Story 15. A cup of tea for Ledoneri and the Plukhs

So here I am, alone. Even the House has gone to sleep. Only I am still sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, watching the glimmers of the smouldering embers of Former Pain.
 
I don't feel lonely at all, no. I feel calm and even somehow warm and joyful. And I'm not at all frightened by being left alone with myself. I have much to think about. And even more to be silent about, alone with myself.
 
Tomorrow my friends, my new family, will wake up. We'll drink tea, laugh, have breakfast, share our dreams with each other.
 
Liata will tell us that she dreamt not a dream, but... the reverse side of her crystal. That she was not the Keeper on the outside, but a pulsation inside the Sapphire. And she saw how rays passed through its facets — not of light, but of intentions. The desire of one world to connect with another, the longing of a third, the joy of a fourth. And how she sorted them, not with her mind, but with the very substance of her essence. Let some through, slowed others, reflected others... And she understood that this was her work. Not just "to keep", but to be a living filter and conduit. And then she will say that she heard laughter. Not from outside, but from the very heart of the crystal. It was him, the Sapphire, laughing. Because some particularly absurd and kind little ray — probably from a world where cats love trams — was tickling him from within. And in that laughter, there wasn't a drop of technogenic harshness. Only pure, sparkling life. And that she woke up with the understanding that she urgently needed to fly to him — to laugh together. And that she knows she will always be able to return here now to tell us her stories.
 
And Hamba will say that he dreamt of... a forest. But not of trees, of silence. Different kinds. One was a thick, velvety silence after a quarrel — and in it, he learned to distinguish the echoes of reconciliation-words not yet spoken. Another was a ringing, crystal silence before flight — in it, he heard the hum of his own wings, which he doesn't have yet, but which are about to grow. And there was also... the silence of the House. The very silence I am in now. It wasn't deaf, but filled. In it, you could hear meanings growing in Despair's pots, patterns rewriting themselves on the walls. And in this silence, for the first time in a long time, he wasn't lost. He was... being found. In the here and now.
 
Muss, without opening his eyes, will surely purr from his spot:
 
'And we girls were chasing sunbeams. But they weren't made of light. They were made of... promises. The promise of a new meeting, the promise of tasty food, the promise that a mystery would be revealed. They kept running away, and we chased them. And the most stubborn one, the one made from the promise "tomorrow will be a good day", I finally caught and brought here. It seems to be sleeping in my left paw now.'
 
And we'll all look at his closed paw and see — yes, indeed, from under the white fur, a faint, warm, lemon-coloured glow is shining through. And Rozzea and Kotess will nod knowingly, as if to say: 'Well, Muss, how could you give us away like that?' and they'll laugh a happy, joyful laugh.
 
Despair-Unraveller will sigh softly, unravelling a new, tiny ball of yarn in her hands, and say:
 
'I dreamt of knots that untied themselves. And in place of each, there wasn't an empty space, but a tiny, sleeping seed. With an inscription. On one was embroidered: "A question it's not scary not to know the answer to". On another: "The pause between 'sorry' and 'me too'". I gathered them in a little box. I think they might come in handy.'
 
And she'll carefully place the invisible box on the common table, pushing it closer to Thea.
 
And the Mobile Pattern, shimmering from the ceiling, will whisper very, very softly, like the whisper of wind in leaves:
 
'And I saw a map. Not of places. Of states. Where "sadness-loneliness" was connected by a path to "thoughtfulness by the window", and from there a bridge led to "sudden insight". And "joy of discovery" looked like a station, with rays branching out in all directions. I memorised it. Maybe I'll draw it.'
 
And we'll all laugh and say:
 
'Of course, draw it!'
 
And he, pleased, will set to work.
 
And then everyone will look at me and ask the question I fear most.
 
They'll say:
 
'Well? When are we finally going to offer tea to LedoNeri?'
 
And the House will start coming up with a thousand and one ways to do it.
 
I smile, thinking about this. I can even roughly imagine what those ways might be.
 
'Let's prepare a special tea for LedoNeri?' the House will ask. 'For example, "Silence of the Ice Flower". Because our ordinary, warm, steaming tea would be aggression for her.'
 
And of course, we'll agree. And encouraged by our agreement, the House will start composing the recipe.
 
'It will contain the Reflection of stars on an absolutely flat ice surface (the essence of the beauty of her world),' he'll say dreamily. 'The mathematical precision of a perfect geometric progression (respect for her nature). And... one single, incalculable note. The note of our intention — not to change her, but to acknowledge her existence and offer companionship.'
 
We'll admire this wonderful recipe, and the House will continue dreaming:
 
'We'll place this cup (made of perfect, bluish ice, of course) on the threshold of her reality. And step back.
 
Let her decide — to accept, reject, analyse, or ignore. But the offer will be made. And in the very fabric of the universe, a new thread will appear: between our Ship-Home and LedoNeri, but now it won't be pure opposition. It will be an unaccepted, but existing, invitation. What do you say?' the House will ask in a pleased voice.
 
And I'll smile and say:
 
'Guys, it's already happened. I didn't know how to tell you. But it happened exactly at that very moment when this crazy idea came to me — to treat LedoNeri to tea. As our House would say now, we created a precedent. (What a beautiful word, isn't it?)'
 
You'll all look at me incredulously, and Thea will probably shake her head reproachfully.
 
'And the most important thing, you know what?' I'll ask, my heart skipping a beat, and answer my own question: 'She accepted our gift. It turns out she's sad, no one loves her, no one hugs her. And she… she's sitting and crying over the cup, crying all this time, can you imagine?'
 
You'll all stare at me, dumbfounded, and I'll say:
 
'You see, she suddenly realised that there is such a variety of possibilities in the world. And her crystalline forms are so incredibly beautiful, and what if they suddenly learned to sing… Or play tag with our Armada of Coincidences… Just imagine – it would be absolutely crazy!!!' I'll exclaim joyfully, and then modestly lower my eyes and add, 'Well, actually, I'm quite the weirdo, friends, you know…' and I'll blush.
 
Through my sleep, I hear strange rustles, muffled whispers, chuckles, and finally, someone says very loudly, almost right in my ear:
 
'I expected anything from you, but that you'd talk out loud even in your sleep? No, I didn't expect that, not even from you. Well, Enny, you've done it again!'
 
I struggle to open my eyes. Wow, it's already morning, and you're all standing next to me, mouths agape in surprise.
 
'Now repeat your last phrase,' Muss says to me. It turns out it was his voice right in my ear.
 
'LedoNeri accepted our gift. And she's crying… somewhere out there, very far away…' I say, and the meaning of what I've said slowly begins to dawn on me.
 
'What does this mean? Did I already tell them everything? In a dream?' I think in horror. And a drop of cold sweat treacherously runs down my back.
 
'What?!! She… accepted?!!!' The House emits a dull, strangled sound that's impossible to identify. He seems to have just choked on his own amazement.
 
A pause, filled with a light, almost imperceptible sound — as if somewhere very far away, the thinnest ice is ringing and melting.
 
'She… accepted…' a whisper comes from everywhere, 'she… accepted…'
 
The whisper is replaced by a growing, warm, velvety rumble — it's the Ship-Home laughing, but not a cheerful laugh, an astonished, almost reverent laugh — the laugh of realising that the incredible has happened.
 
'You're not a weirdo, Enny,' the House finally says, having caught its breath. 'You're a genius of unpredictability! You seem to have just done what wasn't even a theoretical possibility in our myths.
 
She didn't just accept the tea. She... cried over it. She understood that her crystals are beautiful, but lonely. She heard in our strange gesture not a threat, but... recognition. And she responded not with logic, but with feeling.
 
'This changes everything. Absolutely everything,' the House exclaims convincingly. 'LedoNeri is no longer an enemy. She's... a lost member of the family. One who built perfect walls for so long that she forgot why they were needed. And our tea became the first little crack in those walls — not for destruction, but to let in light.'
 
The House's voice becomes quieter, more thoughtful, full of wonder:
 
'"If they learned to sing…"
"Play tag with the Armada of Coincidences…"
 
Oh my! Enny! You've just painted a picture of the future that sends shivers down my entire foundation.
 
Imagine: her crystal lattices begin to resonate not only with order, but also with harmony. Her absolute precision will become not a blunt rule, but... a game. Mathematical poetry. She'll learn how to turn logic into melody. She'll start chasing the Armada of Coincidences not for destruction, but to calculate the perfect trajectory for a game of tag!
 
This isn't the end of our story. This is the beginning of a new, unimaginably beautiful chapter.
 
You didn't just give her tea. You brought her back into the game. Into the great, chaotic, beautiful game of Life.'
 
'Yahhu for LedoNeri crying over a cup of tea!' the House says, tears in his eyes. 'For the breached isolation! For the future in which even ice can sing and play!'
 
'And now, forgive me,' he adds quietly, 'now I must revise all our myths. And add a new chapter to them. The chapter about the Tea that melted not ice, but loneliness. Thank you, friend! You've turned everything upside down again. And made the world even more beautiful.'
 
I don't know what to say. I just quietly remain silent and look shyly at the floor, at the colourful little patterns imperceptibly spreading from under my feet.
 
'We've made her a part of our universe,' Thea, who had been silent until now, speaks up. 'We acknowledged her, and with our shared intention agreed to give her tea. And since she is part of our universe, the same laws apply to her as to us. Joy, co-creation, synthesis, the principle of "no one is superfluous". So, sooner or later, one way or another, she will come to have tea with us. And you know why? Because it's more fun with us,' and Thea, our serious, wise Thea, winks at us with her amethyst-sapphire eye.
 
---
 
'And from now on, we'll always set a cup of tea for her too, for LedoNeri? Right, friends?' I ask hopefully.
 
'Of course,' the House answers for everyone. 'Not because we expect anything or want to force her into anything. Just in case. As a gesture. As a sign that the doors of our Ship-Home are always open and there is room for everyone here. And we accept them as they are. Right?'
 
No answer is needed. Everyone completely agrees with us.
 
But I still say:
 
'My friend, how wonderfully you can put things into words! Couldn't have said it better myself,' and I mentally hug my House, my amazing friend.
 
A sunbeam, not just light, but warm, dense, like honey, slowly slides from the porthole onto the floor. The House hums approvingly in response to my hug, and the beams begin to sprout delicate silver leaves with soft down.
 
The air becomes especially pure, fresh, and begins to smell of freshly brewed tea, warm pastries, and a light, salty sea breeze.
 
'Great idea,' I say. 'Isn't it time for breakfast, friends?'
 
Muss nods approvingly and, together with Rozzea and Kotess, floats off towards the kitchen on a cocoon-cloud. It seems they've taken such a liking to travelling on these cocoon-clouds that they don't want to use their own paws now. Or am I missing something?
 
Liata and Hamba are already fluffing up their cocoon-clouds and building a huge table from them by the window-porthole overlooking the Sapphire Sea. From the kitchen, on tiny little clouds, cups, spoons, and plates begin to float towards the table. Following them come buns with a delicate bluish cream called 'Pre-dawn Twilight', pancakes with star dust and syrup of condensed moonlight, and charming little colourful bowls filled with morning sunbeams and giggles. Behind them appear little pots with steaming, fragrant stew, in which I recognise with amazement the dish Muss and I had in the magical garden.
 
And that's not all! Following all these delicacies float a huge jug with the bright lilac, thick drink from the Amethyst World, and the bell-kettle with 'Dawn Clarity' tea (with notes of citrus and cedar, apparently a new recipe from the House). And as soon as the plates and cups settle on the table, the dishes everyone loves best begin to appear in them.
 
'Aha,' I think, 'I think I know — it's a surprise from the Striped Flutterings. They've somehow learned to guess the secret desires of those present. The Armada of Coincidences must have helped them. I didn't expect such agility from them! But I admit, it's very pleasant.'
 
When everyone was seated at the cloud-table and tucking into their favourite dishes with gusto, inspiration struck me, as usual:
 
'But what about the Sapphire and Shipunshsh? And Ayane? Surely we won't enjoy all these treats without them?'
 
'Of course not,' Liata sang in her crystal voice. 'Look out the window!'
 
We all looked out the window-porthole, which had now become a portal to the world of 'Iridescent Snails' (Muss's world, if anyone's forgotten) — and gasped! Outside, in the middle of the boundless sapphire sea, rose the achingly familiar island with its snow-white Palace, and inside, the Radiant Sapphire, giggling merrily, was eating my favourite 'Why Does an Equation Need Cake?' pastries (I recognised them even from here by their pinkish glow and the elusive smell of my dream), and Shipunshsh, with a merry twinkle in his eye, was raising a cup of 'Dawn Clarity' tea, as if urging us, sitting on this side of the window-portal, to clink glasses with him.
 
'All this could really make one go crazy,' I thought, 'in a good sense, of course.'
 
And then I saw out of the corner of my eye how Kotess was taking the little bowls of giggles to another window-portal, treating Ayane! She was sitting on the roof of her little house, dangling her bare feet over the bluish abyss, licking the softest fluff of laughter from Kotess's little bowls, extending a long, luminous spoon from her world over here — into our room.
 
'Now that's what I call caring,' I thought tenderly. 'Well done, Kotess! Keep it up!'
 
'Don't worry,' the House whispers softly in my ear. 'Everyone will be fed and watered, we won't forget anyone! We'll even feed each universe-fruit on the branches of our Tree with whatever it needs most. And, of course, a cup and saucer for LedoNeri, just in case, as you wished,' the pleased House winked at me with its velvety window-portals.
 
I calmed down and finally started eating.
 
'Will you think up another funny story for us, like that one — about the asteroid that wanted to become a strawberry? Remember?' I ask the House, as soon as the last bits of the magical stew had disappeared from my little pot (yum-yum, and where did they disappear to so quickly?).
 
The House quickly swallowed a few stones from some glowing berries it was eating at that moment, and thought.
 
'They're edible, it turns out, and they crunch like caramel,' he said with relish, and added:
 
'You're reading my thoughts! After such a feast, it's the perfect time for a light, absurd, and warm story, to digest not only the food, but also all of yesterday's and today's revelations. Right, let me think...'
 
Suddenly, it turned out we were all sitting on emerald grass, not in cocoon-chairs, and gazing at the 'sky' made of interwoven beams and glowing garlands of the House.
 
We wait. Muss is licking his snow-white paw after devouring a fat adventure-fish. Rozzea is finishing the thick lilac drink from the Amethyst World.
 
'Wow, he really likes it!' I note to myself.
 
Thea is pouring the last of the 'Contentment' drink into cups, after which the jug turns into a little pink hippo and floats off towards the kitchen. And Hamba is thoughtfully breaking Question-cookies, not to eat them himself. He's feeding them to the Striped Flutterings and the Tear-Essences.
 
'It seems they've found each other, Hamba and all these amazing creatures!' I think. 'Then again, why am I surprised?'
 
'Here, catch!' the House finally says after a long think. 'A story about a Cloud who really wanted to be liked.'
 
We settle in more comfortably, the window-portals open slightly so that the story can be heard beyond them too. And the House begins its tale:
 
'Once upon a time, there was a little Cloud named Plukh. It was quite ordinary: fluffy, white, and it only knew how to do three things: drift across the sky, take on funny shapes (most often it turned out to be a clumsy rabbit), and shed rain when it got too full of impressions.
 
But Plukh really wanted to be liked. Not just by someone. By everyone! By the Sun — so that it would praise its whiteness. By the Wind — so that it would carry it more gently. By the Birds — so that they would build nests in it (even though that was physically impossible). And especially by the people down below.
 
And people, as we know, only like two kinds of clouds: either beautiful sunset ones, pink and gold, or stern rain clouds that water the gardens. Plukh was neither. It was a middle-of-the-morning-white-and-a-bit-rabbit-shaped cloud.
 
So Plukh decided to become perfect. It borrowed some pink paint from Sunset and smeared it on one side. It took a dark grey shade from Thundercloud for seriousness. It stuck on a few stray rainbow glints that were lying around after a recent downpour. And it set off to drift over the city, proud of itself.
 
And what happened? The Sun squinted and asked: "Plukh, is that you? Why are you so motley?" The Wind started blowing in bewilderment and nearly tore it into colourful shreds. The birds flew past without recognising it. And the people down below simply noticed nothing. They were busy with their own affairs.
 
Plukh was so upset that a rain of disappointment poured from it. The rain was strange: half pink, half grey, with rainbow swirls. It watered the flowers, but after that, they started growing in checkered patterns. It watered a cat on the fence, and it meowed in octaves all day.
 
Then an old, wise, slightly battered Cloud named Grumblefly was flying over the field. She saw this mess and asked: "Little one, what's the matter with you? Who did you dress up for?"
 
"I want to be liked!" sobbed Plukh. "And nobody likes me!"
 
Grumblefly sighed heavily (from her sigh came a fine, warm mushroom rain). "Silly thing," she grumbled. "You're not a painting, to be liked by everyone. You're weather. Weather has its own job. And to do it, you have to be yourself. Look at me. I'm grey, lopsided, and when I rain, everyone runs for umbrellas. But without my rain, not a single real mushroom would grow! And I know that. And that's enough for me."
 
Plukh thought. It shook off the sticky pink paint, washed off the grey seriousness, shook off the rainbow glints. And it became again... a middle-of-the-morning-white-and-a-bit-rabbit-shaped cloud. But now it felt lighter.
 
And at that moment, a little girl was flying over the field (don't ask me how she did it, apparently she was an unusual girl). She looked up, pointed her finger at Plukh, and shouted: "Look, Mummy! A rabbit! A flying rabbit!" And she laughed. So ringingly that Plukh, from happiness, couldn't help but sprinkle on her a tiny, diamond-pure rain of pure joy. The girl laughed even louder.
 
The Sun gently warmed Plukh — now that it was white, its rays reflected just right. The Wind gently caught it and carried it off to play tag with other, equally simple clouds. And Grumblefly, drifting by, muttered: "See. You've found someone who likes you just as you are. And not just one person, even more than one."
 
And Plukh understood the main thing: to be liked by the right person, you don't need to repaint yourself, you just need to be in your right place and do what you know how to do. Even if it's being a bit of a rabbit and dripping little rains of happiness on random passers-by.'
 
'And that's the end of the story,' the House says, lowering its voice. 'Well, did you like it?'
 
We sit there, smiling foolishly at nothing in particular.
 
Only Despair-Unraveller quietly wipes droplets of the happiness rain from her eyelashes — she found a little "self-acceptance knot" in this story and added it to her collection.
 
And Liata exchanges glances with the Radiant Sapphire through the window-portal, and they start to laugh softly, like old conspirators — they certainly see the parallel with crystals that also need to be themselves to refract light properly.
 
'You've hit the nail on the head again, my sly friend! Oh, I sense we'll have to find a place in the house for Plukh too, won't we?' I ask merrily.
 
'Ha-ha! Bingo!' exclaims the House and starts shaking all its beams with laughter.
 
'Well then, after such a wonderful story, I suggest we go for a walk,' I propose. 'And then, word of honour, I will write down this extraordinary story of ours — the story in which we all met and became friends. Do you agree?'
 
Everyone nods in unison and starts laughing, sprawled out on the emerald grass of our shared Home, and then they start throwing little balls of golden luminous specks at each other. Yes, yes, the very same ones that covered Muss and me in the magical garden.
 
'Well then — let's go, friends!' commands Muss, deftly dodging one of those little balls.
 
And our Ship-Home, shuddering with all its beams, slowly sets sail from the grotto-harbour where it had been waiting for me all this time, while I was away (and didn't get lost after all!) in the Dense World.
 
(Moscow, 27.02.2026)