//------------------------------//
// Imitation is the Greatest Form of Flattery 
// Story: Finding Peace 
// by Daniel-Gleebits 
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Imitation is the Greatest Form of Flattery


Despite her earnest efforts to help out with the daily chores (when she felt like it), Sonata rarely awoke until far passed sunrise. Sunset on the other hand was rarely outpaced by the morning, and was up and about making the house ready as the sun’s face rose drowsily over the shimmering horizon. Sunset was somewhat surprised this morning, therefore, to find Sonata up and about when she arrived back from gathering wood for the cooking fire.
“Good morning,” Sonata trilled cheerfully. “Sleep well?”
“As well as I ever did,” Sunset said, limping slightly over to the tall urn that held fire wood. “What, may I ask, are you up to?”
With what Sunset made out to be a partially burnt stick, Sonata seemed to be making a series of markings along one wall. Sunset didn’t really mind that she was doing this, but she was rather curious as to the reason.
“Well, we finished doing the inside of your house,” Sonata explained. “I thought I’d do up the inside of it a little too, since we have some extra paint.”
Sunset raised her eyebrows. “That’s a thought,” she said quietly. “I’d never considered decorating the interior before.” She smiled, placing a hand on Sonata’s shoulder. “Well, it’s our house now, anyway. I look forward to the results.”
Sonata’s face flushed with pleasure. “I promise it’ll look great. You’ve done so much for me, and I don’t feel like I’ve done anything to repay you for it.”
“As surprised as I am to say it,” Sunset began sardonically. “Your company is entirely worth it. That, and your half of the chores.”
Sonata grinned. 





Having finished breakfast and the morning work, Sunset sat down to her morning meditation. Noting that her skin pigmentations were faded enough to necessitate their being reapplied, she took a moment to retrieve a crude, flattish box, inside of which was the liquid dye. As she sat before a disc of polished metal, steadily applying the dye under her eyes, she perceived a blue smudge in the background behind her reflection. Looking over her shoulder, she found that Sonata was kneeling behind her, peering with apparent interest at the box. Upon asking if she needed anything, Sunset was made to feel somewhat disquieted by Sonata’s request that she use the skin dye as well.
“Might I ask why?” Sunset asked, trying to hide her initial feelings of disapproval.
“Just to see what it’s like, I guess,” Sonata said, a little evasively.
Sunset repressed a frown. Some might have questioned why Sunset felt an almost defensive anxiety in regards to this request, but Sunset would not have been disposed towards giving an answer had they done so. At length, and giving in to a mild deception, she was able to explain the significance of the markings, and how it really wasn’t appropriate for Sonata to wish to have them on a mere whim. Sonata eventually seemed to take the hint, and asked no further.
Although made ill-at-ease by the interaction, Sunset’s clever mind managed to quickly work its way through to a pleasing conclusion that set her at ease. 
It could have been any number of reasons for Sonata to ask she thought. Boredom, caprice, curiosity, or even empathy. She might have seen it as a compliment to Sunset herself, and whilst Sunset did not feel that she deserved it any such attention, she could at least appreciate the gesture of it, and why Sonata felt like she should make it. Sunset just wished that she didn’t, but she understood that her personal wishes could not stop reality being what it was.
This, unfortunately, was not the end of Sunset’s agitations that day. Within an hour of setting herself at ease with her inner perambulations, she began to develop an ongoing headache, that worsened throughout the day. At times it throbbed, putting her off her activities and causing her to become distracted. Whilst retrieving stored food from the shed, she became slightly disorientated by the sun’s light and heat, causing her to accidentally crush several vegetables she had intended to use for dinner that night. Groaning and muttering all the while, she made her way to the garden, only to find Sonata there, seated in the shadows of the tree-line that formed one edge of the loose square of crops. Using the polished metal disc that Sunset had used that morning, Sonata was staring closely at her reflection, doing something or other with her hair. It took Sunset a few seconds to realise that Sonata was twisting her deep azure locks into thin braids. Braids rather like Sunset’s own. 
Sunset’s head gave an angry pulse, and she turned away, deciding to gather the plants later.

Deciding that she didn’t feel well enough to do any of the things she wanted to do that morning, Sunset retired to the house to try and sleep off her ill-feelings. To her disappointment, she awoke from an uneasy nap sometime in the early afternoon to find that not only had her head not stopped hurting, but also that she now felt somewhat off balance, as though she’d hit her head or blown her eardrums. Whilst she tried to get her bearings, she noticed through the doorway that someone was sitting just outside the house. For a moment, uneasiness and fear dragged gentle claws against the bottom of her stomach, imagining some stranger chancing upon her refuge whilst she was in this pitiable and wretched condition. Then her vision became defined enough to realise that the figure was a familiar, blue person.
Without the energy, and thus without the inclination, to speak or move, Sunset merely watched Sonata for a moment before realising what it was she was doing. 
Seated on the opposite side of Sunset’s small altar, Sonata seemed to be staring with unusual concentration at the cluster of idols arranged on its surface. For a little while, it seemed as though she was simply content to sit there contemplatively, doing whatever it is Sonata did when thinking. Sunset found the hanging braids on Sonata’s head distracting. And then Sonata did something that made Sunset’s stomach churn with unease.
Raising both hands, she set them either side of her, rather as Sunset did when she meditated, even arranging the fingers the same way. In the midst of apparently trying to get the position right, she caught Sunset’s gaze upon her, and ceased what she was doing before smiling and moving quickly away.

When Sunset finally felt awake enough to get out of bed, she was determined to go in search of Sonata and find out exactly what was going on . Sunset didn’t want to seem paranoid, but it seemed to her that Sonata was copying her. If that was so, then...
Sunset trembled a little.
The afternoon light seemed to burn her retinas. Her already sluggish and irritable brain sank deeper into agitation as her head pounded. At that moment she would gladly have traded all of her medical knowledge for a headache cure.
Taking a deep drink of water, she looked around to see if she could spot Sonata anywhere in the general vicinity. No such luck; her distinctive blue skin and hair was absent from the yellow-orange landscape all around. On a hunch, she made for the watering hole, cursing every inch as the very thudding of her steps seemed to make her brain jolt inside her head. Her bandaged foot alone seemed to remain cool as she made her way across the sandy, pebbly plain. Was it just her, or was the day unusually hot?
After what seemed like an unusually long time, she reached the outcrop of the hammer strike that formed the oasis, and was at first glad to see that Sonata was indeed there. But she had to admit that, at first, she was at a loss to understand exactly what Sonata was doing.
Sunset possessed a number of small knives, which she used mainly in either cooking, or fashioning of her medicines, and occasionally in her building projects. In Sonata’s hand was one such knife, and in the other a piece of wood. Sonata had some surprising talent for carving, since Sunset could immediately tell what it was she was making.
“Stop that,” she said sharply. “What are you doing?”
Sonata spun around, dropping the knife guiltily. “W-What?” she yelped in surprise.
“Why are you making that?” Sunset asked, pointing shakily at the figure in Sonata’s hand.
Sonata looked at her creation doubtfully. “It’s one of your little idol things,” she said uncertainly.
“Why are you making it?” Sunset repeated. Before Sonata could answer, Sunset went on. “Why have you braided your hair like mine?”
“I just—“
“I saw you at the altar,” Sunset went on, the heaviness in her chest and throbbing in her head spurring on her anger. 
“I wasn’t doing anyth—“ Sonata began, blushing. She stopped as her eyes met Sunset’s. She looked down at the floor, tugging on one of the braids as though suddenly guilty of them. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said meekly. “I just wanted to see what it was like. They look so nice on you, and—“
Sunset’s insides clenched, her jaw tightening. Without a word, she turned away, desiring nothing more than to get away from Sonata right then. It made her feel sick and tired. She needed to sleep again. Oh, how had she not noticed how tired she still was?
“Sunset!” Sonata called.
“Go away,” Sunset muttered, clutching her pounding head, not even noticing herself listing to one side and then the other as she walked back to the house. Slow as this progress was, Sonata managed to quickly catch up.
“Did I do something wrong?” Sonata asked. “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I’ll undo the braids if it makes you feel better.”
“You haven’t,” Sunset said huskily, trying to keep the glaring sun out of her eyes. “You haven’t done... it’s not...”
“Sunset, what’s wrong?” Sonata asked with a sudden urgency. 
“Nothing,” Sunset said a little testily. ‘Nothing, I’m just... going to bed, I—“
Sonata stepped in front of her. “Sunset, you look really ill.”
“Get off!” Sunset snapped, slapping away Sonata’s outstretched hand. “Put your hair back right!” she slurred, her jaw locking up. “Don’t copy me!  You shouldn’t—You don’t understand what you—” She couldn’t get her words out. They mingled and tripped in her mouth, falling from her lips without reason or rhyme. “You deserve better,” she managed to say, pressing her trembling hands to her eyes.
“Sunset!?” Sonata gasped. “Sunset, your foot!”
“Anyone deserves better,” Sunset went on, oblivious to Sonata’s words. 
“Oh gods, Sunset!” Sonata cried, although oddly muffled. It sounded to Sunset as though her ears had been stuffed full of cork. If her head hadn’t been hurting so much, she might have noticed the sudden impairment in her balance. But she didn’t. Pain and disorientation boxed her thoughts down into the painful, thimble-sized node of concentration on what she feared. 
“You deserve better than to be me,” Sunset said. Or perhaps she only thought it.
The next thing she knew was that, somehow, the ground was now to the side of her, the world having turned ninety degrees around. This struck her as slightly odd, although not as odd as the hazy, tunnel-like quality her vision was taking on. The world momentarily vanished, and all she could see was a yellow disc surrounded by whiteness. And in the centre, a blue face with wide magenta eyes, speaking. Although what this face was shouting at her, Sunset couldn’t quite hear. She wondered whether it would be worth trying to listen harder, just in case it was something important. Coming to the point however, she found that she didn’t care very much about it at the moment.