Stepping out of the carriage, the air was cold. Suitcase in Ava’s left hand and a small oakwood container in the other—a box taken from the Palace, now serving as Galliano's casket. Instead of returning to the West, where she'd lived with her mother, she had decided to reside in the East, in a house gifted by her mentor, Sagitta. Is this the beginning she had been looking for?

Maybe.

The funeral for Galliano was held privately in the backyard. It felt less emotional than expected, but rather a matter of procedure. A grave was dug with a shovel, and acquaintances from the Guild of Artisans had already carved the tombstone. No sermon from a priest or eulogy from anyone, just silence. It was as if Ava still harboured a grudge against Galliano. The disobedient pet's last disobedience was to sacrifice himself for the safety of Ava and Fürge, for their found family. How rebellious, how annoying, how irritating! Too late, Ava finally knew that she was wrong; Galliano did not hate her at all. The cat might have seemed to please everybody, but he loved Ava so deeply that he was willing to give his life for her. The misunderstanding could never be resolved now—the casket was closed, and the last pile of dirt placed over. Tears finally fell as Ava murmured:

“We'll meet again. So, until then, take care.”

There were countless nights when Ava stayed awake, staring at the ceiling and turning over every moment she'd spent with Galliano. She would doze off with her dampened pillowcase, only to startle awake—screaming, gasping, sobbing—from another dream about the Palace. Morning glory did not take away the nightmares, so she stayed in bed until noon, spent the rest of each day contemplating by the window where Galliano's grave remained visible. She wrote letters—to others who had been at the Palace, to her father whose whereabouts were still unknown, and to Galliano, who rested six feet under. But none of these were sent as she always crumpled the papers and fed them to the fireplace. Nobody could tell whether her tears came from the smoke or the chronic emptiness within.

For a moment, Ava wished it was all a lie—that none of the Palace chaos had happened—but scars of the past scorched every inch of her heart. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday—she drowned in sadness until one morning, through a martini glass that reflected blue skies and clouds, she spotted a tiny paw print. Memories of the floating market and Cloud Seven Casino flooded back in, and she knew her family were waiting there. A new beginning, waiting for her return.

So Ava embarked on her journey once more towards the floating market, which she would wholeheartedly call “home,” now and always. The days finally began to warm as she set off, and along the trail to the grave—marked by Ava's footprints alone—dandelions bloomed.

Written by Ruoqi H.

The journey to the Floating Market passes by quickly; Ava leans over the railing of the ship, watching the waves move back and forth. The cyclic movements sooth her: no matter what the sea will sway and the days will pass by.

She looks up to the stars. They’re constant and comforting. All those in the Palace scattered across the nations will look up at the same stars and so she knows she’s never really alone. She has loved and lost, but she must move forward.

She disembarks at the market, remembering her unfortunate journey to the Palace. The brambles, the ocean, and then appearing in the fountain. The memory will maybe be humorous sometime in the future, but remembering how Galliano meowed impatiently at their soaked selves is bitter sweet.

Memories of Galliano are all around her and soon enough she finds herself back behind the bar. It is strange relearning mixology. There is no furry friend to fix her mistakes, and there are a few instances of drinks going dramatically wrong. But when Ava feels as though she’s going to give up she looks at the paw prints left on the dusty surfaces of disused liquors and she feels better.

The first drink she perfects is the Golden Dream. Every time she picks up the glass bottle of Galliano liqueur, a bittersweet smile pulls at the corner of her mouth.

Everyday it gets easier for Ava. There’s Réka and Fürge, their comfort and humour keeps Ava afloat. She writes to Sagitta: the news of silly domestic disputes and political change warms her heart. She sets up a small glass-blowing studio on the island and little cat-shaped glasses soon begin to fill the shelves of the bar. And when she wants a distraction—there’s always customers in need of a drink.

There’s a woman with an enamel cat pin behind the bar at the Fate's End, formerly Cloud Seven Casino. She mixes drinks and chats with customers. The bar and its charming bartender becomes a topic of conservation on the Floating Market. The bar is busy but when a weary traveller approaches, she smiles and says:

“This one is on the house. Enjoy, and I'm here for all of your tall tales.”