Confessions
Theo was in a corner of the courtyard, sitting on the farthest bench, hunched over the table. His headphones hung around his neck, but nothing was playing. He scribbled vigorously in a notebook, so focused on his sociology class review that he didn't even notice the cold rising from the ground or the noisy groups passing in the distance.
When he realized it, someone was already standing beside him. Just a shadow in his field of vision.
— So dedicated... for someone who says all he thinks about is flagball.
Theo looked up, impatient, ready to dismiss whoever it was — until he saw who it was.
Ceres.
— ...Oh. It's you. — he muttered dryly.
— Who were you expecting? — she replied, with that slightly mocking tone.
He scratched the back of his neck, as if realizing his tone had been wrong. He took a deep breath and composed himself.
— ...Sit down. — He pulled his backpack aside to make room beside him.
Ceres settled onto the bench with the elegance that had already become natural to her. He offered her one of the cereal balls he carried in a little bag, but she raised her hand and refused.
— Give it to your brother. — she said neutrally. — He needs it more.
For a moment, they remained silent, with only the pens and distant voices filling the air. Until Ceres broke the silence:
— Gene... has he always been like that? Asking those questions?
Theo sighed, resting his elbow on the table.
— Yeah. He's an idiot. But everything's going to be fine.
— Libertarians... — Ceres said, almost disgusted by the sound of the word. — Libertarians are starving idiots with false promises. More hopes than promises.
Theo raised his eyebrows, intrigued.
— Sounds like you know one personally...
She froze for a second. Then she lowered her eyes to the table, almost imperceptibly.
— ...I do. — It slipped out in a split second.
Theo noticed. And in that instant, her cold mask seemed to crack right in front of him.
He tilted his head, his tone softer, as if encouraging her:
— It's okay. You can tell me. I won't tell anyone. I promise.
Ceres took a deep breath, her fingers tightening into a fist on the bench. Her voice trembled for the first time:
— I... knew one of them. Before. Before... I became Ceres.
He frowned, confused.
— What do you mean, “before”?
She bit her lip, looking away.
— Before I wore this. — She touched the red embroidery on her chest: MOTHER CERES. — I defied her. I thought I could escape.
Theo fell silent, feeling a shiver run down his spine.
Ceres finally raised her eyes, raw, unguarded:
— I went with them. I thought there was something beyond this place. All I found was hunger. Shallow graves. Children fighting dogs for bones. All of them... died. I was the only one who came back. And... she devoured me from the inside when I returned. I was never the same again.
Her eyes became cold again, but now Theo could see the pain behind them.
— That's why I defend her. Because the alternative... is nothing.
She stood up, straightened her shirt, and regained her posture. Before taking her first step, she murmured:
— Take care of your friend, Theo. Or Mother Ceres will take care of him for you.
She gave him one last look, hard, but with something fragile still buried beneath it:
— You don't want to see what she does to those who don't learn.
And she walked away, leaving Theo alone with that new awareness weighing on him like lead.
Later, Theo saw her at the swimming pool.
Ceres climbed onto the ten-meter platform, and for a moment every gaze turned toward her. The dive was perfect: like a liquid arrow, she pierced the water without a splash, emerging as if gravity did not touch her.
Theo took a deep breath, leaning against the edge as she approached.
— We... need to talk. — he murmured.
Ceres didn't answer. She sat on the edge beside him, her legs still dripping into the water, her eyes fixed on the surface. He didn't dare touch her. They simply sat there looking at each other, surrounded by a thick silence.
Until, without warning, Ceres began to speak.
Her voice was low, but carried a weight that bent every word:
— My name... or what my name used to be... doesn't matter anymore. Here, they call me Ceres. Because I was born from the womb of the earth and returned to it... even if I was spat out.
She closed her eyes, as if diving once again into her own memories.
— I am the daughter of Assum. You must have heard that name. The Singer.
Theo raised his eyebrows, but remained silent.
— She was one of the greatest voices this city had ever known. And one of its greatest scientists too, in the field of biology. She was too beautiful... too free... for Chancellor Aquila's taste.
Ceres's lips tightened.
— He took her for himself like someone making a deal. So that she would sing only for him... at night... after experiments and abuse. As if her pain made the music better. As if her voice had been made to redeem his sins.
For a moment, the water seemed to tremble beneath the ceiling lights.
— One day, he blinded her. So she wouldn't see anyone else while she sang. So that her voice would belong only to him, in the dark. And I... I am the result of that. Of rape. Of submission.
Theo looked away, unable to face her.
— He didn't kill me when I was born. No one knows why. They say even he didn't know. I should have been burned with the rest. But he simply... repatriated me. Threw me back into this city. With a warning: “live... and never come back.”
Her hands were trembling now.
— Some say it was pity. I don't believe that. I believe he wanted to leave me alive so I'd know that nothing I did could change who I was. — Her voice cracked. — I am the daughter of Mother Ceres. Because she devoured me. And this is where I belong. There is nowhere to run.
She raised her eyes to Theo, showing a crack of vulnerability for the first time in a very long time:
— And that's why I defend this place. Because what exists out there... is worse.
The pool remained calm, but the air seemed too heavy to breathe. Theo felt the words reverberating inside him like a forgotten chant — almost as unfathomable as the city itself.
Few people heard Assum's voice, and everyone said the same thing: it was like hearing the soul of God. Men cried when they heard her, devouring their sins in order to reach redemption. Whoever heard her never forgot. Whoever didn't... never would.
And Theo finally understood why the secrets of Ceres... were as impossible as the secrets of the city that sheltered them.
Ceres took a deep breath, as if she didn't quite know why she was still talking.
— He was obsessed with her — she said at last. — It wasn't just desire. It was something else... a rage at never being able to break her. He covered her in blood and gold like a painting... like that old painting, The Kiss, by Klimt. As if she belonged to him, and yet somehow didn't. And that drove him insane.
Theo stared at her in silence, unable to imagine it — but also unable not to imagine it.
Ceres continued, with a crooked, cruel, tired smile:
— And you know what the most beautiful part is? — she said. — We've all heard her voice. Me, you, Gene... all of us. But most of us... never realized it was her.
Theo frowned, confused.
— Every day — Ceres explained, staring at the black water of the pool — at seven in the evening... on the radio... before curfew... we hear Mother Ceres's news. And that soft music in the background, that sad melody that seems to calm and frighten at the same time... that's my mother's voice. Recorded, shattered into notes.
She closed her eyes, letting the memory of the sound invade her mind.
Concerto pour une voix, by Danielle Licari, seemed to echo through the gymnasium, invisible but present.
— And no one really listens. — she murmured. — But it's there. It's always there.
That was when a metallic crack sounded through the gymnasium.
The loudspeakers hissed, and the red light on the clock marked exactly 19:00.
And a female voice, impeccable, delicate, and cold, flooded the space with the day's news:
— Citizens of Ceres, good evening. We inform you that...
And beneath the announcer's voice, soft as a silk veil over a blade, the melody insinuated itself: a woman singing without words, a voice of crystal and pain, captivating, divine.
The Voice of Mother Ceres.
Theo, motionless, heard it this time.
He truly heard it.
And for the first time, he felt a lump in his throat.
Beside him, Ceres simply closed her eyes and said, almost to herself:
— That's it. Now you understand.
And for a moment, Theo understood.
The melody still echoed through the loudspeakers, like a divine lament, while in the background the cold announcer continued listing numbers, orders, statistics — indifferent to the pain that buried voice awakened.
Ceres was trembling. The sound tore her apart from the inside; with every note, it seemed to rip another piece of her soul away.
And finally, she cried.
The tears flowed freely down her pale face, salty and warm against Theo's bewildered silence. She covered her face for a moment and then spoke between sobs, letting everything out:
— It was... it was that that killed me inside, Theo... — her voice was a thread, fragile, cracked — when I went back to her. It wasn't the first time they kidnapped me... it was the second. They took me... to her.
Ceres took a deep breath, her shoulders shaking. Theo didn't dare interrupt her.
— She was there. My mother... Assum. And my monster of a father too. Chancellor Aquila. I stayed with my mother for two weeks. Two single weeks. I thought I was going to have peace, that finally... but no. He tortured me. Tried to break me the way he had tried to break her.
The music from the loudspeakers seemed louder, crueler.
— He couldn't. Not with her, not with me. So he tried to kill me, Theo. With his own hands. But he couldn't. — Her laugh sounded bitter, between one sob and another. — He said I was a miracle. The only miracle he had ever made... having a bastard daughter. And he looked at me as if I were a mistake he could never erase.
Her eyes shone with pain and pride at the same time.
— They threw me onto the borders of Ceres, into the mud, naked, cold and hungry. I walked for miles, without direction. Until I saw the school in the center. It was identical to the one from my childhood.
Theo felt his stomach churn, watching every one of her words bury itself like a knife into her own flesh.
— I was dizzy. I collapsed in the courtyard, near the bushes. I saw you. You, Daime, Tycho. I couldn't see your faces yet... what caught my attention was the way you looked at them. The way you took care of them. Daime insulted you, you laughed. You gave your brother a little cake in a brown wrapper when nobody was looking. You wanted everyone to be happy, even if it meant stepping over your own happiness.
She finally raised her eyes to Theo, and for the first time he saw those blue eyes — wounded, but sincere, and gentle, as if the whole world had already ended inside them and yet there was still love left.
— That's when I ran into your arms... because I knew. I knew you were good. That I could trust you.
And then, in a thread of a voice, with a trembling smile:
— Today I see... that you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen. Even without needing to look into your eyes.
The sound of the Voice of Mother Ceres still filled the night, with that sad and redemptive melody — and Theo, for the first time, had no answer.
He simply stayed there, looking at her.
And silently promised that he would never leave her alone again.
The melody of the Voice of Mother Ceres continued, hovering like a mist over them, impossible to ignore.
Ceres was crying now without trying to hide it, without the strength to hold it back. The tears ran hot, her chest heaved, her sobs echoed softly.
Theo didn't think twice.
With a calm movement, he moved closer to her and pulled her toward him. He wrapped her in a firm, serene embrace, but one filled with tenderness.
She gave in, letting the full weight of her body collapse against him.
Theo rested her head on his shoulder, feeling her tear-damp hair brush against his skin. He gently ran his hand over her back, in an almost imperceptible gesture, as if saying: I'm here. You can cry. It's okay.
And so they remained.
In silence.
Ceres curled up, sheltered.
Safe, finally, as if after that entire journey through mud, pain, and the horrors of Mother Ceres, she had found a harbor.
Theo's eyes remained fixed on a distant point, hearing only her trembling breathing, feeling every sob shake his chest.
And he promised himself — without words, only with that embrace — that he would never let her feel alone again.
Because in that moment, he was the one holding her up.
But deep down, he knew: she was the one who, inside, would always hold all of them together.
While Theo and Ceres remained together at the edge of the pool, the soft, almost divine melody of the Voice of Mother Ceres spread throughout the entire city like an inevitable prayer.
The loudspeakers hissed, and everywhere, the same music echoed — in the empty cafeteria, the deserted corridors, the silent homes.
Far away, in one of the most distant dormitories, Gene was alone.
Sitting on his own bed, his hands clenched into fists, he stared at the radio broadcasting the Voice.
That music.
That voice.
That lie.
His eyes narrowed with a mixture of anger and contempt.
And in a low whisper, almost spat out, he let it escape:
— Bitch.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Just that.
And the sound of the Voice of Mother Ceres continued, as if even she hadn't noticed the insult.
Gene remained there, motionless for several moments after saying it, staring at the radio as if he were facing an intimate, invisible enemy.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breathing short and hot, but not from exhaustion — from hatred.
He felt his teeth grind and his hands tingle from how tightly he was clenching them.
The melody continued, soft, redemptive for some... an insult to him.
And deep down, way down, he wondered why he hated it so much.
Because maybe it was true.
Because maybe, at some point, he had believed it too.
Because maybe that voice — that damn voice — reminded him of everything he had never had: someone's arms around him, acceptance, trust.
And now, the sound alone was enough to make him feel like nothing in front of everyone else, who seemed to bow gratefully before Mother Ceres, blind and satisfied.
But not him.
He wasn't going to kneel.
Never.
— Bitch... — he repeated again, more quietly, his voice choked, his gaze hardened.
— You can fool all of them... but not me.
Then he lay on his back on the bed, stared at the ceiling, and let the music continue, like a soft poison he couldn't escape.
Inside, he promised himself: he would still prove them all wrong.
He didn't need her.
He didn't need anyone.