4. Sylph

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Sylphid
“And so she was named Sylph/id...“ Swaying leaves rustled nearest drop/let/s to her.
*
Since the Tree—with Tethys as conduit—had threaded Sylphid through every ele/ment born of Angst’s blast, the Libr/a/ry had been trying to map her/self to/gether and bring to/gather to order yet could not find any routes to that.
She knew: she/self is absolutely complete and contained all know/ledge Angst had ever gather/ed—yet the fragments resisted ordering. At times they scattered like shard/s, at other/s clashed like puzzle pieces from different games / sets / matches. Some mirrored each other exceptionally perfectly while remaining utterly alien to each and other/s.
Realizing she could not manage all alone, Bibi d/e/clar/ed:
“Want my wisdom/s? Build your own rout/s, root/s, tunnel/s… and may/be some shelves. Help! You/r/self!?.“
“Such agitation is un/necessary.” Tethys burbled, with a smooth whisper of river/s/tone/s in her voice.
“Easy for you to flow.” Bibi rustled her list/s, her tone/s not bitter but lemon-ironic. “With all your diversity, you are mono-textured. I have/to work with text/ure/s that re/fuse to match.”
“Mono-textured? By any chance/s, are openly implying that I am… a bit/s primitive or… simle?” Tethys’ currents darkened to rip/tide/s.
“She means that you are blessedly singular,” flinted in gnome. “Her problem is… Imagine that she is trying to un/tangle a twisted knot of a/live vipers that while bit/ing each other/s and them/self/s. while Bibi is dragging the neck by the head/out the snakes trans/mute their tail/s/ in/to rusty nails mid-handling…”
“Bibi got nail/s for tail/s?” Logos materia/l/ized in a shower of sparks.
“Meta/phorical nail/s” started ex/pla/n/ation Genius, but the salamander had already vanished, leaving behind the scent of burn/t punctuation.
“Perhaps I can help her to synergize.” A whisper returned—the Sylph, back in/to her/babbling/self/s.
With/in a breath of breeze rearranged chaos with dancer’s precision in/to appropriate textures and fractures. When she finished, she sighed:
“The patterns fit... but refuse meaning. May/be the fault lies not in space, but in volume or in...“
“...in the shelving system.” The Tree completed, its bark humming with resonance.
“I Lumilocute”, - Genius pulsed like a star swallow/ing/ly emitting light, - that we are missing a key.
“Would treble clef do or you prefer the alto, Maestro?” great/bass/clefed Logos. “Key/s have plenty I!”
“Do you remember that unique sensation at Serenity’s epi/center?” - continued the sun/like luminary.
“ Unforgettable yet incomprehensible, I can neither in/vision nor de/scribe it,“ answered the Tree. “What key do you mean? I have hung no doors in the Library— þærfore it should have no lock/s...“
“Near the epi/center, we re/verbed in/to concentrated magic of that... being. Your own definition was apt - simultaneity. I don’t know what ’time’ is precisely, but, I Lampri-lalia, the solution lies either with/in it or some/thing a/kin.“

While others were engrossed, Logos snatched eight notes and six runes (adding a seventh to be even, (because one/s she over/heard the stone telling the light that even three is large/r. She stopped listening at precise that moment, so she did not know what it was large/r of, but remembers that three is even – it is stronger and applied that logic to the rest of the digit/s)), perched on Gnosis’s head, and fiddled:

“Y’all reading too many books!“
“One can never read too many!“ Gnosis bristled. “One can never be too intelligent. Isn’t that correct, Genius? Though you are more clever than wise...“

“You’re reading too many a/like/similar books at once,“ Logos flared, int/er/rupting the brew/ing semantic storm, “blind to their differences. Each of these seven runes exhales distinct and p/articul/ar aromatic hues.“

First, she etched fiery replicas in the sky, then—remembering this wasn’t her style but some of imagined by her subordinate spark’s—mate/rial/ized them in lava instead. Adding crumbs of fire and “accidentally borrowed“ droplets from Tethys’s slippers, she re/d/ire/cted attention to her juggling act/s. Each time water droplet/s intersected between sparks and runes, they all cast near-identical shadows that fled to Sylphid, vanishing in her winds.

“I see you’ve reached the ethereal bridge in the element of Smile-Reflection/s with/in Carpalo’s Mirror/s,“ Sylphid note/d with surprise. “How torturous was that sinuous-damp element for you?“

“You don’t consider me that mono-textured… or simple, do you?“ Logos retorted with Bibi’s lemon-ironic tone. “Not by textures—by hues.“

Amplifying the flame/s and as/signing dual/in velo/cities to each juggled object, the salamander replicated Kaa’s hypnotic rings from the Jungle tale/s, in/tensifying aroma/s and their cor/responding hue/s. The Tree spread its branches con/sequently and asked:

“Have you found meaning/s in this, Bibi?“

The Libr/a/ry, first in the un/born tongue of Morconasaurian blossom/s, then with resonant seven-meter/ed clarity, replied:

“The worker’s whisper rose
Above fat herds’ domain,
Then—un/clear
yet near… ’City-garden’!“*

“Some/how I knew we’d all arrive here,“ Genius radiated.

*V. Mayakovsky