to.

“We passed the roadside church calmly, nothing changed. There was one big crossroads,” I recall a strange hill at the intersection. “Yes, it seems that after that place, Luter began to change.”

“Did he see something or someone there?” the snake latches onto everything she hears.

“Someone piled stones into a symbol on a small hill. I don’t even remember approximately what it was. There was no one there. And Luter was staring intently at the center of the crossroads, as if he saw someone. He was silent, didn’t move. He just stared. Then he looked back several times after we drove past,” it’s strange how I didn’t pay attention to this.

“A magical place. That’s where it all started,” the snake says seriously, looking at the lion.

“Or ended,” the sorrowful lion allows a different course of events.

“Do you know what happened then?” They remind me of Luter’s habit of leaving secrets for tomorrow to create even greater mysteries later.

“We will consult and tell you,” the lion replies, disappearing along with the crest.

“And you try not to break down and don’t follow your husband into the noose,” the snake commands and advises. The crest soaks into the paper, dissolving until invisible.

“That’s exactly what I'm talking about,” I turn my attention to my new neighbors again. “They extracted from me things I didn’t even remember, made some conclusions, told me nothing, and just disappeared,” I am overwhelmed with anger. At Luter, at his Crest, and at whoever did all this. If the raccoons weren’t so sorry for me, they would leave too.

“Thank you for not abandoning me,” I get out of bed, take a few old warm clothes from the closet that I won’t wear, but it’s a shame to throw away because I’ve worn them for a long time and got used to them. I spread them in a drawer near the bed. The male sniffs the offered bed, looks at his mate, and they both leave.

“Well, that’s your right. You abandoned me too. Not surprising. Who would want to stay in the same house with a crazy woman?” I bury my face in the pillow and cover myself with the blanket. I don’t want to breathe. I don’t want to live. I don’t want anything. Only Luter tolerated me. That’s why I married him, to get rid of everyone else. And if it weren’t for this story, everything would have worked out for us. I’m sure of it. The main thing in life is to find the one person who will understand you and go with them wherever life takes you. And it doesn’t matter how that path ends. And now I don’t regret going with him. A few months of pure happiness were worth all this darkness that I now have to pay for.

“Take everything there is! I’ll pay all the bills, and you will all leave me alone!” Right after my words, the door creaks open. I'm afraid to peek out. My blood stops, my breathing was already barely noticeable, and now it’s gone altogether. An adrenaline tremor runs through my body. I listen, preparing to pounce on the uninvited guest when he comes closer. I hear light footsteps. He’s getting closer.

“Stop!” I sharply throw open the blanket, but I can’t stand up. The raccoons with their pups in their teeth freeze for a moment. They look at me with understanding and sympathy. They walk the remaining distance to the drawer lined with warm clothes. They lay the babies down, lie next to them, wrapping them with their bodies.

“Forgive the crazy woman,” I sit on the edge of the bed, looking affectionately at the sleeping babies, who are snoring in their parents’ thick fur.

“It was a long day for all of us,” I look through the dusty window at the darkening sky.

“I need to wash the windows and clean up tomorrow. The babies need a clean house,” I gently stroke the whole family so no one feels left out. I lie down under the blanket, remembering my time with Luter.