Pietà, City of the Mothers of Ceres — Chapter 8 Part 3

At night, Pietà slept in silence.

Kat lay down on the soft bed and took a deep breath, breathing in the scent of clean clothes, flowers, and breast milk drifting through the corridors.

The central chandelier was turned off, but the soft light of the bedside lamp illuminated the painting on the wall.

Mãe Ceres smiled at her, surrounded by celestial light.

For a moment, Kat felt she was not alone, as if the divinity herself were sitting at the edge of the bed, watching her with tenderness.

It was comforting and frightening at the same time.

The longing for Gene tightened in her chest.

She remembered the way he looked at her whenever they talked about freedom, as if he were trying to hold her inside his world.

And now, there, so far away, Kat felt a mixture of love and guilt.

Yet when she looked at the painting, the guilt dissolved.

A profound calm descended upon her, as if Mãe Ceres were saying, without words:

“Everything is all right. You are where you are meant to be.”

Kat closed her eyes, and a warm tear slipped down her cheek, not from sadness, but from surrender.

It was as though every question in the world had been answered in silence.

Deep inside her chest, an inexplicable pang appeared, like a distant warning.

It was not fear.

It was the omen that something was coming —

but Pietà rocked her gently, and the world outside ceased to exist.

Sleep came softly, like a warm embrace.

She dreamed of the gardens of Pietà, only more alive, more perfect.

The flowers released a scent that was almost too sweet, nearly sickening.

The artificial lake reflected a golden sky,

and Mãe Ceres walked silently upon the water,

her dress floating like a white cloud.

Kat felt her bare feet against the damp grass and walked toward the divinity.

In the air, the mantra echoed on its own, as though the trees themselves were whispering it:

— Mãe Ceres who feeds us, educates us… and devours us…

Suddenly, paradise began to change.

The flowers closed, and when they opened again,

they had sharp teeth, dripping red dew.

The lake began to bubble.

Tiny children's hands emerged from the water, waving or asking for help —

Kat did not know which.

The golden sky darkened.

The crystal crown of Mãe Ceres shimmered like blades wet with blood.

She remained calm, maternal, perfect.

She opened her arms to Kat.

And when she embraced her, Kat felt something warm and sticky sliding down her back.

She looked down:

her belly was covered in blood,

and tiny hands were emerging from inside it,

smiling and calling for Mãe Ceres.

The mantra echoed once more,

now horrifying, almost childish:

— …and devours us… and devours us… and devours us…

Kat woke gasping, her heart racing.

The room was silent, fragrant, perfect.

The painting on the wall seemed to be smiling at her.

—

The next morning, Kat woke with the weight of the dream clinging to her skin,

as though she had slept soaked in fear.

The room was immaculate, with the painting of Mãe Ceres illuminated by sunlight,

but uneasiness throbbed inside her chest.

She decided to look for Aria.

In the corridor, she found one of the nurses taking routine measurements —

temperature, heartbeat, blood pressure.

The woman had a sweet, practiced smile,

but the attentive gaze of someone who watched more than she appeared to.

— Nurse… — Kat hesitated. — Which room is Aria in?

For a moment, the nurse's expression changed.

It was quick, but Kat noticed:

the smile faltered, her eyes became more serious.

— Do you really want to see Aria? — the nurse asked, as though measuring a dangerous decision.

— I do… — Kat took a deep breath. — I… like her.

The nurse lowered her eyes to the clipboard, weighing her words.

Then she spoke softly:

— Aria… is suffering from depression.

She isn't dangerous, but… you should approach her carefully.

Kat felt a cold shiver.

Depression.

It was a word that barely existed in Pietà, where everything seemed so happy and calm.

The nurse scribbled something on the clipboard and continued:

— Everyone here has noticed that, in two months, the only person Aria has spoken to was you.

— And her room? — Kat asked, with a strange mixture of fear and curiosity.

— Second corridor on the left. — The nurse smiled again, but now the smile was more protocol than affection. — But be careful.

Kat thanked her silently, feeling her heart quicken.

As she walked through the bright, fragrant corridor,

for the first time, Pietà seemed to be hiding shadows behind its perfection.

—

Aria's door was slightly open.

Kat hid behind it for a moment, uncertain.

Inside, the half-light was soft, scented with dried flowers and fresh paint.

Paintings leaning against the walls showed Mãe Ceres in different poses —

always silent, always luminous.

— You can come in, Kat… — Aria's serene voice said.

Kat froze for a second.

Aria had already noticed her presence.

She gently pushed the door open and entered.

— I… came to see you. — Kat smiled shyly. — I wanted to say that I loved the painting. I even… dreamed about Mãe Ceres last night.

Aria's eyes lit up, but her smile carried a submerged melancholy.

— You dreamed of Her…? — Her voice was low, almost reverent. — Then you have already received a blessing.

— I… think so. — Kat felt her face grow warm.

Aria placed a hand on her own belly and sighed.

— I love Mãe Ceres… — she said, as though confiding a secret. — And I am ready for the sacrifice She asked of me.

The sentence fell heavily, even though it was spoken with resigned sweetness.

— Sacrifice…? — Kat asked, a chill running down her spine.

Aria watched her silently for a moment, then smiled tenderly —

a tenderness that sounded like farewell.

— I like you, Kat… because you remind me of myself when I was young.

You still… believe that love saves.

— I became pregnant by someone from school — Kat confessed shyly, almost proudly. — A boy I love.

Aria's eyes lit up again, but now with a pang of sadness.

— Then you were lucky, my dear… — she stroked the scarf in her hair. — Most of us here… become pregnant by people we barely know.

They give themselves willingly because, in the name of Mãe Ceres, it is worth it.

She looked at one of the paintings leaning against the wall, where golden light reflected off the still-wet paint.

— Who… who would have the courage to refuse a request from Mãe Ceres?

Silence fell heavily, and Kat felt the question echo inside her, as though it were an unquestionable truth.

Aria fixed her eyes on Kat, an expression mixing pride and sadness.

— I love Mãe Ceres, even when She asks the most absurd things.

She gave me a wonderful profession… I worked alongside Major Tomas on the future mission to Ceres 2.

I was the one who performed the calculations for the rocket ascent — theoretical calculations, precise ones.

Kat was speechless, almost unable to react.

— You volunteered to become pregnant? — she asked slowly, trying to understand.

The silence that followed was cutting.

Aria closed her eyes for a moment, and a tear slipped down her cheek.

She took a deep breath, composing herself with disconcerting serenity.

— Only a few weeks remain until my sacrifice, in the name of Mãe Ceres.

Kat forced a smile, trying to be strong, but her chest tightened.

— I'm very happy you're here, Aria.

You seem so at peace…

If I could, I would make the world more comfortable for you.

And I'm sure you'll have a beautiful child.

Aria let out a laugh through her tears — a strange and touching sound.

— Will you help me fix my hair? — she asked, with a broken, almost childish smile.

Kat noticed that Aria's long, wavy hair was disheveled, as though the weight of her sadness had undone every strand.

Tenderly, she picked up a brush and began combing it slowly, smoothing not only the hair, but also the invisible knots of pain Aria carried.

With each movement, she gave her back a gentle massage.

Aria closed her eyes and sighed.

There was relief in that silence.

Suddenly, Aria took Kat's hands and kissed them — a gesture full of gratitude, tenderness, and something that felt like a silent farewell.

She looked into Kat's eyes, her expression softening between melancholy and curiosity.

— What's this Gene like? — she asked, in an almost conspiratorial tone.

Kat smiled, her face illuminated by a sweet and bitter memory.

— He's a dreamer, somewhat unpredictable…

He likes the strange way I am.

Aria smiled tenderly, as if she could picture the boy.

— He must be very handsome.

— He is — Kat replied, her gaze lost in the memory. — I miss him… But I understand.

She held Aria's hands firmly, as though sealing an invisible pact.

— I will carry his child, and I know I need to devote myself to him… and to Mãe Ceres.

I want my son to have a future — a future in which he will be a precise servant of Mãe Ceres.

The two remained silent, absorbing the strength of that unspoken commitment.

Then, almost in unison, like a ritual born from the soul itself, they began to whisper:

— Mãe Ceres who feeds us, educates us… and devours us.

The word “devours” echoed through the room with a bittersweet weight, filling the space with a sense of inevitable surrender.

In Pietà, Kat had found an unexpected friendship.

Aria, the woman who had once helped Mãe Ceres touch the stars, was melancholy, but hid a playful sweetness that emerged in her small smiles.

Her belly was beautiful and enormous, her entire body carrying the sacred weight of a child, a mixture of pride and resignation.

Aria's room was a silent sanctuary,

filled with canvases depicting Mãe Ceres in every possible pose:

floating above gardens, crowned with shimmering crystals,

arms spread over Pietà…

Each painting was a confession of absolute devotion.

And in that sacred space, Kat understood, more and more deeply, what it meant to be the Mother's daughter and offering.

Aria loved Mãe Ceres deeply, and that love was sweet and painful.

She carried the burden of her child with pride,

but a thread of sadness crossed her smile:

longing for her former life, for her noble profession, for the calculations that had helped design the rocket ascent toward Ceres 2 Station.

Even so, she had completely abandoned her field,

because in Pietà, motherhood was the supreme calling,

and Mãe Ceres' will was absolute.

Kat felt that, inside that room, paradise and the shadow of sacrifice coexisted,

and that Aria was living proof of how love for the Mother could be as luminous as it was melancholy.

She looked at Aria and, for a moment, saw herself reflected in her —

a devoted, resigned mother, her heart divided between human love and absolute love for Mãe Ceres.

She thought of Gene, of his crooked smile, his eyes full of dreams.

But she knew she could not live on longing.

In Pietà, one learned from an early age: personal love was small beside the greater love.

All the mothers of Ceres taught the girls that a time of devotion would come.

A time when their arms would no longer belong to themselves, but to the child who would come.

And that, through them, Mãe Ceres performed the miracle of life —

the silent engine that kept Ceres alive and perfect.

Kat knew that this was true freedom there:

to surrender herself to the mission,

and to feel that, even far from Gene,

a part of him and of her would bloom in Pietà,

like yet another small offering to the Great Mother.

Sitting beside Aria, Kat felt the weight of the silence between them.

The room seemed to breathe slowly,

filled with paintings of Mãe Ceres watching the two of them,

as though the divinity herself were there, more present than painted.

Suddenly, Aria spoke in a low voice, almost a whisper:

— You know, Kat… you're lucky.

Carrying the child of the boy you love… that's a gift.

Kat noticed the melancholy hidden in Aria's tone and swallowed hard.

— And… you? — she asked carefully.

Aria fixed her gaze on a painting of Mãe Ceres,

as though seeking strength in the image.

The tears came before the words.

— I didn't choose…

My pregnancy was the result of… — she took a deep breath, her fingers trembling — …something I never wanted.

Kat felt the world stop for an instant.

A shiver ran up her spine.

— But… here in Ceres… — Aria forced a trembling smile — every life is sacred.

Mãe Ceres teaches us that every child belongs to Her, not to us.

Refusal is impossible.

The child must be born.

She caressed her belly with a gesture of love mixed with pain.

— I… learned to love this baby.

Not because I forgot what happened,

but because Mãe Ceres demands this of us.

She turns even pain into… a mission.

Kat felt her eyes burn.

She didn't know whether she wanted to cry or flee that room.

She looked at Aria and saw a broken woman,

but still devoted,

still grateful to the divinity that forced her into sacrifice.

In silence, Kat picked up the brush and began combing Aria's long, disordered hair.

Each movement was a small offering of affection,

an attempt to gather up the broken pieces of that woman.

Aria closed her eyes, took a deep breath,

and, smiling through her tears, kissed Kat's hands.

— Thank you… — she whispered. — For making me feel… human again.

The next day, Kat decided to turn Aria's room into a little piece of Pietà's garden.

She spent the morning gathering flowers — daisies, edible flowers, small fragrant branches —

and filled the room with soft colors.

When the sun entered through the window, the room looked like a living painting:

the petals danced in the light,

Aria's hair fluttered gently in the breeze,

and the paintings of Mãe Ceres, scattered across the walls,

seemed to smile silently.

Aria was bedridden, immersed in the heavy melancholy that kept her confined to the bed.

But when she saw Kat enter with her arms full of flowers,

she smiled through her tears.

And that smile carried an immense pain in her chest,

as though she were in hell and paradise at the same time.

Kat approached slowly, sat beside her, and held her hands.

The simple gesture was a temporary anesthetic,

a silent truce in the battle Aria fought within herself.

Tears came to both of them.

They cried together, without needing words,

and touched one another in a pure gesture of sisterhood:

two women united by faith, by the burden, and by the hope

that existed only in Pietà.

For a moment, Aria's pain was shared,

and Kat felt that, in that flower-filled room,

they had created a small, silent miracle.

Days passed like that, filled with small gestures of kindness.

Kat brought flowers, and little by little, other mothers joined her.

One brought fruit, another a blanket scented with lavender.

Together, they knitted an enormous scarf, made by many hands, including Kat's,

to warm Aria as though they were embracing her tired soul.

Aria's room became a sacred refuge,

filled with flowers, strands of colorful wool,

and the compassionate gaze of the other women.

There, they whispered the mantra,

like a prayer that lulled the baby and soothed the mother:

— Mãe Ceres who feeds us, educates us… and devours us.

Aria smiled through her tears,

her eyes wet and her mouth curved into a fragile smile.

Every gift, every touch, every word of affection

made the pain retreat, if only for a moment.

And even so, it was a balm.

Everyone was moved by the scene.

Kat gradually came to understand the root of that melancholy.

One afternoon, sitting beside Aria,

she heard in whispers what no other mother had dared to say:

— This child… was born from the worst moment of my life.

He… took me by force, and now he's dead.

Mãe Ceres condemned him.

Aria looked at the ceiling, as though seeking comfort in the divinity.

— But… the baby is innocent.

And Mãe Ceres says that every life… must be carried to its end.

Kat felt the weight of that truth crush her chest.

She looked at the flowers scattered around, at the scarf made by so many hands,

and understood that in Pietà, pain and love walked hand in hand.

Everything there was silence, sacrifice, and devotion,

a paradise that hid hell within its details.

The Meeting with Mãe Ceres

In Pietà, being summoned to a meeting with Mãe Ceres was an exceptionally rare privilege.

Kat followed the silent corridors until she entered a black-marble room,

cold and imposing, where power expressed itself in every Brutalist line.

There were no ornaments, only hard, perfect geometry,

as though the walls whispered of discipline and eternity.

At the center, elevated upon a pedestal, stood Mãe Ceres.

Her white, flowing garments contrasted with the absolute black surrounding her,

transforming her into a living Madonna, a presence that seemed to float above the human world.

Kat sat carefully, her heart racing,

feeling that the moment was a sacred summons.

Mãe Ceres spoke in a serene, but absolute voice:

— Kat… you are one of my favorites.

I see in your eyes the innocence that can see the future.

If you preserve that vision, if you maintain the sweetness and dedication you showed with Aria,

one day…

you may replace me.

The sentence echoed like silent thunder inside Kat.

She felt a mixture of pride and fear,

as though she had received both the greatest blessing and the greatest burden of her life.

Everyone in Ceres knew:

no one had ever seen the true face of Mãe Ceres,

only her dark oval mask.

But they also knew she was human.

And, being human, she had done what no god had ever managed to do:

she had killed the myths of immortality and defeated hunger.

Preserving her legacy was like keeping the sun lit for humanity.

Kat knew this.

Throughout all her years at school, she had never seen anyone go hungry.

Not even Daime, her wheelchair-using friend,

a spectacle of vitality and a source of pride for the city:

always with clean diapers, hot food, medical care, and dignity.

If he ever complained, it was out of desire, never deprivation.

In Ceres, no one suffered the torture of scarcity.

And there, sitting beside Mãe Ceres,

Kat felt the peace of being on the right side of history,

as though her faith had been confirmed by the invisible touch of a living divinity.

The silence of the black-marble hall was absolute.

Mãe Ceres' voice echoed through the space as though it came from within the walls,

firm, unhurried, charged with conviction:

— Kat… always remember the values that sustain this place.

Even if someone were to kill me one day, another Mãe Ceres would emerge.

Because our ideals surpass any human expectation.

She leaned forward slightly, and Kat felt the weight of those words bury themselves in her soul.

— You have seen with your own eyes how everything works.

Whoever fights against us — or even whoever were to defeat us —

I would pity them.

Because to defeat Mãe Ceres is to love hunger, disease, misery, war, and death.

The black mask gleamed beneath the cold light of the hall,

and her voice continued, cutting and serene:

— I say this because I do not lie, Kat.

Peace is merely an accident of history.

Everyone out there wants to destroy us,

because they envy us for being better than the imaginary gods they worship.

She raised one gloved hand,

and for an instant, Kat felt the entire world fit within that gesture.

— No one has ever seen a god save anyone.

Only old texts…

that aren't even good for wiping your own ass.

While they wait, we act.

Kat felt a shiver run up her spine.

It was as though she were hearing the raw truth of the world —

and, at the same time, an irrevocable sentence.

— Hope tortures because it waits…

I don't wait, Kat.

I have children.

Many children.

But… — her voice softened, almost maternal — …I need successors.

The room seemed to breathe with Mãe Ceres' words,

and Kat felt that her destiny had been sealed,

as though she had received a silent baptism into the religion of survival.

Mãe Ceres slowly descended from the pedestal,

her footsteps echoing softly across the black marble.

She approached Kat and, for a moment,

the teenager felt that she could not breathe.

The Mother's presence was apotheotic,

and her perfume smelled of care and warm milk —

the scent of a mother.

She lifted Kat's face with the tips of her gloved fingers.

— Kat… you have already proven your worth.

You know how to love like a true mother,

and bring peace to others, as you did with Aria.

The black mask gleamed in the reflection of the chandelier,

as though two worlds — the human and the divine —

were meeting within that invisible gaze.

— But I have a mission for you.

A mission no child receives.

A mission for women who have already understood the world.

Kat felt her heart beating like a drum.

She did not dare speak.

— In Pietà, you saw the paradise we built:

flowers, milk, lullabies, babies laughing…

But you also came to know the pain that keeps this paradise alive.

She stepped back two paces, looking toward the high ceiling of the hall.

— Not every mother can bear the weight of Mãe Ceres.

Some… — her voice became soft and icy at the same time —

…must be guided toward rest.

And when that day comes, Kat,

I want you to be there,

to hold their hands.

Kat's heart froze.

She understood what was being said,

even though no direct word was necessary.

— This is how we preserve the miracle of survival.

Without false gods.

Without false waiting.

And this is how you will become my successor.

Kat felt the entire room slowly spinning —

the marble, the chandelier, and the presence of Mãe Ceres

surrounded her like a sacred and suffocating embrace.

Deep inside herself,

she knew that Pietà's peace had a price of blood and silence.

The echo in the black-marble hall was broken by the firm sound of high heels.

The door opened.

Ysa entered, Head of National Development Intelligence,

carrying a folder filled with meticulously organized documents and charts.

She was a woman of straight posture and clinical eyes,

with a functional beauty, shaped for the role she held.

Nothing about her was superfluous.

Mãe Ceres turned toward Kat and said with serene pride:

— This is Ysa… one of the best in Ceres.

She keeps our minds clear and our progress sharp,

while I take care of the heart of Ceres.

Ysa placed the papers on the marble table,

whose sheen reflected the contrast between emotion and calculation.

Without smiling, she began her report in a precise voice:

— Mãe Ceres, the numbers for this quarter exceeded all expectations.

The seeds germinate and grow faster than they have in decades.

The productivity index has reached historic levels.

She turned a few pages, rotating them toward Mãe Ceres.

— The international situation favors us.

Countries at war are driving our rise:

credit lines have increased,

international loans are generating generous interest,

and major humanitarian donations

are projecting Ceres as the hand that saves the world from hunger.

Kat watched in reverent silence,

trying to understand that universe of numbers and power,

where benevolence was also a mechanism —

relentless and functional.

Ysa continued without changing her tone:

— We help millions… and still profit from it.

It's the perfect cycle: we feed the world,

save some,

and Ceres grows while the others destroy themselves.

She paused briefly, as though weighing every word.

— But… our internal policies face obstacles.

We have abundant resources,

but local political will

does not always match the magnitude of our numbers.

Our benevolence is efficient,

but politics is… beneath what we have.

The hall sank into a dense silence.

It was as though the contrast between numbers and faith

had materialized the heart of Ceres:

a devoted mother and a ruthless machine,

operating in perfect harmony.

Kat, sitting beside the pedestal,

felt she was standing before the true engine of the world —

where survival, devotion, and calculation intertwined.

Mãe Ceres leaned slightly against the throne,

her white, flowing presence reflected in the black marble of the room.

There was pride in her voice:

— Ysa, meet Kat. One of my favorite girls.

She has eyes that see the future

and a heart that feels like mine.

Ysa needed no introduction.

A nearly imperceptible smile appeared on her restrained face:

— I know who she is.

Kat's grades are excellent,

her academic performance impeccable.

And… — she paused briefly —

she demonstrates a rare empathy with the spirit of Mãe Ceres.

Kat felt warmth rise to her face,

somewhere between embarrassment and pride,

as though she had been given an invisible crown.

Mãe Ceres raised her hand, ending the meeting.

— You two may go now.

Kat, accompany Ysa to the gates of Pietà.

Enjoy the walk.

The lake is beautiful this morning.

They left the hall,

walking through silent corridors

until they reached the open gardens of Pietà.

The path wound between fruit trees,

and the artificial lake reflected the sky like a serene mirror,

where ducks and swans glided slowly.

The air smelled of clean water and newly opened flowers.

Kat walked beside Ysa,

feeling both the weight of the world and the lightness of paradise.

As they walked, Ysa observed everything with attentive eyes,

but without the wonder of a visitor.

To her, Pietà was a precise mechanism,

an essential component in Ceres' machine of survival.

When they approached the gates,

Ysa finally spoke, with a minimal but sincere smile:

— Kat… enjoy this place while you can.

It is the only paradise that exists.

Kat felt a strange shiver,

not knowing whether it was advice or a warning.

Ysa stopped suddenly.

The reflection of the lake shimmered behind her.

The light wind stirred the leaves of the fruit trees,

and for an instant, the world seemed suspended.

The woman of straight posture and logical gaze

leaned slightly toward the teenager:

— Kat… I like you very much.

Mãe Ceres saw something in you that… even I did not see.

Kat, shy and proud, answered with childlike sincerity:

— But… Ysa, you could be a Mãe Ceres too.

A brief, almost sad smile appeared on Ysa's lips.

— No, girl. I'm not jealous…

but I'm not on the path to becoming a Mãe Ceres.

My destiny is elsewhere.

And… for the first time, I'll tell you:

my instinct says you could be the future of Ceres.

Kat's eyes widened, surprised and confused.

The wind carried the scent of the lake and garden,

mixed with the distant rumble of agricultural machinery.

— I wasn't supposed to be here, Kat — Ysa continued.

— I came only to put on a political show, present reports…

But I know she called me here to see you.

Mãe Ceres doesn't do anything without a reason.

She took a deep breath. Her gaze was fixed and sharp:

— I am Mãe Ceres' sword.

I would fight and kill for her.

And, if I live long enough, I will fight for you.

Kat felt a shiver at the back of her neck.

Ysa raised her index finger, pointing around them:

— Pay attention, Kat.

Listen.

The armored trains. The agricultural tractors.

The water pumps. The mechanical murmur of the city…

This is the sound of life in Ceres.

They fell silent.

And Kat listened more carefully:

the constant rumble,

the metallic clinking in the distance,

the echo of invisible labor that kept Pietà alive.

Ysa leaned closer and spoke in a deep whisper:

— If this murmur ever disappears, Kat…

it won't just be the end of Ceres.

The worst will come before the end.

Silence will arrive like a sentence.

She placed a firm hand on the girl's shoulder:

— I'm here to see you, Kat.

And I don't make mistakes: you have immense potential.

For a moment, Kat did not know whether she felt pride or fear.

The reflection of the lake behind them seemed to waver,

as though the water itself had heard and kept the secret.

The two reached the gates of Pietà,

where the white bridge over the lake connected

the paradise of the mothers to the city of black marble and machinery.

The wind carried the scent of flowers and clean water,

mixed with the distant sound of armored trains.

Ysa stopped before the gate.

For a moment, her logical expression softened.

She held Kat's hands,

as though sealing a silent oath.

— Kat… never forget the sound of Ceres.

As long as it lives, we live.

As long as it rumbles, we are eternal.

The teenager felt those words echo through her soul,

almost as strongly as Mãe Ceres' own words.

Then, together, they looked at the lake

and, in perfect synchrony, repeated the sacred mantra:

— Mãe Ceres who feeds us, educates us… and devours us!

The sound crossed the calm water,

reverberating like a prayer — and a sentence.

Ysa released Kat's hands and, with one final firm look,

gave her one last piece of advice:

— Don't forget, girl.

Silence is worse than the end.

Then she crossed the gates,

her firm stride disappearing into the white light of day,

while Kat remained alone before the lake,

feeling that something immense and inevitable

was already making its way toward Pietà.

Kat crossed the gate back,

the mantra still vibrating in her mind

and Ysa's cold, firm touch still lingering in her hands.

The path along the lake looked the same,

but now every sound carried a new meaning:

the distant rumble of tractors,

the metallic breath of water pumps,

the soft clinking of chains on the armored trains —

everything formed the mechanical music of survival.

She wondered silently:

“What if one day this sound stops?”

When she returned to Pietà's central garden,

the other mothers were gathered in their usual routines:

one was spinning long woolens for winter,

another was nursing beneath the gentle sun,

some were planting edible flowers around the lake.

Everything seemed perfectly harmonious.

But inside Kat, something had changed.

She went to Aria's room,

carrying a few freshly picked flowers.

Aria was lying down, embracing one of her canvases,

painting Mãe Ceres surrounded by celestial light.

— I brought you some flowers… — Kat said, smiling.

Aria returned the smile faintly,

but her eyes were red.

The smile was a fragile crack

in a world that, from the outside, seemed indestructible.

— You know, Kat… sometimes Pietà is so perfect

that it hurts in here… — she touched her own chest.

Kat sat beside her,

remembering Ysa's words.

She looked around and realized:

Pietà really was a living painting,

a painting made of light, flowers, and restrained silence.