"Mm. You were right to bring me here. This is not part of the Design. Not at all."

Aurora's guide, perched on her finger, waggled his wings in acknowledgment. No butterfly could understand words, of course, not like a human, but they could understand their own designer's intended meaning perfectly well. 

Night had fallen hours ago, as Aurora followed her guide through the forest, but the scene before them was well-lit nevertheless, thanks to the brilliant bands of light shining in the sky overhead.

Belying the present troubles, there was a hint of a nostalgic smile on Aurora's face.

The mortal peoples of the world had always found her aurorae magnificent, from the very beginning, and always implored her to summon one. In fact, long, long ago, soon after the first were taught language, that was the name they had given her: 'Aurora,' as it was said then. Even now, ages later, it was still the name she used for herself.

But those were old memories. The present called Aurora's attention now.

Creatures of the forest--squirrels, deer, sparrows, even a unicorn--lay dead and rotting around the edges of a spring that, even to the senses of a goddess older than water, seemed as pristine as it ought to be. Aside from the oppressive scent of death. And...perhaps she was over-empathizing with the dead, but she could feel a peculiar cloud of resentment, clinging to the area. Anger, at the unfairness of what had happened here.

Justifiable, in Aurora's opinion.

"This is outside my domain," she apologized, speaking to her guide but also to the dead. "We'll need to convince sister to take it seriously."

Actually, it was unforgivable negligence that the Goddess of Life, Death, and Rebirth was, apparently, not already investigating something as strange as a random forest spring becoming so mysteriously, horribly toxic. This was well outside the bounds of the Design. Well outside what Aurora's sister should have allowed. 

"Fff..." She released a puff of frustration.

The ages when Life had responded to Aurora's messages with the diligence they deserved were long past, and more recently, she tended to disregard the messages altogether. Still, surely something this unusual and serious would be enough to motivate her. It was not in her nature, any more than it was in Aurora's, to ignore anomalies so inconsistent with the Design.

But regardless of what her sister may or may not do in the future, Aurora still needed to decide how to handle the immediate situation.

"We'll need to leave the dead as they are, so others continue to be warned of the danger," she concluded. After all, the only reason she had ever tolerated the addition of such a foul stench to the world was for this very purpose. 

That said, needing to leave the dead as they were didn't mean she couldn't provide them with a proper requiem.

Aurora stood in silence for a few moments, admiring her own sky-art, swaying along with the bands of light, while she composed something suitable.

As with any proper requiem, hers would be imbued with the pain of loss, yes, as well as sympathy for whatever suffering these victims may have endured at this mysterious spring of death, but pain was not all there would be, neither as a result of this event nor in the song she would sing. From the rotting dead would come new soil, from the soil new life, and new stories, every story unique, each adding its own fresh colors and sounds to the world. Every lost soul would be reborn. That, the song would also need to capture, and that, it would celebrate. It was a bitter thing, that old stories had to end lest there be no space for new ones, but that was the way of things. That was part of the Design.

Once she was satisfied with her composition, Aurora drew in a breath.

The wind and trees paused their whispering, so they could better listen. Aurora held the breath for an extra beat, in part to relish the tension of an audience waiting for the first note, but also, because a skilled performer always let that tension reach a silent crescendo before she let it snap.

One might say that Aurora was something of an expert on the topic of performances.

Who was it, who had taught the wind and trees to whisper? Who had taught the birds to sing? The streams to gurgle? The wolves to howl? Who was it who had added music to the world, who had introduced the very concept of a performance, and--

Wait. Stream. On the far side of the spring, a small stream, draining this accursed spring! 

The wind groaned mournfully, and the forest sighed, as the goddess' requiem ended before a single note was sung.

"You were right to bring me here," Aurora repeated to her butterfly guide, and hastened off to follow the course of a stream even she dared not taste.

How could you let this happen, sister?!

Follow water downstream for long enough, and one tended to reach a settlement, sooner or later.

Although, as worrisome as this situation was, it also, in a way, provided a welcome excuse. Checking in with civilization was always such a thrill! What were the fashion trends, nowadays? And how had architecture developed? Painting, and music? Aurora kept up with things as best she could via her butterflies, but they couldn't fully understand what they saw--they were butterflies! And it wasn't the same as seeing and hearing in person, anyway. And smelling, and feeling, and, and, ohhh, she did so love to watch people putting her sunsets to canvas! Painters all lined up, one after the other, each as inspired as the last, on each and every clear evening! It was so gratifying, to see her work appreciated!

If only more people were willing to wake in time to see her sunrises. 

---

"A week, and still just dead fish," Lylis grumbled, before heaving a resigned sigh. 

Orrin lifted his pack into place, and glanced over at his twin, who wore the same all-white Iriennese reconnaissance equipment as himself. She had crouched at the riverbank, and was poking one such fish with the tip of a white-feathered arrow as it floated by, belly-up. That famous hair of hers, usually a subtle, pale pink but currently vibrant in the dawnlight, was dangerously close to dipping into the tainted water.

"Careful," Orrin urged. For the record, he was perfectly content with his more normal shade of red. 

"There's no point." Lylis was referring to their expedition, not to taking care around the water. She returned the arrow to the quiver on her belt, and began gathering the strands into a simple bun. "Even if we did find untainted water even farther upstream, we're too deep into the forest for it to make any difference. We should just head back."

Nothing she said was wrong. Orrin had had similar thoughts himself. The only problem was, then what? Sit back and watch all of Irienne wither away to nothing? Rationing food and well-water was only buying time.

"The gods have cursed us," Lylis muttered.

Again, her brother couldn't disagree.

"And for what?" she spat. "I still don't understand!"

Neither did Orrin. 

"There's still a chance that we find the cause of the problem, and solve it," he reminded her. That was the hope that had kept him walking upstream for the last few days. "Even if we find the problem and can't fix it, at least..."

He shrugged. Somehow, it felt like knowing the exact nature of the problem would be worth something, even if it made no practical difference.

Lylis rose from her crouch, walked to him from the riverbank, and lightly punched his shoulder.

"Yeah." Another sigh. "Not like there's a better plan."

As they set out through the trees, she added, "At least it's a beautiful hike."

"Mm," Orrin agreed. Aside from the river death zone, it was like the landscape had been assembled from a patchwork of a thousand masterpieces. Sheer art, in every field of view.

A few hours later, snow-capped summits of distant mountains poked above the foreground trees, which meant those mountains were very, very tall.

"The edge of the world," Orrin observed, and Lylis hummed agreement.

Two identical pairs of pastel blue eyes ran along the treetops, taking it all in. 

"Beautiful, in a...stark sort of way," Lylis said softly. "Cold, uncompromising grandeur."

It was easy to lose sight of it, when things weren't going well. The painted sky of dawn, the interplay of light and shadow in a forest, imposing mountain peaks shining in the sunlight: the world never stopped being beautiful.

As if to drive home the point, they soon after came upon a small meadow ringed by the forest and bisected by the river. It was filled with wildflowers of all colors, and more butterflies than Orrin had ever seen in one place. There was a cliff at the far side, over which a thin waterfall descended into the river, making a rainbow with its mist.

The scene was so majestic, and the air filled with so many butterflies, that it took Orrin longer than it should have to realize that there was a hooded woman standing in the meadow, staring at the waterfall with her back towards them. As he noticed her, she lifted one hand near chest height, offering a perch to one of the butterflies, which was soon accepted. Seconds later, she glanced over her shoulder, and beckoned them over.

"Don't be shy!" she called. "I'm quite harmless."

Orrin swallowed. A 'woman' surrounded by a cloud of butterflies, alone, far out in the wilderness, many days from the most remote outposts. Didn't take a scholar to work out the answer to this puzzle.

"Beauty?" he wheezed to Lylis. "Goddess?"

An encounter with one of the divines wasn't completely unexpected. Orrin was reasonably prepared for something like this, mentally. Still.

"Definitely," his sister growled.

Indeed, the evidence was circumstantial, but finding a goddess near a river that seemed to be suffering from a divine curse...Well, thinking optimistically, maybe she was here to fix the problem. In any case, it wasn't like they could run, and even if she was responsible, maybe they could learn what she wanted.

But then Orrin's skin prickled, as a horrifying possibility occurred to him.

Could it be that the Goddess of Beauty was jealous of Lylis?!

Could that be what this was all about, from the start?!

In the cold sweat of terror, Orrin reconsidered whether it might be best to try running after all. Maybe he would be able to buy Lylis enough time? But no, his sister would never go for that. 

Later, Orrin would realize that he had rather irrationally failed to consider that tainting an entire region's primary water source would be a very roundabout, unwieldy, and excessive method for a goddess to use to torment a single person.

While her brother was rooted to the ground, frantically weighing their options, Lylis stepped out of the treeline into the meadow.

"Let's give her a chance," she muttered, half to herself. "She's not her brother."

After a forceful exhale, Lylis continued walking.

"Careful!" Orrin hissed, as he hurried after her. "The butterflies!"

Stepping on one, or on a flower for that matter, seemed like a fantastic way to become yet another dead thing floating down the river. Thankfully, Lylis was no fool; she was placing her feet as gingerly as if the meadow were filled with shards of glass.

"Actually, you should stay where you are!" the goddess called. "The mist from the waterfall is toxic. It's safer if I come to you."

Lylis duly stopped. Her jaw was tight, and her hands clenched into fists. Orrin took the spot to her left, and did his best to stay calm, or at least look it.

Worst case, they'd go out together, same as their parents.