As Benedictine was about to fade from the world, Belle clung to her for dear life. And she was able to say the words. The words of good-bye that she’d never forgotten, that she had known since the day she was born…
“…Bye bye, Benedictine.”
With a boundlessly transparent smile, Benedictine expressed that she understood their meaning. And with that final image, Belle’s consciousness was snatched away by intoxication and drowsiness, fading into darkness.
Ring…
The O’crock chimed, marking the lime-green hour. Belle awoke, enveloped by the scent of freshly laundered sheets that had hung in the sunlight for a long time to dry. It had been quite a while since the last time she felt wide awake as soon as she opened her eyes.
She sat up, looking around the room. She glanced at Runding, which had fallen off the bed and sank into the floorboards, and noticed the long shirt that was hanging off its grip. She looked down at her body.
Her skin was unblemished.
It was just like what she’d heard in Sherry’s room once. All things with form retrace the memories of their original nature and are reborn, regaining a youth and an innocence without losing the experience and memory they accumulated.
Her skin was as smooth and untouched as that.
And then she caught a whiff of the smell of purifying sacred wine from the sheets. Belle looked around again. The tea set on the bedside table was gone, as was the lamp on the table. The crystals Benedictine had carried were nowhere to be seen, and the bedding was dry and spotless, as if they’d been cleaned and purified like Belle’s body.
Belle put on the shirt hanging off Runding and hopped toward the dining room, feeling refreshed. The cutlery had been washed and placed near the sink. The cactus ashes she used to brush her teeth were closed in their box, too. The dining table had nothing on it, of course.
Belle stood there for a moment, resigned, but then remembered. She awkwardly bent over in front of the fridge and opened it, finding a few bundles of parchments, and broke out in laughter.
She undid one, finding it was full of lotus fruit. Besides that, there were bundled stalks, a tuft of pease fruit, lotus bee honeycomb, and assorted herbs. Each and every one had been wrapped with care. Belle chuckled.
“That girl… All she left me was food.”
Some spiteful part of her thought that was definitely something Benedictine would do.
If only you weren’t such a glutton, she heard from a voice coming from somewhere. Even you can make something like this.
“…I’ll try,” Belle whispered into the void as she closed the fridge.
She then drew every curtain in the room and opened the bedside window wide. Squinting in the bright light, she stretched, feeling the pleasant breeze.
“Thank you.” She smiled softly. “I really am grateful.”
She lingered on the feeling surging up within her. For the first time in her life, Belle had a friend. A friend with whom she’d only spent a short time, with which she exchanged barbs and sympathies and a deep understanding, and a friend who had given her life for her. She had sensed her—this maiden of water—this Mermaid’s fate to rely on others for her personality, willingly accepted that fate, and drunk the dark poison in Belle’s stead before leaving this world.
She was a true friend, and that clear conviction filled Belle’s heart with warmth. A pure, relieved sort of sorrow filled her heart, like what she went through purified even the painful guilt she would have normally felt.
A rightful position is given through wrongdoing…, the Guidance whispered within Belle, as if profoundly affirming this feeling. The justice within one’s heart gains its rightful position and, in attempting to avoid duty in vain, embraces wrongdoing…
Belle gripped the O’crock hanging over her chest. Outside her window, there was a blue expanse so wide she felt like she could dive into it. It was just like a sky she’d once seen before. She sat there, letting time pass by. She shed no tears. They remained brimming in her eyes, drifting to the bottom of her heart.
So that someday we will tell each other of our respective journeys…
Benedictine had said this in prayer, before departing to the inner world. And so long as Belle hung on to those words, she wouldn’t doubt herself even after she departed on her own Journey. Confirming this with herself, Belle spent that day in peace.
After noon, Kitty the Nothing finally appeared in the room, and Belle took the chance to try cooking the lotus fruit just like Benedictine had taught her. She couldn’t get the same complex flavors, but it turned out well enough. Belle ate it, feeling a sense of wistful nostalgia, while Kitty chewed on it with his usual expressionless face. She usually had to doubt if he could tell the food apart from the utensils it was served in, but—
“Delicious, isn’t it?”
When Belle asked that, Kitty looked down at his meal with what appeared to be agreement. Maybe he just happened to look down at that moment and meant nothing by it, but Belle was happy just the same.
Belle herself was used to this inexplicable little guest and quite fond of him. He was a strange guest who always seemed to disappear somewhere come nightfall, only to return with the sun.
And so a few days passed. Peaceful, tranquil days. Just as Belle thought Guinness or others might come check on her, it appeared.
They usually arrived during mornings or dusk. While Belle looked out the window, she saw an unexpected bird flower had landed, blooming on her windowsill. She instantly froze up. She hadn’t even read the contents of its letter but stopped in her tracks when she saw its black wings.
“A raven flower…?!”
It sat there, a short message wrapped in its black petals, waiting for Belle to pick it up. Belle read the message in a daze. It spoke concisely of the death of an old, veteran Solist. His name: Ginbuck. The underdog Conductor Belle had worked alongside when they fought Tiziano in the battle for the Catacombs.
To be continued in Volume 3.