Two figures are reading, illuminated by the soft lights of the library.
They sit in comfortable harmony, a tacit understanding between them.
Зима: …
Sonetto: …
The only sound is the turning of pages.
Sonetto: …
It is a silence that will break as their mutual agreement ends.
After all, this girl has a question forming in her mind.
Sonetto: Excuse me, Mr. Зима ...
It seems the man is in a world of his own. He does not even notice her voice.
The girl lowers her tone. It is shorter, urgent, and almost piercing.
Sonetto: Mr. Зима!
зима and Зима snap out of their trance.
Зима: W-What?
Sonetto: Sorry, maybe I shouldn't ask you here ...
Sonetto: ... but you have the most extensive knowledge of poetic imagery of anyone I know. I have a question that's been bothering me for a while—
The chickadee on his shoulder shakes its head in surprise and takes flight.
She takes no notice, fully focused on receiving her answer.
Sonetto: I've been wondering ... What's your interpretation of "a sparrow in hand" and "a goose in the sky"?
Sonetto: Is it simply referring to these two animals literally, or does it include all the extended symbolism from previous works?
Sonetto: Or perhaps, as some suggest ... this is some kind of highly directional metaphor?
Зима: …
Зима silently picks up a pen, preparing to write his response in the book lying open in front of him.
Sonetto keenly perceives his intent.
Sonetto: Ah—please don't do that.
The chickadee tilts its head, seemingly confused. Perhaps even a little annoyed.
Sonetto: These books are from Timekeeper's collection ...
Sonetto: ... If you write on its pages in ink, it'll spoil the experience for the next reader.
Зима: ... S-sorry.
Зима: It's not ... stone ... anymore. I ... forgot ...
Sonetto: It's because you don't have any blank paper. Here, use this notebook.
Sonetto: Just like your piles of parchment, I've filled many notebooks. Writing down my thoughts ... helps me clear my head.
Зима: I ... u-use parchment ... to write.
Sonetto: Of course. Parchment is a very good choice.
Sonetto: I think there's some over there ... I'll go look for it. Hold on.
Зима: …
Sonetto: It should be here ... Ah, found it.
When she turns around, a breath of cold air sweeps past her.
The book remains open on the desk. The quill, its owner, and the chickadee named "зима" have all disappeared.
Sonetto: Mr. Зима ...?
Sonetto: Did I say something wrong ...?
Sonetto: Every time I ask him a question, it seems like he doesn't want to answer.
Sonetto: And what did he mean by "stone"?
Sonetto: Well ... I could take a look at his file. Maybe it'll help me avoid making the same mistake again.
Sonetto: I'll just take a little peek ...
Sonetto: ...?
The file contains only a few pages, despite covering half of his life within it.
