“Where...am I?”
In my fourth year as a receptionist, on a bright morning I’d expect to be just like any other, I’d woken up bright and early for another day, ready to prepare to go to work—or, at least, that is what I’d been planning on doing, but I’ve found myself standing in some random person’s yard, too petrified with surprise to move.
I look down. I’m not wearing anything on my feet. This is weird. Very weird. I turn round and round as I try to figure out where, exactly, I’ve ended up this morning. Okay, so there’s a fountain over there. This yard—garden, that is—is actually rather large. Look at all those flowers blooming over here! And then there’s this huge mansion in front of me. It’s as big and fancy as a castle... but at the same time, it’s not intimidating. Got a bit of a rustic, friendly feel. Just like how it is at my parent’s house, there’s a small well next to the mansion.
“Welcome home!”
A little girl pops out of nowhere to greet me. Eeep! That was scary. Did my heart just stop? She’s a cute girl with light brown hair—and she tugs on my hand, leading me inside the mansion. Is it really alright for me to just barge in like this...? Furthermore, why is this girl acting like she knows who I am?
Maybe I haven’t woken up, and this is all a dream. To test that theory, I give my cheeks a pinch. That hurt...kind of? I guess?
This probably is just a dream after all.
“Father still hasn’t come home—! So let’s make some pastries before he does!”
We walk through the mansion’s doors. Inside is a very large entrance hall—no, this is a sitting room. Something that would be rather out of place at any aristocrat’s mansion is in the corner: a countertop and an accompanying window, creating a kitchen alcove. Just what kind of person lives in this house?
“Pastries?” I ask.
“Yeah! Today is Father’s birthday, so you’d promised me we’d make them together, remember?”
Did I...promise her that? I guess if I did, I need to follow through. Even if this is just a dream.
I must say, however, I really do like the green wallpaper in this room. It’d be nice to decorate my dorm room with it as well. And those tables—all wood, rounded edges, and no tablecloth on top. That’s nice. Most houses usually have something laid over the top of their dining room tables, but I happen to prefer not covering mine at all.
“What do you think we should make?” I say to the girl.
“Hmmm, people like Father enjoy porka pastries, don’t you think?”
“That’s what we’ll do, then.”
I turn to the cupboards to get out the cooking utensils but soon realize I have no idea where anything is. Upon asking the girl, however, she manages to find everything in short order and we’re able to start cooking without any further issues. How lovely, I think, to have all the tools I’d like to have in the places I’d like to keep them. What a nice dream this is, showing me my ideal kitchen and all. Perhaps I ought just to stay asleep and go on living in this mansion.
Once we’re finished cooking, the girl says we must wait for father to come home. We both sit down in chairs next to the table, but I find myself so sleepy that I rest my head against the table.
“Sorry,” I say, “I’m feeling sleepy all of a sudden.”
“Whaaat? Father’s going to come home from work any second!”
It’s my first time having a dream like this and seeing this house...but somehow, it all feels comfortably familiar.
Far off, I hear a man with a deep voice saying, “Welcome home, Master.”
“Are those porka pastries? You made them for me, didn’t you?”
“Master” must be the girl’s father. I’m so sleepy I can’t even bring myself to sit up to see the man who’s just arrived.
“Thanks for making them. Are you sure you’re doing alright though? ...did just become the Director.”
“Become the Director?” Who is he talking about?
“I’m going to take your Mother upstairs, Lilie, so you just stay here and eat if you like.”
“Fa-ther! I know you won’t come down if you go upstairs with Mother like that...”
I sense I am being picked up and carried, and not by a spell. Against my cheek, I feel a warm, slightly humid breath of air. Is he holding me? The gentle pace of his steps rocks me back and forth, making me feel even sleepier. But there’s something else about him—what’s that scent? It smells warm, like the sun. It reminds me of that, that one smell...what smell was that? Who smells like the sun?
Anyways, I do feel guilt at having him carry me up the stairs right after he gets home from work. But it also makes me happy. Why is that?
“I...should be thanking you.”
“Oh? You’re awfully meek today, aren’t you?”
It’s only a dream, but if I can just see this guy’s face... I try opening my eyes, but no matter how hard I try, my eyelids feel too heavy for me to get a good look, as if they’ve been weighed down with something beyond just my eyelashes.
“What’s the matter?” he asks.
“I want...to see your face...”
“Aw, really? You’re a cute one.”
Something touches my lips. Something warm, something cool. A soft, fluffy sensation envelops my body, comfortable as can be.
＊ ＊ ＊ ＊
“—Huh? So it was a dream, after all...”
I wake up once more, this time lying down in my dorm room bed. I narrow my eyes against the blinding sunlight streaming in through the windows.