FAÏRI

Meanwhile, in a different part of the forest, occurring at the same time,

Ãrt, one of the beautiful Tots, she who blesses us peons with her gorgeous

artwork ever since her birth, equal to intelligence to her mother, cerebral Úit,

a Tot without whom we never would have great sculptures of the ones on Jóli,

never have beautiful frescoes portraying the majesty of the gods and all that

the ones above create, and never have any printers that function properly,

had set her eyes upon the cocksure young maiden Faïri.

The woman would refuse to yield the praise she received from her painting skills

to one of the primordial Tots, the ornamental goddess. It was as if no equivalent

to Mèsenchér birthed not during the Theorgy but instead in the deathly realm of

Onsîn was unable to alleviate the curse, self-inflicted, that was Faïri’s pride.

All in the wood knew that her parents were dead, as her mother, Gũtenbürg,

a woman of the lower class who was recognized secondarily as an exquisite

painter of frescoes depicting scenes of nature’s natural splendor, was more

generally notable for being incredibly lax and of extremely easy virtue.

Lebïdo, son of Ěnguer, not only caused a spark of lust to go through Gũtenbürg,

but a massive conflagration, a wildfire of desire roaring through her body and

spirit, ever since she came of age. She would sleep with many men on many

nights, practically the pace at which broad Ürt would, by her wheel-hoofed

horses, be pulled to the dun realm of foot-born Mun and back to the luminous

area of Sån, the terrible and mighty sun, daughter of Faír, who sees everything,

flying between the realms in the rose-fingered dawn.

The result of one of these coital occurrences turned out to be the birth of Faïri,

who would not only be come to but ultimately surpass her mother when it came

to the skills of fresco painting, as given to both of them by the ornamental Tot, Ãrt.

The man who would be the father of Faïri, out of the many who laid with Gũtenbürg

remains a mystery to men on earth, as, during her many loose engagements, the

mother of Faïri eventually contracted the pox, with all the men with whom she

laid also catching the fatal disease. Mysteriously, Faïri, talented in the art of

fresco painting but never giving thanks to the Tot of the arts for her gifts, had

never once contracted the pox, not even at birth.

Not a single person in the village knew why this was so. It seemed very likely that

the dreadful Feîts had a different story planned for Faïri, daughter of wanton Gũtenbürg.

In polar opposite of her deceased mother, Faïri was known only for her sensational skills

in producing fresco paintings that sang praises to the Jólians above, that told tales of

heroes from centuries past, that depicted the gorgeous fauna found on mother Ürt.

Many visitors - fellow villagers, people who lived elsewhere in the forest, those who

resided in the desert far away, and even varying nymphs - arrived to witness her hand.

Women went from wild Åridd to the wide woods to witness the work of Faïri.

Men abandoned alpine Rôqui, and their families and friends, to observe her art pieces.

Numerous nymphs, enticed by wishing to witness the woman’s nimbleness, exited

arborous Máshong, or even departed the tropical paradise of Kaläsaa, wrapped in

many streaming rivers, to admire her frescoes and to see her production process.

So agile was her hand, controlling the pigments, selected from the dear broad Mother

and mixed with water, falling upon the moist, virgin plaster surface, the average viewer,

having no idea about her pride, her lack of gratitude for the daughter of Úit blessing her

and all of us with the Tot’s mighty skills, would think that Ãrt had instructed Faïri in

true frescoes. She instead would only deny it, thinking that her talents came from her

mother and herself, chagrined to share her fame with the gods, saying this about Ãrt:

“Let that cunt contend in fresco-making with me; and if she proves to be more skillful

that I, then shall I forfeit and renounce my decorative capacity!”

This Ãrt heard, and arrived to Faïri’s neck of the woods, camouflaged in thinning gray

hair and wrinkly, spotty flesh, and carrying a staff to help support her aged limbs.

She developed a raspy voice, what was raspy and faltered when she spoke,

“Old age is not the root of all evil, lengthy lives bring experience and knowledge,

so you must not disregard my speech: There is nothing wrong with gaining praise

from your fellow humans, when your lively, dexterous hands stroke the mashed

earth pigments against the moist plaster. Even so, you should not deny the blessings

from Ãrt, and you should pray to her for her forgiveness, as she shall offer forgiveness

to you, should you ask her.”

Faïri, scowling at the goddess wearing a disgusted countenance - that is on Faïri’s face,

not that of Ãrt - and replied to the daughter of Úit, barely controlling the anger in her

tone of voice, “Silly old hag, used up and worthless in your arthritic age! Advanced age

is not a blessing, but a bane, most especially for you! If the gods have indeed blessed you

with a daughter and a husband for her, then let them reap your words’ rewards. Within

my mind and soul, I believe firmly in my beliefs, and you don’t have to believe that your

beliefs are beneficial to you, for I am rigid and stone-like in my beliefs.”

You, dear Ãrt, retained then, and still do today, all the knowledge of everything you learned

in your immortal life, even when in your elderly disguise, yet after listening to Faïri’s response,

your understanding of her mixed up verbiage was as though you were actually geriatric.

Irked at the goddess’ confusion at her spiel, Faïri responded, “Get ye gone, harlot! Unless you

actually wish to prove your claims correct by engaging in a contest with me, to see which of

the two of us is able to produce the most pulchritudinous portrait for a true fresco wall.”

The daugher of Úit, made by herself unrecognizable to Faïri and any passersby, accepted the

latter’s offer. The mortal woman also tossed her hat into the ring, sending her down a doomed

path towards her own destruction.

And, at once, did both choose their positions, close to one another in the forest, creating their

colorful pigments from the stones and dirt produced from the dark mother, from the crushed

ivory bones, drooly saliva, and discharged crimson blood from many nearby animals who were

unfortunate to cross the painters’ path, and mixing these materials from the blue, clear fluids

featured in neighboring lakes.

The two of them then used more of the earth’s natural dirt and sand and mixed them together

with the lakes’ liquids, rubbing their fingers through the substance, stretching it out with their

palms to smooth and extend the plaster into a large flat surface best suitable for frescoes.

Beloved Ãrt was forced to take her time in this process, compared to youth-bodied Faïri,

resulting from her elderly veneer featuring wrinkled skin and a weaker body. Upon the

completion of the formation of the plaster, the twain females, with great speed to paint

the wet surface of the virgin plaster before it dried totally, spread their pigments.

Hastily moving their arms, using reeds to blow out powders, and ordering some extra brushes

off of Amazon whenever they needed new ones, the two painted the plaster, with pitch black

charcoal interlacing with crushed beige stone, liquefied gray pebbles mixing with moist minerals,

and smashed blades of grass and discarded leaves from trees forming colors as emerald as their

original vegetation source.

As the flint blades pierce the air with their fierce sharpness but not so much with their handles,

so were the varied pigments, each from a differing source and blended with one another, mingled in millions of shades and hues to create gorgeous colors, each contrasting with one another,

portrayed, in those lovely, vivid paints, stories from the ancient days, long ago:

Ãrt recreated her triumph of the valley of Sítadêl, following the contention of the name

it should receive. All the Jólian gods were present at the scene, residing on elevated thrones,

and all their bodily features were illustrated so exquisitely and colorfully that each one could

be identified individually. Sån sat on her throne, appearing as a high queen of those gods.

In the valley, Ãrt was seen competing with her sister Pôetrï about what kind of store

to develop in the valley. Pôetrï, presenting her case to the gods judging the contest

between the two Tots, magically split the earth open, bringing through it the kind of

good-selling establishment she wished to place in the valley: a Cybernetik Electronics

store, selling technological pieces, including phone chargers, TV remotes, and toy RCs.

Lovely Ãrt produced with her godly gifts her thoughts for her kind of stores.

She wanted to place not an electronics store, but a fast food joint, known to

the tongues of men, women, children, plants, animals, clouds, rocks, mountains,

bacteria, plastics, and other varying material as Burger Queen.

Her Burger Queens, should the gods allow them to be sanctioned, would produce

hastily comfort food and drinks for people to consume - thick, juicy cheeseburgers

coated with aurelian cheese slices deliquesced all over the surface of the meat;

cold, refreshing juice made from pulverized fruits and berries and imported

high-quality beverage temperature devices; frosty ice cream shakes flavored to

vanilla or cocoa beans that would be incredibly refreshing on a steaming summer day.

The cuisine of Burger Queen, made extremely cheap and on the fly without putting

a person or their family into total financial ruin, would be as healthful to consume as

a whole lengthy tree branch sprouting holly berries and leaves, coated in a lethal neurotoxin.

The Jólian gods had to consider all the information with which they were presented by

the daughters of Mêmorí to reach a decision as to what to place in the valley of Sítadêl.

Pôetrï’s idea for a Cybernetik Electronics store seemed it could be profitable in the long

run, selling necessary parts for devices and radios. Ãrt’s plans for a Burger Queen appeared

to be resultant in equal profiteering, especially being less costly to uphold, but the cuisine

seemed rather unpleasant, and not only that, she was proposing a fast food joint instead

of a shopping center.

Even so, the gods of Mount Jóli judged that the Burger Queen as an investment outweighed

the Cybernetik Electronics as a better gift to man.

Faïri, of dear Ankulanto, first painted the story of Suscrofa, as seen in the start of Book II.

She painted the woman falling on her knees, her feet and hands altered into bone-like

hooves, her clothes and hairs turning into a coarse bristly fur.

Using the pigments of moistened and crushed stones and plants, Faïri then painted,

in her mighty heavenly glow, all-seeing Sån revealing her true self to the woman

who treated her kindly, while in a human disguise, offering her a bed to sleep in and

milk and orange juice in the morning, transforming Suscrofa for her transgressions.

On the moist plaster, Faïri painted the small inn in which the transformation occurred,

using bashed gray pebbles to recreate the stone walls. All the people, gods, and scenery

were painted in their own separate, suitable colors, with each hue, tint, and shade

fitting with one another yet the millions of colors used also standing out strikingly.

Inspecting her competitor’s work and still having the appearance of an aged woman,

Ãrt could find no flaws whatsoever in Faïri’s fresco. Her elderly body showed no

emotion and a vacant stare, yet on the inside, wrathful Ěnguer, son of Faír, took

hold of her heart, the Tot’s emotions akin to all the world’s volcanoes erupting

simultaneously in the middle of a lengthy, all-encompassing, gusty, showery storm.

Wearing an evil smirk, Faïri gloated to the goddess, “Well, it should be obvious who

the winner of the contest is. This contention merely confirms my original claim of

my belief of believing firmly in my beliefs, and you don’t have to believe that your

beliefs are beneficial to you, for I am rigid and stone-like in my beliefs. Now, get

lost! Advice your goddess to come here yourself so that she may confirm my beliefs!”

The second the human finished, the remaining barriers of the goddess’ emotions,

already thinning and crumbling severely, had only the strength of an ill ant remaining.

“Ãrt arrives to you now!” And with that phrase, she got rid of the form of the old woman

and revealed her true form, goddess. All arrogance that was still impregnated in her

was aborted upon seeing the Tot. Faïri was dragged onto the ground by evil twin sisters

Fîr and Tred. All color disappeared from her frightened flesh, as quickly as the all-engulfing

sky bathes in the rose-fingered dawn and, upon the glorious sunrise lighting all the world,

dissolves back to its bright cerulean tint.

Ěnguer’s own natural rage had now totally immersed the daughter of Mêmorí just as

the way a leaf freshly fallen from a tree branch landing into a puddle from a recently

departed rain shower would not be immersed by water.

Ãrt, ferociously filled with flaming ferocity, destroyed the finely-painted fresco by

Faïri, rendering the once gracefully-painted piece depicting Suscrofa’s punishment

by bright Sån for the human’s transgressions into a pile of mutlicolored rubble,

with the surface of the plaster containing the charcoal blacks and browns and grays

born from the pebbles mixing with the rough, pale hueless innards and backsides

of the once untouched substance.

The Tot of the arts turned to the terrified human and stated, making no attempt to

even calm down or create an artificial presentation of stoicness, “Insolent harlot!

If you wish to make fucking pretty pictures, that you shall make such pretty

pictures all your Us-damned life, for all Us-damned eternity!”

With these words, giving the woman no chance to speak, the goddess punished

Faïri. The human’s body started to elongate unnaturally, her once soft human

flesh started to turn into solid plastic, her mouth and head enlarging with the

former being barely opened yet extending with her skull, her whole body losing

any hints of roundness and gaining more bulkiness, numerous trays for paper and

pathways for ink cartridges formed in her once organic body.

Now in the form of massive and separate yet attached black plastic box-like structures,

her natural sheath and organic ring stretched into two gaunt horizontal slits, placed

a further distance from their original perineal span and developing dark gray plastic

trays beneath the two exit slots on the newly formed box.

No body hair was found on her; her facial and other body parts had vanished;

her limbs had been absorbed into her new large and dark form, wherefrom she

now produces many ornamental items like funeral booklets, business cards,

flyer advertisements, calendars, funerary pamphlets, and other kinds of booklets

based on the needs of paying customers. Since then, Faïri, as a printer that works

mostly but sometimes breaks down and needs maintenance, makes pretty pictures.