Miss Witch Doesn't Want to be a Diva

In the evening, sitting around the hearth, pine wood burning, the occasional spark popping with a crackle, startling the five little birds sleeping in the wooden box next to us, emitting chirps before settling down again, dozing off in a daze. Although Tilan wasn't sure why, pine wood indeed seemed to produce these crackling sparks more readily than other woods. At the moment, she was sitting by the fire, brushing paint onto her canvas, depicting the landscape she had seen during the day, with a touch of her own fantasy added. Within the tall and straight Cedar Forest, a modest, low log cabin nestled, sunlight piercing through the gaps in the woods, casting light on the meadow with a few birds flying through. Not far from the cabin stood two people on the grass, looking into the distance. However, because they were so small compared to the towering cedars, their representation on the canvas was merely two vague dots, creating a blurred artistic conception. Tilan didn't like overly realistic styles of painting, as they felt indistinguishable from photographs, lacking in beauty and focus. Nor did she prefer styles that were excessively abstract, which seemed pretentious and disconnected from reality. What she loved most was that slightly realistic yet fantastical beauty, a sense of aesthetics nestled between the surreal and the real. It was like a greenish-orange, appearing sour on the surface but already maturing inside, with orange flesh. It wasn't as tart as fruit that had just formed, nor as cloyingly sweet as overly ripe fruit. That mildly sour, yet sweet taste was endearing. The flickering firelight cast a soft glow on the girl's skirt and face. In the nearby small box, the upper bodies of the five little birds were bathed in light, as if gilded with a layer of gold, while their lower bodies retained the cool, grayish-blue hue of the interior, the two sheens competing in the fuzz of their feathers, the delicate shadows of the down clearly visible in the light and shadow. Working on the painting on her lap, Tilan would occasionally glance down at the five sleeping little ones, feeling an inner peace settle over her, then continue with her work. She wasn't any sort of painting master, but no one had ever decreed that one must paint well to paint. Sometimes, caring too much about various opinions and views can bind oneself. Unlike music, where she had a teacher, when it came to painting, Tilan mainly followed her instincts. Her principal learning came from watching simple instructional videos for a while, totaling no more than twenty hours. Compared to the students at Edith Academy who specialized in painting, Tilan's work could be considered clumsy. But it was this nonchalance and spontaneity that made her feel relaxed. Watching the paints delicately spread on the canvas, then slowly shaping into what she envisioned, brought her a subtle sense of satisfaction. On the other side of the fire, Deloris was wearing a silk nightgown, reclining on a wooden lounge chair, flipping through an old book, occasionally moving her legs or setting the book down to watch Tilan focus on her painting. Time quietly passed, and the kettle hanging by the fire gurgled with boiling water. Deloris put down her book and stood up, first cautiously touching the handle of the kettle to ensure it wasn't too hot, then lifting it aside. "Would you like some coffee, Tilan?" she asked, walking over to the girl, eyeing the painting that was taking shape in Tilan's arms. "Yes." "Do you need sugar?" Deloris continued. "Two cubes." Just the right amount, Deloris herself would normally add four cubes. Afterward, Deloris set two mugs in place, poured in hot water, gave it a little stir, then opened the small jar and retrieved cube sugar to add to them. Even though she rarely made it herself before, such basic knowledge was still within the young lady's capability. "Here you go." Deloris brought the coffee, looked at Tilan, who was painting, and after a moment's thought, found a stool and covered it with a simple tablecloth before placing the coffee in front of her. Although Tilan was painting, she still took notice of Deloris's actions from the corner of her eye. It was a bit clumsy, certainly compared to those maids from 'Dream of Glazed Glass'. She immediately felt the difference. "Thank you." She stopped painting, lifted her head, and then watched Deloris sit back down in the wooden chair, flipping through a book. She always felt Deloris was a bit shy, the girl didn't know if this was an illusion or not because the emotion was faint and it was the first time she had sensed it in Deloris. With this thought crossing her mind, Tilan continued with the brush in her fingers, adding paint to the remaining parts. Today was their third day vacationing here, and they had gradually become familiar with the cottage and its surroundings. Half an hour later, Tilan hung up the finished canvas for drying, setting it aside in the shade, and now she picked up the coffee in front of her, slowly drinking it. "The Winter Festival's evening party is in two more days; have you decided what song to sing, Tilan?" Deloris asked at this time. "It's definitely too late to make up a new song on short notice." The girl shook her head; she had been concentrating on the big competition at the Winter Festival and hadn't paid much attention to the evening party. "I'll just sing a classic piece." The girl decided frankly. "Which one, 'The Praise of the Golden Rose'?" Deloris subconsciously thought of this number that countless Songstresses had covered. "No, because that one has been reserved in advance for the party's grand finale," the girl said, a bit regretfully. She had wanted to choose that song because it was not very difficult and suited for being performed at a winter evening party. "That situation is quite common." Deloris recalled that she had seen several evening parties that concluded with a group singing of that song. Occasionally, the audience would joke that when you genuinely don't know what to sing, going with that song was always safe. Even the most eccentric groups on the internet wouldn't casually criticize it, considering it one of His Highness's most famous pieces and almost the national anthem. "So have you decided which one, Tilan?" "Mm, it's a very old tune." Tilan remembered the material she had recently consulted. The history of this song could be traced back to the early days of humanity, a time just after the end of the World War when the entire civilization, amidst a world requiring rebuilding, was beginning to explore space gradually. Society was filled with various hopes and fantasies for the future, aspirations that in some way represented the wishes of the entire human civilization. In that brief thirty-year span, humans had launched satellites, developed lunar-bound spacecraft, started to build the internet, and many world-changing seeds were sown in those years. Thoughts of equality, independence, and freedom became popularized, and numerous classic movies and stories emerged, a legacy that persisted until the end of the millennia, with people still able to feel the spirit of that era. "The song's name is 'Fly Me to the Moon'; it might have also been called 'In Other Words' or 'Take Me to the Moon'. The composition and dissemination of this song are indeed filled with stories." The girl stood up, took out a player that resembled an old tape recorder from her luggage, and pressed a button. Following a somewhat coarse, crackling intro, this ancient tune that had spanned tens of thousands of years rang out once again.