The sounds of a Debussy piano concerto interspersed with the ratcheting click of a wrench. The scent of oil, coolant, and fuel promises a future of speed and performance. Nostrils flare slightly as the Stojespal girl takes it in; it's more than a simple measure of a moment. It's the culmination of a plan, the quiet finale of a dream - and the realization of a tribute. A moment like this shouldn't go unremembered, as she takes in the gleaming white and black machine.

    Salvaged from a nearby lake, its prior owner having far less sense than money, Rusalka had spent most of the last year rebuilding it from the ground up. The irony of drawing and reforging the speed machine from the water, with her name, was something she very deliberately chose not to consider. This was no tradition-saddled thing, no centuries-old tale to be remembered. This was striking out and carving a new future, on her own terms. And it was -

    //For you, papa. I proved you right.//

    Of course she had, really. The idea of failure had never entered her mind except as a concept to be laughed at; she did not give herself permission to give up on this. And now, standing at the finish line and gazing proudly at the Ferrari before her, the ghost of the idea evaporates completely.

    "Kometa," she said. A christening, a holy name known only to the two of them. She pulls her gloves off, then runs one hand delicately along the roofline as if to stroke a pet...or a child. "Aagh, I should change. It is late," she admitted, glancing at the clock. "But this hour...no one will be on the roads. So open, even the police will be quiet tonight. As if they could catch you."

    They could try, though she rather hoped not. The lights and sound spoiled what should have been a proper duet, her soul and the engine's howl. But they must do what they must do, and so must she - if that comes into conflict, well, they will go easily upon a Stojespal heiress. A minor fine at best, and the money went back into the town anyway...if anyone bothered. Or if there even were police in some of those new places she was planning on going. Of course, there would be the taciturn speech from her mother, but it would hardly be the first.

    It didn't take long to leave the coveralls behind and dress properly for the road before she was back at the Ferrari's side, taking one last deep breath before diving in. Barely settled, she thumbs the ignition, drawing a snarl from the sportscar's engine that promises much. "Are you ready? Let's go!" And like the hammer of a pistol, her foot drops to the gas pedal - the snarl becomes a roar and the Ferrari launches from the garage into the night.

    The last year had been productive, she thought, shifting gears with a fingertip as alchemy happened and gasoline became joy. Joy, mixed with curiosity - the Vines that had drawn her home to the rest of the worlds of the World Tree called to her like no other. Special routes, ones perhaps shrouded in ancient myths. Byways of the lost, to get from places that might have been real to places that might not. As much as she eschewed her family's traditional ways, old and sodden in myth that they were, she couldn't help but admit maybe there was something to them.

    And there were ways to move between them, ways she'd learned over the last year. Experiments, racing lines, speed tests; the Vines between worlds had their own particulars and she'd learned them well. Tonight was a time to celebrate, she decided, and to make a mark upon those worlds she could reach. Fresh Pirelli rubber, laid down in the turns when the duet of her soul and the eight thousand RPM note of the engine was joined by the sound of tires across what passed for pavement.

    It was a singular night, a once-in-a-lifetime moment. A holy night, as something new was born into the world. There was a special smile among the afterlife that night as well. A dream fulfilled, that he had given the girl - one of many, to be sure, but an important first step. The others would be simple, and fall soon.