The temple was not built as, per se, an enclosure. Pillared, not walled. Currently, it is, however, entirely and heavily draped with curtains. Alongside these contradictions that greeted them was another (though they were only about to learn it): a recumbent figure on the floor, sleeping.
Cloak cascading white and hallowed behind him, the Caretaker approaches them, and stoops softly for a moment towards the figure to lay a hand on his hair.
“A Lady of the Night, I presume?” she decides to acknowledge first the wide-unseeing-eyed statue looming at the far wall, gazing upon her empty hands.
The Caretaker smiles as he straightens, indulging a pleasantly surprised silence, and the figure curls in close to his feet. “Very much, yes.”
“Which one?”
“Insomnia,” he answers, quiet delight on his lips. “You know of our Ladies?”
“Insomnia?” She looked down at his feet, and so did he, to the figure there - deeply, firmly, definitely asleep.
“We’re aware of the irony.” The Caretaker inclines his head in amused acquiescence. “What can we do for you?”
“We’re looking for a myth.”
“Shouldn't be too hard, the world’s abundant.”
“A specific myth. We were told to ask our questions here.”
“Ah.” The Caretaker joins the sleeping figure on the floor, sitting criss-cross applesauce and readjusting his cloak over them both, a little nook over the figure resting against his leg. “If you’re looking for what I think you’re looking for, I believe he’ll be of more help, actually.”
They all collectively look into the cave of the cloak, where the figure is now awake and staring open-mouthed.
“Oh,” she says as the glint of his teeth matches the blue of his eyes in the dark. “Not so ironic after all.”
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