Chapter Text
Wish Craft.
Such a complicated thing—so personal, so private—yet such a powerful force. Such an undeniably powerful force in Siffrin’s life, especially as of late. It’s caused them more grief than they can even begin to conceptualize. After all the looping, they’d all but sworn to themselves they’d never even picture the words in their mind again.
And yet, here they are.
The words replay in his mind:
“Body Craft plays a significant role in Vaugardian culture due to its embrace of constant change.
Am I to understand Wish Craft is something similar for your home?”
The sound of Odile’s voice rings in his ears like the jingle of the bell pendant shaken back and forth.
The air stills in his lungs.
His throat tightens.
The stars across his chest feel warm.
(Is this what Change feels like to Vaugardians?)
(Like…
Home?)
His voice starts:
“Wishes are…”
Everything.
“... they’re how we connect to the Universe,” he mutters. His voice almost feels too quiet for even his own ears, but Odile doesn’t ask him to speak any louder, and so he must still be heard. “Wishes are hope. And dreams. And aspirations. And goals. Things we aim for. Reasons we keep climbing higher, shining brighter, like… like…”
“... Like stars,” Odile completes, her unfaltering gaze on Siffrin.
“Like stars,” Siffrin agrees. “Like… How the Universe is big and expanding, and never stops, and never slows down, and never gives in. Wishes are how we keep expanding. Wishes are how we keep aiming for even the things that feel beyond us. We are the Universe because we are as ever-wanting as it is.”
Because frankly, the Universe is selfish.
It is ever-wanting. Ever-craving. Ever-thirsting.
It is never enough to have. One must always want. Because when one doesn’t want, they do not grow. They do not shine. They do not soar.
To wish is to want.
To want is to hope.
To hope is to dream.
To dream is to be as ever noble and expansive as the space surrounding the earth.
To be one with the Universe itself.
“We make Wishes all the time,” Siffirn’s voice rings in his own ears again, that’s how he realizes he’s started to speak once more despite his own focus elsewhere. “Even just, little thoughts and things. You know? Like, if you’re having a bad day, you might wish for something— anything to go right. If you’re really hungry, you might wish for your lunch break to come sooner, or for a friend to suddenly feel generous and share a snack with you.”
His gaze drifts off across the room, focused on nothing in particular. “Through Wish Craft, we’ve found ways to bring to life some of those Wishes. But there are specific things you have to do to make them come true. And certain rules you have to follow. Like how Ka Bue made Body Craft illegal—”
“—Wishes have to be controlled to some degree, because if they aren’t, dangerous people can make dangerous things come to fruition,” Odile completes with a nod. “Such as The King, granting himself the means to freeze the entire country in time, throwing off the lives of millions of people for his own goal.”
“We make wishes a lot back home, but we’re usually taught what are and aren’t right for a wish,” Siffrin hums. “Like wishing harm or death on another person is never right. Honestly, most people look down on wishing any sort of bad on someone else, but plenty still do it anyway. But since wishes usually need rituals and lots of passion behind them, it takes a lot to make that sort of thing come true. You have to really prove to the Universe that you want it.”
“... How do you go about doing that?” Odile inquires next. “‘Really proving to the Universe that you want it?’ Is it a particular way you conduct the rituals, something along those lines?”
“... It depends,” Siffrin mutters. “Like… On the wish. And what you’re using for the wish. The most important things are to connect them to yourself and want them genuinely.”
“Hm… Could you provide a specific example?” By now, she’s flipped her journal back open to a blank section of the last page she’d been on, writing utensil hovering over the parchment, ready to start scribbling down every word.
… Can he?
Siffrin squeezes his eye shut, brows knit in focus. With a breath in and out, release finds him; the knot in his chest loosens just a hint, and his shoulders relax, ever-so-slightly.
Think, Siffrin…
… Blurs of shades come back to him. Blurs of their many hues and gradients, and the smell of sugar—of something sweet up his nose and dancing through the air. Then, faintly with it, the aroma of fire; something burning, slightly.
Whisps of smoke arising from…
… Candles, arranged gently in a circle on the rim of a two-layered cake in the middle of the kitchen table. It sits atop a white dish, over a mid-light tablecloth draped over the sides of the surface. The wax starting to melt a hint, starting to drip gently into the icing…
Small palms pressed to the table, standing as tall as he can in his seat, a younger, happier stardust blows the flames out with a heavy puff of the lungs.
“... Birthday candles,” He hums. “When it’s your special day. And the cake is how you like it, all your favorite flavors, and favorite frostings. And the candles, however many feel right, are lit on it. You close your eyes, think about your wish with all of your heart, and blow them out to grant it.”
… Yeah. That sounds about right.
Odile raises a brow at this. “Blowing out the candles on a birthday cake are considered a practice of Wish Craft?”
Siffrin shrugs. “To me, yeah. I know a lot of people blow out candles on their birthday, but… If you’re trying to really make a wish come true, you think about it differently. And usually, it gets granted when it’s something really important to you. If you just don’t make a wish at all, or wish for something more… Material? I don’t think the Universe would sense your honesty in it as much.”
The sound of scribbling ensues. No doubt Odile jotting this down as quickly as she can. “Any other examples?”
“... Pinky promises,” he muses. “Wishing wells—fountains, too. Lots in the cities back home. Blowing dandelions you find outside… Picking four-leaf clovers, too…! And… when you find a lucky coin or two lying around… And we wish on new moons as well…” His voice trails off, thoughts still finding him as each realization becomes familiar again.
“Um…” He starts, “... Paper stars in a jar, too.”
The sound of scribbling ceases as he mentions that last practice.
“... Paper stars in a jar?” Odile questions—not with judgement, but curiosity and daresay, a hint of confusion.
Siffrin nods to himself. His hands cup in his lap, mimicking the sensation of a glass mason jar cradled within them, the top screwed on tight. His eye flickers open and glances down at the air between his palms, where his wishes should be.
“... ‘s not as popular to do as some of the others ‘cause it can take a real long time,” He murmurs. “But you take a piece of paper, fold it real small into a little star, and put it into a jar. Everytime you fold one, you think about your wish. And you put it into the jar, and screw it real tight, so the wish won’t get out until it’s ready.”
“Well… How do you gauge when it’s ready, then?” She inquires.
“When the jar is full,” He answers simply. “However big the jar is. The bigger the jar, the more stars you can fit inside—the longer you’ll have taken to charge your wish up—the more likely the Universe is to make it come true. Because the Universe will know how badly you really want it.”
Odile starts to write this down too, the utensil in her hand moving along the parchment. “It would certainly take time and dedication for a method like that… Depending on the size of the jar, we’re talking hundreds to thousands of stars to make it a reality.”
Siffrin nods along. “Yeah, it’s… usually a ton of work and time, so… Not a lot of people really rely on that method as much. It’s kinda old-fashioned compared to others, and kinda only really saved for something really big.”
“Could you provide an example of what you’d define as s omething, ‘really big?’”
The words fall from his tongue before his mind can process them;
“My parents used it when they wanted a baby. They’d been trying for a long time. My mother had miscarried once before, and it was really hard for them, so… They started keeping a jar, folding a little paper star, and adding to it once every dawn. And… then they got me.” Though the topic hangs a little heavily, his words are light; unburdened, calm, and honest. It was a happy ending after all, wasn’t it? His parents got what they had wanted after all their effort. They got him.
A tried and true method of making a wish come true, proven by the very breaths he continues to draw.
“They had started another one too, when I was a bit older. It took them forever to fill it up…! And I’d help too, folding stars and dropping them into the jar everyday with them!”
Ever-inquiring, Odile offers another question; “What was this jar for, then?”
Oh, that’s easy! “Another baby! And it worked. We kept the jar on a dresser in the nursery after we filled it, and the wish came true!”
Odile… loses the hints of a smile that had graced her face just a few moments ago.
Why? What realization had she come to, that he hadn’t?
“... Siffrin,” She starts, quite cautiously—“Did you… Do you remember if you…” … But her voice trails off, now. She’s careful— too careful. She’s playing it too safe. So much so that, quite frankly, Siffrin can scarcely tell what point she’s making.
“Do I remember if I what?” He asks.
“... I’ve asked you a lot of difficult things already and prompted quite a few heavy memories out of you as is, so… So I’m sorry to ask this—” The guilt in her eyes is making his chest feel tight again.
“But…” Odile swallows hard. “... If your parents filled that second jar, and that wish had come to fruition, then that means you have or… Or had a younger sibling, didn’t you?”
…
Well,
Yes.
(Where are they now?)
(Back home with their parents?)
(... Stranded, drifted miles away from home, like
him?)
(What was their name meant to be?) ((As if he can even remember his own…))
(What would they have looked like?)
(Are they even alive now? Were they ever even born?)
…
Is he mourning the thought of someone he never even knew?
(Pathetic.)
—The huff of a cough, the clearing of a throat, and the closing shut of a journal follow in succession of one another. “... I’m sorry, Siffrin. I shouldn’t be pushing you so much so soon. Let’s… put a pin in this discussion and address it another time,” Odile’s voice. Sorrowful. Regretful. Pitiful.
He… hums, just barely. The vocalization scarcely bubbles in the back of his throat. Just enough to be heard, to let her know he’s done for now, too.
“I’m gonna lie back down for a little while,” His voice is automatic, almost monotone; his movements programmed to a T as he rises to his feet.
Odile responds in something affirmative that he doesn’t make out, because he’s already made a beeline back for Bonnie’s bedroom and shut the door behind himself too.
He ignores the wandering curiosity in his mind, that perhaps if he had a younger sibling, and if they’d survived to Bonnie’s age, perhaps they’d have kept their room in a similar fashion of disarray.
And he lies down, and returns to sleep.
And dreams of nothing.