From EncyclopAtys
Did you know that the festivals of Atys answer each other? There are connections between Anlor Winn and Atysmas, and one of them was told to me not long ago by a gaunt and slightly loopy old Zoraia. So, tonight, I'll tell you this story that's halfway between the two.
Once upon a time, there was an alinea of Atysmas. Every atysmas, it was covered with lights and decorations.
The tree was old, and had seen many rings pass.
Around it grew a wonderful garden.
The rosæ scented the air, the campanas warmed the atmosphere, the yubos rolled under the crolices.
It was so beautiful, magical, a place that the few homins who found it cherished the path and shared it only with their friends.
Alas, one night in Anlor Winn, the evil wind began to blow.
The rosæ dried up, the flowers withered, the crolices broke, the yubos fled.
The goo settled, covering the green grass.
All that remained of the garden was a dull and withered bark.
Time passed, full of ashes and tears.
And Atysmas came.
Then the alinea, in the middle of this purple desert, began to light up, as it did in the past.
In its branches, the fireflies danced, and the fantastic lights decorated it.
But that year, nobody saw it.
Year after year, in spite of the loneliness and the dull bark, the alinea, every Atysmas, took back its colored clothes, without worrying about the absence of public.
Then one day, a Wagamiko found him.
Like others of her kind, she walked the border, halfway between dream and reality, between life and death, between the full and the Void.
Year after year she returned, admiring this strange tree lost in the desolation, which refused to forget a brighter past.
One evening when the mushrooms had cleared her soul and she felt ready to commune with the whole of Atys, she sat down at the foot of the tree.
And she asked him:
"Why these colors?"
"Why these lights?"
The alinea answered her. He spoke to her about the old days, about the rosæ, the campana and the yubos.
He spoke to her about the sweetness of life, about love under its branches.
"But why?" asked the Wagamiko, "All that is gone. The Void, soon, will enfold you."
"No Void can settle where memories bring beauty to life, breathed the alinea. I remember, and those memories lead me to sing of a better time."
"This moment will not return, but it gives hope for other happy days."
"As the cold and the goo have come, one day the flowers and life may return."
"It will no longer be my garden of old, but its memory shines in my heart."
"I want to continue to celebrate it, to celebrate my love for it."
"And because I loved him, I will continue to celebrate Atysmas for him."
Then the Wagamiko noticed that over the years the space around the indentation had begun to be covered with grass again.
The goo was receding, and between the roots of the indentation a rosæ was growing.
