Every candidate except for Carolina and myself leaped into action, casting spells of purification. Their magic, however, was low in power; it merely skimmed the surfaces of their tanks, gingerly probing the peculiar mud, testing the extent of its resistance to cleansing. Their cautious approach stood in stark contrast to Carolina, who clasped her hands in solemn prayer, a stance reserved for moments of divine supplication. Her intent was clear: to purify the entire tank in one fell swoop and retrieve the pendant nestled within its depths. It was a bold and impudent move, one that was so like her. (Though I had to admit if I had the same amount of power at my disposal, I’d most certainly act in a similar manner.)
I’ve already lost, haven’t I? This bleak thought crossed my mind as I turned to face my own tank. A sharp, piercing pain wracked my lungs and heart with each breath. Clenching my teeth against the agony, I extended my right hand towards the glass, the numbness in my arm turning this simple movement into an ordeal.
Carolina had threefold the amount of points I possessed. It seemed an insurmountable gap even if I somehow managed to pull off a flawless performance in this third and final trial. That second trial had secured her more than enough of the points she needed to triumph. Anything that I or the other candidates managed to accomplish with our purification spells would amount to nothing but a consolation prize. But even then, I had to best her. If not overall, then at least in this last trial! Perhaps I was no longer able to strip Carolina of her Sainthood, but I could at least strip her of an accolade—I would not let her sweep through these trials completely undefeated.
This futile goal resounded meaninglessly even within my own mind. Had my quest for retribution been reduced to nothing but this? Yet what choice remained? My life was dwindling away by the minute, perhaps even by the second. If there was any hope of finding another opportunity to exact my revenge, I would have withdrawn from this doomed competition to bide my time. But this was all that was left to me—a handful of desperate breaths. And I will spend each one striving to diminish Carolina’s glory, even if only by a fraction.
I had become a caricature of the woman I once had been. “The perfect lady”? What a joke. Now I was nothing more than a failure—a shameless, laughable failure, so utterly consumed by a pathetic quest for revenge that had become an exercise in futility. And yet there was no one around to dissuade me from my course, no one to prevent me from hurling myself into the abyss. Could I cleanse the tank with a single, powerful spell, challenging Carolina just one more time? Perhaps, but such an act would surely cost me my life. Then so be it. I marshaled the last vestiges of my strength, channeling it towards my trembling fingertips.
“I’ll be seeing you soon, Mother,” I murmured, my voice unnaturally calm for someone about to face death. Her image crystallized in my mind, her warm smile so vivid it almost bridged the gap between memory and reality. As the spell surged from me, a chilling numbness enveloped my body, followed by an unexpected tranquility. I watched as the magic took hold; the mud in the water shimmered, converged into a single point at the center of the tank, and vanished. In its stead, a pendant with a rose engraving materialized, gracefully drifting through the clear water to rest on the bottom of the tank.
How beautiful, I thought, my eyes tracing its slow descent. I intended to stoop gently, to retrieve the pendant and declare a final, hollow victory, but agony struck like lightning. A sharp, stabbing pain buckled my knees, and I collapsed to the ground. My mouth gaped open as if to scream, but no sound emerged. Instead of my voice, I felt a wet, uncomfortable warmth, expelled in the form of a coughing fit and dark crimson stains on my hands and garments. The acrid stench of iron assaulted my nostrils, the sound of someone else’s screaming echoing over the ringing in my ears. My limbs convulsed, unresponsive, and my lungs refused to inflate.
Everything ached. I could feel my body failing, my heart frantically making its last feeble attempts to sustain life. Around me, I could dimly sense that the stage had erupted into chaos, yet none of it reached me; my mind was fixed on a single, mesmerizing thought: This is it. I’m finally going to see Mother again.
As darkness crept into the edges of my vision, I reached a trembling hand towards the water tank before me.
“Flora!”
I lifted my eyes. Carolina stood over me, her face twisted in anguish, tears threatening to spill. My gaze shifted reflexively to her tank; its waters were crystal clear, and her pendant floated gently within.
Hah, I scoffed in my mind. So in the end, that vexing brat chose me over victory.
Foolish. Foolish to the very end. Now you’ve done it. Now you’ve lost your glory.
With a spasmodic jerk, I plunged my hand into the cool, clear water, grasped the pendant, and raised it triumphantly above my head. “I’ve snatched victory from your hands, sister!” The water diluted my blood and dribbled down my arm in a macabre stream. I mustered a defiant grin, feeling a surge of triumph, then a final wave of euphoria. Now I could depart this world without regrets.
Darkness enveloped me completely. The pendant slipped from my weak grasp. I heard it clatter to the floor.
“Flora! Are you okay?! Flora!!!”
Silence, you infuriating woman. She’d even dared to grab me by the shoulders. I couldn’t even muster the strength to shrug her off, as my body no longer seemed to be obeying my commands. This vessel was exhausted, yet it had endured—through powerful spell after powerful spell, all while under the strain of the Forbidden Technique, right up until this final trial. What more could I have asked of it? Though I’d failed to secure my Sainthood, I had won the richer prize—an early reunion with my mother.
Oh, dear Mother. I’ll be with you soon. Just wait for me a moment longer.
“No... No! You can’t die! Flora! You can’t leave me and Father!”
Was she still speaking, that cursed girl? And praying for my life at that? I hope I die. I hope I die right here in your arms and haunt your dreams forever, so don’t give me that. Don’t sob over me with such genuine sorrow and panic as if you might genuinely mourn my departure.
How dare you offer me your sympathy! Or is this merely your final ploy to infuriate me in my last moments by evoking memories of Mother? Her kindness, her grace, her compassion...
Go to hell, Carolina.
As my consciousness poured away, I felt a profound loathing that seared through me, and then in a stark juxtaposition, a steady, enveloping warmth.