Prezly Writes

Seasons in Burgundy

 

 

Xena could not believe her eyes. She was there.
Isis was there.

Without a word, she threw herself into her arms, and both burst out laughing , a crystalline, liberating, almost unreal laughter.

As she entered the house, Isis felt a shiver. Everything seemed familiar, yet strangely distant. Part of her was still thinking of Prisxia, of its beauty, of its harmony. A slight unease rose within her… but it vanished as soon as she met Xena’s gaze. And her breath returned.

Xena carried within her something rare: peace, and the promise of a simple truth. This time, Isis knew she would stay.

They took a sheet, strawberry lemonade, fresh strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, kiwis, two plates, two forks, two cups. Then they settled by the lake. Time seemed to slow, suspended like in a dream.

They played cards, then other simple, forgotten games. Everything around them faded away. There were only two souls left, there, by the water.

Galaxies became a distant murmur. Planets, an abstraction.

Xena and Isis. That was all that mattered.

And they intended to savor every second of it.

 

A SUMMER IN BURGUNDY

 

Xena lived in France, in a small green village in Burgundy.

Life there was peaceful. She had moved there for Isis, when Isis could no longer bear the chaos of the city… before she left.

It had been a month now since they found each other again.

That day, Xena suggested a bike ride.

Isis hadn’t ridden in two years, but in her memory, it felt like six.

They followed winding paths through the fields, toward the nearest town.

On the way, they told each other stories, sometimes funny, sometimes absurd, as people do between bursts of laughter.

They stopped in front of the town’s cinema and checked the listings. A film called Prelude was opening that day. It told, with Charlie Chaplin–like scenes, how an authoritarian regime came into power,  a serious subject treated with humor. They decided it would be a good idea to go see it.

They bought popcorn, two grilled corn cobs, and a soda each. And off they went for two and a half hours of film.

They ended the evening in a small diner that played soft, romantic music. The day had been perfect.

On their way home, they had a long conversation before going to bed.

“I wish we could stay together, Isis.”
“I wish that too, Xena.”
“When you left, I kept imagining us together, in moments like this. I’m so happy you’re back.”
“I thought of you all the time too. You were my compass, my anchor. Even on Xénon, I couldn’t move forward without you.”
“Do you still see Prelubia?”
“She left me, a few months ago…”
“Would you like to see her again?”
“Prelubia will always be my cosmic sister, but it’s good that we keep some distance for now. As she told me, I need to come back to you.”
“Really, that’s what she said?”
“Yes. She told me I had called her only to avoid you.”
“Why did you want to avoid me?”
“I love you so much, I’m afraid of what you represent. What if I can’t make it? What if I disappoint you again?”
“You could never disappoint me. Your very existence fills me with joy. Always remember that.”

 

AN AUTUMN IN BURGUNDY

 

The leaves were falling, and with them, Isis felt a part of herself fading. She did not yet know how to welcome this change.

The landscape, tinted in orange and gold, awakened a gentle nostalgia within her. On Xénon, autumn lasted five months, just like spring. It was her favorite season.

In autumn, everything seemed calmer, more mysterious, more poetic… it resonated deeply with her.

But here, in this small Burgundian village, autumn held its own kind of magic. It wasn’t Xénon, no. But the emotions it stirred felt strangely similar.

Isis sat on the terrace, lost in thought, when Xena approached quietly, a blanket over her shoulder and two cups of hot chocolate in her hands.

She always knew how to care for Isis. And Isis, in turn, did her best to return that love.

Yet a thought took hold of her, stubborn and heavy:

“I’m not enough. I receive, but I have nothing to give.”

She tried to push the thought away, as one brushes off a dark cloud. It wasn’t what she wanted. Not today.

So she smiled, sincerely, and kissed her.

 

A HARD WINTER

 

Winter came like a storm,  without warning, without giving anyone time to prepare. The freezing cold took over the village, and Isis felt her heart freezing too.

She needed her bearings. Without them, the nights swallowed the days. She loved the night, yes, but not this kind. Not one without a moon.

Prelubia was her moon. She knew it. A part of her longed to call her, just once, just to be reassured.

So she painted.

She painted Prelubia dancing, spinning, light as air, her toes brushing the ground, her arms tracing arcs of light. She painted five canvases. But it wasn’t enough.

Prelubia wasn’t there.

Isis wished she could be content with Xena, whom she loved deeply, sincerely. But sometimes Xena frightened her,  by her humanity, by a realism almost unsettling.

Xena understood Isis, yes. But she could never truly meet her where she stood.

The struggle had exhausted her.
So Isis laid down her arms.

For Xénon.
She left.
Once again.