Like dandelions blooming under a clear blue sky, she thought in a haze.
His eyes slowly widened, until she recognized the emotion as something resembling pain.
Why…?
She wanted to ask him why, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open. She slipped into unconsciousness.
They were sitting in a carriage.
Little Brigitte was sitting across from her father. She wanted to watch the scenery outside, but it had been drizzling since morning, and each time the horses took a step down the muddy road, the carriage wheels rattled violently. Her father had forbidden her from leaning out the window.
She had turned five that day.
When children turned five, they went to the shrine for the contracting ceremony. For Brigitte, the ceremony was far more special than her birthday.
“I wonder what spirit will come to meet me?”
She had asked the question many times over the past week. Her father smiled wryly, and her mother smiled faintly.
The day was frigid, but the inside of the carriage was warm and cozy, thanks to her father’s fire magic. She had waited so long for this day when she, too, would begin learning to make miracles with her own spirit. Would it be a fire-breathing salamander? Or maybe a powerful ifrit? How she longed to see a peri, with its human face. And jack-o’-lanterns must be adorable.
Her father seemed pleased to hear her reciting the names of spirits in a singsong chant.
“Brigitte, you just might be a child genius.”
“I wanna be a…a spitolologist, Father!” she answered proudly.
Her father often told her that she was gifted for such a young child. But when she tried to talk to him more about spirits, he told her he was too busy and shut himself in his study, which made her a little sad.
He said he wanted her to contract with an ifrit, like himself, or with a salamander, like her mother. But Brigitte thought she would be happy with any spirit. All she wanted was to have a spirit for a friend.
But what if…?
“What if I become friends with the Legendary Spirit?”
Her mother looked curiously at her excited daughter.
“The Legendary Spirit? You mean the spirit in The Wind Laughs?”
“Mm-hmm!”
She nodded enthusiastically. The beautiful spirit the sylphide had told Lien Baluanuki about had never been seen in the human world, which was why people called it the Legendary Spirit. The only evidence that it might exist were Lien’s notes and drawings.
A legendary spirit that no one had ever seen.
People called it a figment of imagination, and yet they dreamed about it and hoped for it. Just the thought of it sent so much love welling up inside Brigitte that she wanted to shout out loud.
What child didn’t?
As she wiggled excitedly in her seat, her father coughed.
“By the way, do you remember the man we met before we got in the carriage?”
“Yes, Father!”
“When we get home, we will have an important conversation with him.”
“Mm-hmm!” Brigitte smiled and nodded, although she hadn’t been listening.
“Darling, don’t you think it’s still too early for Brigitte…?”
“He has requested it, so what’s the harm? It’s a chance to bring excellent blood into our line.”
Brigitte smiled happily, never imagining that her beloved father would soon be burning her hand in the fire.
“…And the spirit contracted with the earl’s daughter, Brigitte Meidell, is…a no-name.”
As the priest announced her spirit, whispers rushed through the crowd, while Brigitte stood silently in the center of the storm. She was surprised—but not shocked. A no-name. A tiny spirit. People made fun of them, saying the weak little spirits floating in the atmosphere were the dregs of other spirits.
I’m still happy.
But what would her father and her mother say? Even little Brigitte understood that the earl and countess expected their eldest child to contract with one of the most powerful spirits. But they were kind; they would still be satisfied.
With that belief in her heart, she turned timidly around.
In her father’s face, she saw only despair.
“…Brigitte. You…”
She couldn’t hear what he said. Maybe he didn’t say anything; she wasn’t sure. All she did know was that he did not praise her. He did not call her a child genius.
Her memories of what happened after that were increasingly vague.
No sooner had the carriage stopped than her father pulled her out—dragged her out, really. The light rain created dark dots across her best dress, and her hair became damp.
When she got into the drawing room, her father shoved her left arm into the blazing hearth—burning her flesh away with searing pain.
She cried and begged for forgiveness. But instead of forgiving her, her father tightened his grip. Her whole arm felt like it was screaming, but the pain on the back of her hand was so intense she thought she was going crazy.
Her mother did not save her. She was standing in a daze behind her father, as if she didn’t know what to do.
Several servants ran up to them; one tried to stop him, but her father punched him with all his might.
Worthless! Good-for-nothing! Sluggard! Useless, useless, useless, useless!
Her father was screaming the same words over and over, insane with rage.
Whenever her father used difficult words, Brigitte used to look them up in the dictionary so she could understand them the next time. She wanted him to praise her. But she didn’t want to find those words in the dictionary. She knew what they meant, even though she didn’t want to. That was the most horrible part.
Father doesn’t need me anymore.
“I’m sorry. Please forgive me, Father.”
But her father would not forgive her for contracting with a tiny spirit.
The fire raged hotter, and the screams grew. Her own sobs mixed with their voices.
That was when it happened.
She felt like someone grabbed her right hand, which was dangling limply by her side. The hand that took hers was about the same size—a child’s hand.
I thought I imagined it.
Yet in the nightmares that repeated themselves dozens, then hundreds of times, the sensation grew gradually clearer.
She was fed up with herself for clinging to a convenient fantasy. She despised the weakness that made her want to distort reality. There was no one to save her. No one was on her side. So she thought—but…
I…I think I know this hand.
Letting the sensation pull her upward, she slowly opened her eyes.