Taurus Jupiter's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

The townspeople filled her house slowly, tracking mud across floors she'd swept that morning. They touched the walls, ran fingers over curtains, settled onto chairs with the caution of people who expected traps. Taurus moved between them, answering questions, offering tea. But outside, someone had stayed behind. Through the window, she saw the first flame catch on the scarecrow's sleeve. The fire spread fast, climbing the straw body until the whole monument blazed against the dark. The woman with the broken toy turned from where she'd been examining a painting. "They're burning it," she said quietly. "The ones who think you're wrong." Taurus walked to the door and stepped out. Heat washed over her face as the scarecrow collapsed into ash. The rusted trailer sat untouched beside it, but the message was clear—someone wanted to erase what she'd invited these people past. She heard footsteps behind her. The townspeople had followed her out, crowding onto the steps. They stood silent, watching the embers glow. She turned to face them. "That scarecrow was yours," Taurus said. "You built it to test me. Now someone's trying to decide for you what it meant." The woman held the purple toy tighter. "What do we do?" Taurus gestured back toward her house, then beyond it to the building she'd noticed when she first arrived—a structure with mirrors that caught moonlight and threw it back in patterns. "We don't rebuild monuments to pain. We build something new. There's space enough in that hall for everyone who wants to learn what comfort actually teaches." One by one, they nodded. The woman set the broken toy on the steps and walked toward the mirrored building. Others followed. Taurus stayed on the threshold, watching them choose, and knew she'd won something more valuable than agreement—she'd won their willingness to try.