Ten years later
♪♫♪Fire cannot turn the past to ashes, even now.♪♫♪
Even now.
Elder I: The record's stuck. It just keeps repeating that last line.
Elder II: Stop hitting it. Doesn't matter how hard you hit the player, she isn't going to hop out and sing for you.
Elder I: What's the difference between her singing on the record and singing outside?
Elder II: Old fool, your brain must be broken.
Old Quitéria: Everyone, pack up, it's time to go.
A group of elders in black moves slowly toward the cemetery, with Old Quitéria at the front.
Each bends down, pressing their hands to their backs, and places their bouquets on the grave.
Old Quitéria: Old Cinder … Old Jorge … Old Otalia … Old Dos … Old Bastos …
Lilies cover the freshly dug soil. The soul within awaits their song.
Old Quitéria leads the singing. As the colonel always said, short of an accordion, a good violinist and hymn leader is never in bad taste.
Elder I: Her voice is rough.
Elder II: Shh—quiet. She's doing the best she can for her age. Besides, she wasn't always the singer.
Elder I: Oh yeah? Who did it before her?
Elder III: Shh!
The elder in front turns with a frown, stopping their conversation,
as if stumbling over a long-unspoken no-man's land.
Elder II: You talking about Nala?
Elder I: Was her name Nala?
Elder II: Yes.
Elder I: They say she was here a long time ago, when this place was first built.
Elder I: She was found drifting down the river in a bamboo basket.
Elder II: I heard she had wings and flew down from the sky like an angel.
Elder IV: Nah, those weren't angel wings. They were demon wings! I heard she was a wanted criminal. Don't you know? The bounty was in the billions; you can't even imagine—!
Elder I: Oh, dear, what did she do?
Elder IV: Do you know the actress Lily Landry?
Elder I: Yes.
Elder IV: They say Nala assassinated her and was on the run from the government before hiding here.
Elder II: No way. They found the assassin; it wasn't her.
Elder II: I heard she was an international spy, selling information from here to there and there to here.
Old Quitéria: Quiet!
Old Quitéria approaches the whispering elders, the last ten years wore harsher on her face than any previous.
Old Quitéria: What are you all talking about anyways?
Elder II: Oi, Quitéria, were just talking about the previous hymn leader, most of us left never knew her.
Elder I: Yeah, you've been here the longest. You must remember. Tell us about her.
Old Quitéria: Nala?
Everyone nods.
Elder I: Yes, who was she, what's her story? Come on, Quitéria, you must know something.
Old Quitéria pauses, then sighs.
Old Quitéria: She ...
Trying to remember isn't easy, she wades through memories that have grown thick as tropical foliage.
But patience brings a reward, a memory of joy and laughter.
Old Quitéria: She always knows what we need.
No one pries further.
Quitéria …
Old Quitéria looks up to the sky. It is as if seeing an angel descending from above.
The answers flood back to her with a rose-colored glow.
Old Quitéria: Caramba, what is happening? I just bought these chickens from the market the other day, and now they're all gone! That's the third time this month!
Caregiver: Calm down. Probably some mangy dog sneaking in during the night.
Old Quitéria: We'll see about that! I'm going to find out just who's responsible tonight.
Caregiver: Be careful you don't get bitten by a weasel. Those things can swallow a whole chicken without leaving a trace.
Old Quitéria: We had a weasel problem back home; I caught it in a week. They're no trouble.
Caregiver: Then go ahead. Everyone's still waiting to try your chicken stew.
Night falls. Old Quitéria stays awake, waiting for any movement in the chicken coop.
Finally, the first chicken's squawk sends her rushing to the coop.
Old Quitéria holds a lantern, searching the ink-black night for the source of the commotion.
In the dim light, she sees a disheveled girl with a chicken's foot sticking out from her mouth.
Old Quitéria: So, you're the little weasel stealing our chickens.
Blood drips from the girl's mouth. Quitéria couldn't tell if it is the chicken's or her own.
Anjo Nala: …!
The girl yanks the chicken claw out of her mouth, wincing in pain.
Old Quitéria: Ei! Don't do that.
Anjo Nala: …!!!
In a flash, the girl extends her claws, pinning Old Quitéria against the wall.
Anjo Nala: pant
Anjo Nala: Are you going to lock me in a cage?
Old Quitéria: Oh—oh—don't do this, child. Please, don't be afraid. I'll do nothing of the sort. I just wanted to know what was happening to the chickens!
The girl stares suspiciously into Quitéria's eyes.
Old Quitéria: Look, I'm unarmed, and I'm old. I couldn't catch you even if I tried.
Old Quitéria: Believe me, I only came to check on the chickens. In fact, until now, I thought you were only a dog.
The girl releases her grip, then makes a quick retreat toward the corner, hiding the rest of the chicken in a bundle under her arms.
Seeing Old Quitéria make no further moves, she begins devouring the chicken again.
Old Quitéria: ...
Old Quitéria slowly approaches.
Old Quitéria: Hi …
She reaches out, trying to touch the girl's head.
The girl trembles, baring her fangs at the aged midwife.
Old Quitéria: Hiss—!!!
Old Quitéria stops, her hand hovering in the air.
Then, as if making a decision ...
She continues, until her hand falls on the girl's head.
The girl jumps up and bites her.
Blood oozes from the wound.
Old Quitéria: Ow! That hurts.
But the woman squints, enduring the pain.
Until it begins to ease little by little as the fangs retract from her skin.
The girl lets go.
And Quitéria returns her hand to the girl's head once more.
Old Quitéria: Eat girl. Eat more, you look starved.
The girl stares at Quitéria, then lowers her head and quickly finishes the chicken.
She kneels, and wipes the girl's face clean.
Old Quitéria: We don't dine with our hands here.
Old Quitéria: It seems you have much to learn about proper etiquette. But I can teach you. If you'll let me.
Old Quitéria hands the girl a handkerchief.
Old Quitéria: What do you say? Will you be our new caregiver?
The girl's eyes are fixed on Old Quitéria.
After a long while, she sniffles.
Anjo Nala: Will it be warmer inside?
GAMEPLAY
...
...
Beautiful.
Beautiful, infinite.
Beautiful, infinite, expansive, converging.
Leaping, mottled, piercing, striking to the bone.
Mine, yours.
The future's.
...
Empty.
...
Empty?
...
Empty.
Empty, empty—empty!
Empty.
Empty.
...
...
...
...
...
… Gulp …
Gulp, gurgle … gulp, thump, thump … thump, thump, thump—
Bang—!
Anjo Nala: ...
Anjo Nala: ...
Anjo Nala: …!