"I wasn't born Mimi. I was born Purisha Eridaiga of Prixia, the resplendent world of glass. Maybe you've heard of it? If so, then you know something of the tragedy that I'm to tell of. My homeworld was the most beautiful and majestic of them all, nothing like the dreadful lust of Abraxia. All across the land were the greatest temples you will never see, made of glass and reaching into heavens filled with clouds that were like kingdoms unto themselves. Each temple was a pagoda, built with a symmetry centered around a stupa. A lustrous light lived within them, prisms reflecting every spectrum of color as the sun strove to shine to their core. Some of the temples were so vast that to stand beside them was to divide the sky from the land, so enormous that light could hardly penetrate them and they took on a dark appearance from a distance, as if they sheltered shadows. That did not diminish their beauty, in my eyes, as they appeared from a distance like celestial castles, ineffable in their glory.
It wasn't only the temples, or the clouds that were beautiful, but all of the land, and the nature of the world itself which is graced with two suns that glow much more radiantly than the dim star of Abraxia, illuminating sublime mountains that rise to impossible heights, so confused between the cycles of the two suns they will rarely cast a true shadow at daytime. Fields of flowers stretched across every valley and meadow, rainbows were an omnipresent fixture of the firmament, so vast and wide that the sky itself turned from blue to every visible color, and light rains would send the sky to shimmer in ethereality. The whole of the world was one of ephemeral beauty, evanescence, and spoke to this feeling of transcending the day, and the night was no less beautiful for the stars shone so bright, and a giant singular moon glowed purple or blue depending on the season, bathing the land in a lunar wash, a color much like my dress, here. Amidst all of that diaphanous ships made of glass would sail the skies on golden magical sails, long and slender with pointed bowsprits, ferrying Prixians to-and-fro with whimsical importance, accompanied by flocks of shining fairies.
Of course, you must know what happened to Prixia, and why I had to leave—in fact, why I am here now, and that is the day the Empire arrived on Prixia and layed siege, which is known as The Shattering. And though the Empire could not destroy the planet itself, they destroyed everything that made it beautiful, and since then it is said that a great pall of sorrow has befallen the land, that horrible winds blow through the valleys and that the earth shakes with anger. I was very fortunate to have been able to escape, but my story does not begin with the rebels who smuggled me off-planet, because as Purisha Eridaiga, I held a very important role on Prixia that to this day I struggle to come to terms with, and that is that I was the princess of Prixia." I say this last part lowly, as if not to provoke the attention of the other passengers.
"Really?" the man says with an air of casual incredulity.
"It's not as fabulous as it might seem, you see, because the Prixians attributed to me a particular status that may seem far-fetched, if you'll believe me, which is that I was supposed to be the reincarnation of a soul from a long succession of princesses stretching back towards an infinite regress. They thought that I was a divinity of an uncertain nature, like a goddess, and while I was very young I would be tested constantly in effort to bring back my memories. Oftentimes I would be asked if I remembered events from my past life—'Oh, Purisha, do you not remember meeting the elder Janet?—which I never did, though my mentors often made it seem as though I did—'You must not recognize her now that she's so old.' Other times, I would be asked to recite prayers that I'd never learned, by finishing the sentences of my mentors. They would cite some catechism, like, 'Time moves in no direction.' … Do you want to know what the really fucked up thing is?"
His hat slipping down over his face as he smooths into the back of his seat, "What's that?"
"For my entire life I've heard a voice in my head that isn't my own, and she would gift me with the ending of the catechisms, 'but light finds its course.' This had the effect of proving in the minds of my mentors that I truly was the reincarnated soul they thought I was. This voice that I hear, she claims to be a Goddess, and despite my defiance, she appeals to my better nature and tries to lead me onto the right paths in life. As much of a skeptic as I am, and believe me, in this supernatural world where wonders are transfigured into banalities, I do consider myself to be a skeptic. I've found it hard to believe at times, questioning whether for certain or not if I might be crazy, but I must confess that I have found the wisdom of this voice I hear to be prescient, as on numerous occasions it seems to have lead me away from danger, or even to have foretold events yet to come." I allow for there to be a lull while this man Geddon stews with my story thus far. He must think that I am spinning a tall-tale, and it may as well be, yet if I were to wager a bet I'd say this man is contending with whether to believe me or not, not though it matters. One thing, for certain that I would not tell him is how the priesthood raised me to guard my virginity, holding my sexuality sacred, a fact of my character and a conflict between my mind and body which persists to this day, and that imbibed as I am that my body is sweltering under the appearance of this dolorous man who I wish that I could acquiesce to wrap my legs around and ravish to excite feeling into his callous heart once more.
"I grew up hearing this voice, and though my mentors needed no proof of my divinity to be as convinced of it as they were, the messages that I relayed from this voice further consecrated my role as princess of Prixia, lending me an inefficacious authority within a world where there were truly no matters over which to be governed, considering that our food and clothes and shelter were for the most part fabrications of the Reliquary world, you see. Yet, when I was about six years of age I began foretelling of the impending doom that would come to Prixia, though there was no recourse for the Prixians who blissfully lived in their utopian ignorance, who knew nothing of war, for whom the Strife seemed like a far-away fever dream. We had heard of the Empire's travails across other worlds in their search for Archons, but Archons were not native to Prixia, who, though they were visitors, travelers—not leaders, or figures of worship—tended to abstain from seeking refuge on Prixia, fearing perhaps its destruction, or thinking that it was lacking in defensible qualities. We only knew of the fairies which blessed the skies, of the birds and other fauna that survived on Prixia, innocent and innocuous, not possessing anything of value to the Empire, so we thought. Nevertheless, rebels had begun to arrive on Prixia who were well convinced that it was only a matter of time before the Empire would come to Prixia, too, and they were allowed to fortify Prixia with foreign weapons by the church which harkened duly my omens of the forthcoming destruction, though they looked on at the rebels with remote disinterest, praying, I suppose, that my divine premonitions were a hoax.
So when the Empire arrived on Prixia with their war machines, only the rebels were there to stand in their way, while the priests and priestesses fell to prostrate themselves in prayer where they would remain, crushed to death as their great temples of glass came crashing down around them at the behest of the Empire's great cannonades. Only then did the wisdom of my Goddess seem to realize any meaningful effect, because, following her directions I was able to bring my retinue to the guardianship of a group of rebels occupying themselves with an off-world evacuation. While we survived, I would not live as a priestess much longer, as it was my destiny to become a rebel, and thus I have taken the name Mimi for myself."
"That's quite the fantastic yarn, but I'm dying for a little hair of the dog, myself." Geddon reaches passively for the bottle I've kept captive at my side. I take another sip before handing it back.
"Of course."
"So, that's why you've got no last name, huh? Just Mimi. Not Mimi Eridaiga?"
"Just Mimi…." I'm too embarrassed to admit that the full name that I'd given myself in my childish predilection was Mimi Penny Lasso, although my embarrassment for that name is likely unwarranted.
"And what happened to your retinue?" Geddon asks, starting to draw the last from his whiskey.
"I loved them very much, as I loved all who I knew on Prixia, who were truly a beautiful people. We escaped to Myridon, where the Prixians continued to try to worship in the way they were accustomed, but dispirited without the splendor of the world from which they arrived eventually relented in their habits, and assimilating with the locals forged a new meaning for their lives. My retinue, however, was dedicated to preserving my integrity as the reincarnated one, the princess of Prixia, divine interpreter for the Goddess who dwells within me, but, never truly believing it myself in the way they had imposed on me, one night I left without saying a word to join the fight with the rebels and to fight again an Empire which has inspired an unspeakable fury within me. I left with tears in my eyes, because I truly loved my closest mentor, Orcysha, who now I fear to see again lest I should be burdened with shame, and hope beyond all hopes that she has found some way to move past my disappearance and to learn how to stop worrying about me…. I did leave her a note, and I regret that I had colored my message with blame, accusing her of having an overbearing disposition…." I stop speaking, for fear of choking up, to gaze at the scenery passing by out the passenger window.
Rows of black coral crawling away across rolling hills, tall boulders embedded into the earth here and there as if they fell from the sky a long time ago, a Zox perched upon one, gigantic raven birds of death with teethed maws, three sinewy spoon-shaped feathers forming its crest. Strings of dark clouds seem to wind along on the path of the train, heading on towards Videlma and farther out towards the Imperial city of Nengablio. It's a much more imposing place than it sounds, I reckon. Geddon pauses to gaze out the window with me, and for a moment I feel something of an unspoken connection between us, two souls enduring life's tribunal, an implicit understanding of the struggles that we share in common. I continue, "Prixia gave me a beautiful childhood. I cannot describe the euphoria of sailing through the air on ships made of glass, overlooking the majesty of such a beautiful world. One can only aspire to such celestial wonder, yet despite its sublimity, Prixia existed as world bereft of opulence, a word that I've much more closely come to equate with the endozarks of Abraxia, Vanguroph's golden gilding," I motion to the patterns beset within the walls of the train, "The glass temples of Prixia speak to a sense of purity, of clarity in transcendence, whereas I am given of the impression that opulence maintains a sense of opacity, that in its grandiosity is a blinding richness or ostentation."
Geddon nods, a yawn. He stretches out, his rugged face framing dark eyes, a sharp jaw, dimples suggesting a wolfish smile hiding gleaming white teeth. "I suppose you'll want to know something about me, then?"