“Alright, Lucas. How about we try this one this time?”
The woman pressed the button on the machine, and it spat out a candy bar in a plain wrapper with a crunch.
“Nougat – Even the waves wash up more selective treasures from the sea floor,” one of the girls wrinkled her nose.
“They spit out what isn't tasty,” the second girl sighed.
The twin girls turned toward the boy, pulling up their hoods.
“They at least know what they don't like,” Lombask scoffed, his patience wearing thin. His black hair fluffed up as if he were preparing for an attack.
“Goodbye, Lucas,” Sophia waved to him.
“Goodbye,” the boy replied shyly, awkwardly waving back as he unwrapped the unwanted candy bar and shuffled after his mother.
The boy's Guides walked behind him, holding hands, trying to avoid the direct sunlight streaming into the store through the dusty windows. Their gait was weary and slightly awkward, as if they hadn't slept for hundreds of years.
In contrast, Lombask strode confidently with his shoulders back, slightly ahead of his charge, glancing back only once toward the boy.
"What is that look – contempt?" Sophia thought.
After the gas station, she didn’t stop anywhere. Meeting the Flavuses always left an inexplicable residue. Timid, albino children who rarely engaged in conflict. Anyone assigned such a guide would be very unfortunate, as positive thinking would be out of the question. However, a melancholic mood was guaranteed, for that was like medicine to the Flavuses.
Lucas was a very nice and clever boy, though extremely shy, but it couldn’t be any other way with such Guides.
Lowering her left hand into the pocket of her denim jacket, the girl retrieved a banana chocolate bar without letting go of the steering wheel with her right hand.
“Well, it really is tasty,” she mumbled, taking a bite.
Stepping out of her office, Sophia adjusted her robe and ran her hand over the dolphin-shaped business card in her pocket. As she walked, she gathered her wavy dark blonde hair into a bun. It was time for her usual routine.
The clinic had been built from the ground up by the Ephor many years ago. The exact date of its establishment was strictly confidential for regular staff.
If asked what this place meant to these beings and what feelings it evoked, the Ephor would have answered with one word – order. Every nook and cranny, every corner was meticulously planned and designed with a specific purpose: to distract patients from their true thoughts in favor of "substituted" ones.