Back to the Future 1999: Raining at the Same Time

“I will go to the woods to search, Silenus.”

What is the best and most wonderful thing for people?

He said it was a blank slate, a void that had never existed!

“I looked at it, at the great ring of life that governs everything.”

"Come together with your hands in a circle to pronounce the verdict."

"The last malleable daylight, the twilight of history's passing."

“World! The head is swallowing the feet, and the feet are touching the tip of the nose.”

"Man! Dwelling on the earth, waiting for the sky to fall."

Yesterday becomes tomorrow, and tomorrow becomes yesterday.

Beneath the curtain of rain, who will fade into oblivion—

"And who will obtain that eternal happiness, that supreme blessing?"

"—That non-existent nothingness?"

"What a moving recitation, Miss Sieglind."

Heinrich raised his hand to adjust the silk scarf on his chest, his knuckles lightly touching the silk's texture, and looked at Isolde with gentle eyes.

"My poor dear friend Siegmund, he has returned to that void."

He lowered his eyes slightly, and even his voice became a few degrees deeper.

"Friends, welcome to this salon, where we shed tears for our fallen heroes."

"He was upright, noble, and cared for his compatriots!"

He suddenly looked up, clasped his hands to his chest, and loudly praised, instantly silencing the whispers in the room.

"Before leaving, he was still worried about his compatriots on Golden Island, and he traveled around to create many beautiful poems and paintings."

"Unfortunately, the fire destroyed everything, leaving only ruins and—'Salvation'."

He slowly raised his hand, his index finger pointing to the painting half-covered by velvet on the display shelf behind him, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force.

"We were once in a golden age of progress."

He withdrew his hand, palm facing upwards, as if cradling that brilliant past.

"We believe that enlightenment will sweep away the ignorance of history and lead us into the Kingdom of Salvation."

"The boundary between mystics and humans will be blurred,"

He took a half step forward, his arms slightly outstretched as if to embrace, his gaze sweeping over every face in the audience.

"In Vienna, this open and inclusive city, we will hold hands and stand back to back, as intimately connected as when we first came into the world."

Oh, world!

He suddenly clenched his fist and slammed it hard into his chest, his voice filled with uncontrollable grief.

"The head was swallowing the feet, and the feet were touching the tip of the nose."

"But nowadays, the space for the mystic to live is being compressed and encroached upon."

His fingers loosened one by one and slowly fell down, as if unable to bear the heavy reality.

“We yearn to speak in our own language, but end up as strangers in our own country.”

"Therefore, we have decided to exhibit Siegmund's posthumous works."

He straightened up again, placed his hands on either side of the podium, and straightened his back.

"It's not just about commemorating the dead—"

He paused briefly, then suddenly raised his voice, raising his arm again and pointing to the dome of the ceiling:

"Moreover, it is to commemorate his spirit, his deepest concern for his compatriots, and his most tragic questioning of the times."

People nodded politely, and some of the women began to sob.

"Don't be sad, my friends!"

He suddenly raised his hand, pressed down hard with his palm facing down, and his voice was strong and clear, instantly suppressing the low sobs in the room.

"He left us the Rhine gold!"

Before he finished speaking, he raised his arm high, his fingertips pointing straight ahead, his gaze sharp and unwavering.

"We will use the funds raised from the art exhibition to establish a committee."

He withdrew his hand, clenched his fists and placed them in front of his chest, leaned forward slightly, and spoke each word with resounding force.

"To improve the situation of unregistered mystics!"

"Miss Isolde, Vienna's youngest and most outstanding opera singer, Theophile's younger sister—"

He slowly turned to the side, gracefully extending his palm to the side and behind him, his posture composed and solemn, his voice suddenly slowing down, carrying just the right amount of respect.

"They will explain the specifics to us."

Amid applause, Heinrich bowed slightly, leaving the stage to the true protagonist.

Isolde nodded slightly and took a light step forward.

But when she actually stood in front of everyone, under her brother's painting, a sudden pressure hit her.

The paintings that had been burned to ashes before her eyes seemed to come alive, reflecting the night that was swallowed by fire and the hands that were tightly gripping her.

boom!

As if she were dizzy from being shot, Isolde collapsed, fainting once again in front of everyone.

However, before she collapsed, a hand gently and steadily supported her body.

“Take a deep breath, Miss Isolde. Dizziness is normal.”

A gentle mystical energy spread out, and Chenxi stroked Isolde's forehead with one hand while softly comforting this poor soul whose soul was shattered under immense pressure.

"who are you?"

As if appearing out of nowhere, Chenxi's appearance went unnoticed by everyone.

So the moment he appeared, everyone’s eyes were focused on him, and they almost forgot that Isolde was still sobbing in his arms.

"You should be grateful that I appeared in time to save your friend, instead of asking me such unromantic questions as who I am and where I came from."

He answered Heinrich's question in a half-joking manner, but the actual situation was not as optimistic as Chenxi made it out to be.

Isolde's symptoms are tied to her own mystical arts. If it is just physical trauma or simply psychological trauma, Chenxi has simple and straightforward treatment methods.

However, when it comes to mysticism, unless Isolde voluntarily gives up being a mystic and lives as a human, Chenxi really doesn't have any good solutions at the moment.

"Huff...huff...Doctor!"

Seemingly recognizing Chenxi's voice, Isolde confirmed that the man before her was the mysterious person who had saved her on stage.

Chenxi was grabbed by the collar and dragged down. Fear, tears, and trembling flowed into Chenxi's body through that face so close to hers.

"Help me...please help me, ah...they're coming! The paint...they're coming!"

"Isolde, can you still hear me?"

Hyperventilation and persistent fear caused Isolde's body to convulse. The mystical energy released by Chenxi seemed to have no effect; instead, it was absorbed by something else in the area, making things even more complicated.

"She's having an epileptic seizure—she'll bite herself if this continues."

Without hesitation, Chenxi shouted as loud as he could:

"Isolde, open your mouth!"

"hiss!"

This was no ordinary morning flirting with Virtue in bed; the epileptic patient, unable to control himself, bit down hard on Chenxi's hand as if trying to tear off a piece of flesh.

Drops of blood slid down her wrist into her throat, but the persistent, terrifying hallucinations did not lessen in the slightest.

"what--!!"

The piercing screams drowned out the crowd's argument.

The screaming woman was drenched in sweat; the carefully framed picture had transformed into a bone saw, determined to slice open her skull. Yes. Of course. The fluids in her brain would dissipate like milk poured into tea.

That's so cute and delightful. But, but...

What if it were like the oil paint on this canvas? Or like a teacup? Like a neat triangle? Like a square? Like a square? Like a circle?

"No! Theophir—"

"...Don't come near me!!"

The light bulb went out, and the candle lit at the same moment.

"Haha, hahaha...! Look, Theophie, what a beautiful arc that is..."

In the candlelight, Isolde's face was frighteningly pale.

"Waaah... No, it's my fault..."

"Yes, yes, I can do better, I can do it! I can sing too—"

"Uh... Isolde?!"

Once again, Chenxi was grabbed by the collar and pulled down, her face cupped in her hands.

"Please look at me, doctor, please save me! Hmm? Please save me!"

“I will help you, Isolde.”

Looking at the tragic and broken person in front of him, Chenxi gently grasped her hand, using the warmth of his palm to make her clearly feel that he was there.

I moved closer to her and covered her ears, hoping this would reduce her pain a little.

"This is terrible... This is a séance! But Miss Tosca usually only performs it before the show—!"

"She's out of control. Be careful, these are ghosts, and they can be quite aggressive."

Chenxi said matter-of-factly, glancing at Heinrich, who had caused all of this.

"No, no—! Don't come any closer, don't come any closer..."

"It's okay, it's okay."

Chenxi finally embraced her, gently patting her back to comfort her sobbing, trembling body.

However, behind Chenxi, the ghosts that had absorbed the mystical energy emanating from Chenxi screamed as they burst out from the scorching painting.

It swooped down to Isolde's side, repeating its belittling and accusations, and stretched out its claws to hook into her body.

"Youmeng!"

"Owner."

The black-robed butler, who had solidified from a misty state, stood respectfully beside Chen Xi, awaiting his master's orders.

"Slaughter them."

"Yes."

Youmeng flashed out, while Chenxi, holding Isolde, had only one question on his mind:

Where is Kacania?

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

There's only one chapter tonight, please forgive me.