With a dull, heavy pain in his head, Dill opened his eyes. It seemed that he had not dreamed, nor had he been relieved of his fatigue. However, he did not feel like going back to sleep.
Dill sat up. He was in his own bedroom, at home. The light breaking in through the window illuminated the floorboards, but he saw nothing else of note.
Next to Dill on the bed was Sid, lying in the spot where Cirulia would usually be found sleeping. The boy’s body was entirely covered in bandages, stained with blood in several places. Dill’s own condition was not too different. Beside the double bed was an old cooking pot that had not been used in quite some time, but now it was full of Dill and Sid’s blood-soaked bandages someone had changed for Dill and Sid.
Dill got out of bed. The boy, who lay breathing inaudibly with a pained expression, did not show any signs of awakening.
Entering the living room, Dill found Cirulia. She sat at a desk with forehead resting on top of her folded hands, looking like a cold statue of bronze.
Finally, Dill broke the silence. “I have something to talk to you about.”
“...Sit down.” It turned out Cirulia was awake. Dill did not sit down. “Don’t you even have time to rest your legs?” she said.
“I’m going to get Nue back.” There was a pause in the conversation, and neither of them moved. Cirulia, who had kept her face turned down, did not look up at Dill.
After a moment, Cirulia finally spoke. “I often think to myself: when in my life was I happiest?” Her voice was unnaturally bright. “When Iris was born, I was happy. Before that, when we lived together with Apollo and Maria, all four of us in one house, was fun and lively too. Of course, I like Nue as well. I really do. She may be noisy and spoiled, but she’s surprisingly thoughtful in spite of that... Not only do I like her, I probably love her. Enough that it’s not important that we aren’t related by blood.”
Dill did not respond. By his silence, he encouraged Cirulia to continue.
“But more than anyone else...I loved you, Dill Steel-Link.” Cirulia raised her head. Having nursed Dill and Sid through the night, crying all the while, her eyes were swollen with dark bags underneath. Her ruined festival makeup, which she’d had no time to wash off, was still smeared across her face—proof of her devotion. It seemed Cirulia had done nothing for herself; the bandage Dill had wrapped around her head the previous night was still there, untouched. Dill had dressed her wound with far less skill than she had dressed his—her bandage had come almost completely loose and sagged down to her brow. Around the back of her head where her wound was located, blood had coagulated in her milky-white hair, making it stick up as though she’d just gotten out of bed.
“For me, the peak of my happiness was the moment I was wed to you, a washed-up actor... We were poor, with no prospects for our future; we lived in a slum; and back then you were still a grouchy, disagreeable fellow, and not even very kind...but once in a while you were kind, despite that. I was foolish, and I was happy with that. The time we lived together, just the two of us, was the happiest time in my life...” Her eyes sparkled as she looked at Dill. Those were eyes that were longing for the past. Although she faced Dill, she was not truly looking at him.
Dill did not respond. He didn’t even indicate that he was listening. He knew he had no right to say anything, and he knew how much he had forced Cirulia to sacrifice in the years leading up to this day.
The light vanished from Cirulia’s eyes. “Dill. I have a favor to ask. Let’s break up. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t go on waiting, worrying if you’ll come home or not.” Dill gritted his teeth and looked down—looking for a way out. During his silence, Cirulia went on. “This isn’t a threat, you understand. I’m not asking you to give up on Nue for me. I mean, even if I did, you’d still go to save her, wouldn’t you?” Cirulia smiled coldly. A fragment of a convulsive, hysterical laugh broke through her calmness, but her pride immediately suppressed it. Cirulia Steel-Link was a truly proud woman. And yet, in spite of this, in the next moment her grief escaped in paroxysms, as her composure finally crumbled.
“...Did I fail you by never bearing you a child?” Cirulia came closer to Dill, holding out her hands to him like she was begging for mercy—and then she drew them back suddenly, as if shocked by static electricity, and buried her face in them. “I just don’t know anymore,” said Cirulia, sobbing. “Dill...I love you. More than anyone.”
Dill extended a hand to lay it on Cirulia’s shoulder. She raised her head again. “Never show me your face again,” she said. She then pulled her ring from her thin, sinewy finger, the skin on her hands in tatters from too much soap, and slammed it down on the desk. The last flecks of nail polish from yesterday’s manicure chipped from her nails and fell to the ground.
Dill picked up Cirulia’s ring—the first ring he had ever given her, a cheap bauble whose gold plating had long since worn off. Then for a moment, he reflected with a sense of regret that if he could do his life over, he ought not to adopt any children at all, but instead he should simply live together with this woman, just the two of them.
“...I promise I’ll rescue Nue and come back to you. Then we can try one more time...”
“Don’t you dare! Do you still intend to be so cruel, giving me false hope?!” Cirulia grasped at Dill, and then after they had stared at each other for a moment, she turned her face away and burst into tears. “Just leave.”
In the end, that’s just what Dill did.