The night was dark outside the Sanctuary's windows when Kaitlyn had asked for a story. She should have been sleeping, but something had kept her up. It was nothing a good story from big Sis Lenna couldn't fix, though. And so, seated by the bedside in a wooden chair, she started her tale.

"This is a story my big sister told me," Lenna smiled.

"Once, there was an artist. He was a young boy. His mind was full of wonder, but he was still young and inexperienced. There were a great many things he wanted to become. One of these things was an artist. He lived in Japan."

"One year in his youth, there was a great festival where many artists gathered. Their preferred medium was sand. They would travel from all over the world to come to Japan so that they could use Japan's fine sand, which was unparalleled in the world for its quality."

"The site where the festival was being held was by some cliffs. Much of the sand the artists wanted to use was down below, on the beach. There was some sand in containers at the top, but many did not want to use it. They wanted to find their own. All sand is unique, composed of different materials, different shells and rocks and minerals. They wanted to find the finest they could."

"Some were adding to their past works. One such artist, a woman, had a statue of a young boy she wished to improve. This statue was impressive, and seemed to have a life of its own. But she did not want to risk damaging it by bringing it down the cliffside, to the beach. And so, she asked the young artist boy to stand watch."

"As he watched, the statue came to life. Free of its creator, it wished to explore. The young statue's body took on a consistency of clay, moving and walking, exploring of its own free will."

"The young artist boy tried to stop him. He was worried the sand statue would get hurt. Would become damaged. Might change from whatever it was into something new. He wanted the statue to stay the same. To be what the woman had wanted it to be, but the statue of the boy had other plans."

"Do not stop me." He proclaimed. "I will explore." And with that, he crawled off the cliff. He fell. Worried, the young artist rushed to rescue him, scooping him up. Bits of his sand skin had been chipped away. He was injured. "I am fine," he told him. "This is just part of my art. Take me to the sand in the mausoleum."

Some of the sand nearby was often heavily guarded. This was important sand many felt was 'sacred' or 'untouchable' for various reasons. During that time, Japan heavily guarded its sand and its secrets, for reasons the young artist never knew.

The statue of the boy slipped from his arms and crawled into the tall building, over the sand within. As he crawled, bits of sand and ash got stuck to him in the spots where he'd been injured, clinging to his body like scars. He spent several minutes, crawling.

The boy fretted, worried this would ruin the statue. He was going to be scarred, no good, and it was all his fault. The woman would be mad.

He did not go find her. The statue of the boy would not be stopped. All he could do was stand watch. Eventually, the statue of the boy stopped moving, pleased. And as the young artist looked away, the magic faded. He was just a statue, nothing more. Heavily scarred.

When the woman came back, he showed the statue to her, apologizing frantically for what the statue had become. She did not raise her voice, did not glare. He couldn't understand why she wasn't mad. Eventually, she stepped forward and spoke to him about the qualities of the sand. And art.

"This sand is special," she said. "And art is not about creating something and keeping it the same. This sand can change. Look." And as if to explain, the sand suddenly shifted.

The young artist had thought the magic gone, that the statue was ruined, and would not ever be the same, especially in the presence of the woman. He'd been partially right. The statue had changed. It would not be the same.

"See?" The woman said. THe magic had not stopped simply because an adult was standing there. The statue had become three. "There were bits of fossil crushed in that sand. This young boy was once my child. I used his ashes in the statue's creation. That's why it was so curious and ready to explore. He always loved dinosaurs. Now, he has become them." And so it was, where once there had been a statue of a boy, now the statue had split and changed into three statues of tiny dinosaurs. They floated in the air, dancing. The young artist's eyes grew wide.

"I do not understand," he said.

"The nature of art is like the nature of life. Of growing up. You cannot stop it," she explained. "Things inevitibly change. You might think these changes are bad. Sometimes, they are. But change is a part of growing up. He grew up. Did you think you could stop him? Nobody can stop this, boy."

The young artist finally understood. "One can be whatever they want to be, if only they have the courage and strength of will to try." He said. Nodding, he added. "This boy became dinosaurs."

"Yes," she replied. "Yes, he did."

"This is the story, as my big sister told it to me," Lenna concluded with a solemn nod.

(( OOC: Usually, Lenna's text color is dark orange. In this case, there's too much dialogue to use darkorange. So I'm not using it, to save some eye-burning. You're welcome. ))

“Hmm…” Kaitlyn rubbed her chin, allowing the symbolism and poetic devices of the story to wash over her.

“So, which one of them do you think was the mutant? The mom, or the kid?”

If symbolism was like like water, Kaitlyn’s mind was like a sieve. It needed solid, factual chunks to grasp. All else simply fell through, ignored, unappreciated. She preferred nonfiction. The real world didn’t use allegory or metaphor to get its points across. Stuff happened, and people did stuff about it.

Kaitlyn wanted to know who did what stuff in this true story Lenna was telling her.

Lenna chuckled at the young girl. That was precious. Kaitlyn needed data. She required information. Wanted it. Needed it. But stories didn't always work like that. "Maybe it was the sand?" Lenna commented slyly, teasing Kaitlyn's interest. "A mutant that pretended to be a sand sculpture, then turned into so much more... of course, it could have been the mother, playing a trick, or the kid. That's up to you to think. It could also have been magic."

Tease, tease, tease. It would be something Kaitlyn would have to turn over in her head as she slept. She wasn't going to get rote fact. This wasn't one of those stories. Lenna wasn't even sure if it had been true. Maybe it had been something her big sis had made up for her, to get her all tired out from thinking, so she'd fall asleep.

Kaitlyn chuckled. “Magic isn’t a thing.”

Then she realized something painfully obvious: “That entire story was fake, wasn’t it?” She buried her face in her palms for a moment, rubbed her eyes. “Wow, I’m so dumb.”

She had to laugh at Kaitlyn for being too naive. It wasn't laughing at her... at least, she didn't see it as such. More like laughing with her. Her hair moved with her head as she shook it at the young girl.

"You aren't dumb... some stories are just stories, meant to make you think of things in a new way." Lenna said. "For instance, magic. It could be a thing." It sure as hell wasn't, but it could be. "And even if it isn't, the story was fun, wasn't it?" Ya little squirt!

She shrugged.

“Lenna? Do you think I’ll ever see Lori again?”

But they had both seen Lori recently. After Lori had lost her memories, moved in with that abhorrent human who didn’t even like mutants. After Lori forgot who Kaitlyn was, after she forgot what the Order was, after she forgot who she was.

“The real Lori.” As opposed to that thing they met, which just so happened to live in Lori’s body at the time.

And suddenly, Kaitlyn had hit her in the gut with a painful question. If it had been a physical blow, it would have had her doubled over. Would they ever see Lori again? The real Lori? Not some stupid amnesiac protagonist version. She didn't know. This was the sort of question one had to handle delicately.

"No," Her voice was rough around the edges, and she found herself frowning. Lenna had never been one for delicacy unless she was picking locks. "If she lost her memory, and lost herself, we'll never see the Lori we once knew again... people are a product of their experiences... and we just won't ever see the same product with Lori again. I'm sorry."

She hadn't wanted to get philosophical, but she'd wound up getting close. If the old Lori was gone, it wasn't likely they'd get her back. She had a new life, now. New people. New family. It hurt. Hurt like hell. For Kaitlyn, especially. But it was what it was. Plus, she'd taken control of the Order, and she sort of liked it. It hadn't been her intent, but joint leadership was just part of her, now. Just like Lori's new life was part of her.

They sat in silence for a while.

Kaitlyn didn’t cry. She’d gotten that out of her system already, hiding in her room where nobody could see her. Actually, it made her feel a little bit better to hear Lenna tell her what she already knew. Lori wasn’t still out there, still capable of being saved or anything like that. She was gone, as good as dead. Now Kaitlyn could just finish up with her grieving and get on with her life.

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t, really. But it was getting a little better.