“It’s fine, let’s head back first.” Flora’s voice was soft and warm, like a gentle spring breeze. As she spoke, the index and middle fingers of her right hand already hooked around Ilya’s ring finger and pinky.
She didn’t apply any force, ready to let go at any moment, but that gentleness made one not want to pull away.
Soon, the two returned to the inn, went upstairs, and pushed open the door.
The room was still the same room, unchanged. The midday sunlight slanted in through the window, cutting a bright patch on the floor.
Flora walked to the window, stood there for a while, looking outside. The streets were quiet at this hour, with only the occasional dog wandering lazily by.
Then she turned around, walked to the bed, and sat down.
She stared at her toes for a few seconds. Those shoes were prepared for her by Ilya, a plain style, black, no different from what any ordinary young noble girl might wear. But as she stared, it seemed she could see something else in them.
But Flora didn’t look for long. She closed her eyes, as if wanting to rest for a bit.
Ilya closed the door and stood by it, watching her. “What are you thinking about, Flora.”
Flora said nothing. She simply leaned back, falling straight onto the bed.
The bedboard let out a soft, muffled thud.
“Flora?” Ilya’s voice held a hint of faint surprise.
“Mmm…” Flora turned over, lying face down on the bed. Her voice was muffled by the blanket, her face buried and unmoving. “I don’t know why, but I suddenly feel a bit sleepy.”
She lay on her side, curled up, like a little animal utterly exhausted.
Ilya walked over and stood by the bedside. She looked down at Flora on the bed.
Flora shifted inward, making room on half the bed. She patted the empty spot, her eyes still closed.
“Mother, lie down for a bit?”
Ilya was silent for two seconds.
Then she sat on the edge of the bed, took off her outer garment and draped it over the chair back, and lay down beside Flora.
The two were very close. Flora could feel the warmth of Ilya’s body, transmitted through the thin fabric of their clothes.
The room grew quiet.
Occasionally, faint sounds from the street drifted in through the window—muffled voices, children chasing each other, the distant calls of vendors.
But those sounds seemed filtered through something, arriving diluted, so faint they didn’t disturb, instead making the room feel even quieter.
Flora rolled over, facing Ilya.
Her eyes were still closed, her eyelashes fluttering lightly, as if something stirred behind them.
“Mother.”
“Hmm.”
“Have you ever… felt this way before?” Her voice was very soft. “Knowing you should move forward, but just not knowing where to take that first step.”
Ilya didn’t answer immediately.
She looked at the ceiling. There was a thin crack there, stretching from the corner to the center of the room, who knew how long it had been there.
“Of course I have,” she said.
“What happened after?”
“Afterwards, I just stepped.” Ilya’s voice was flat, so flat it sounded like she was stating something obvious. “You only know if it’s right after you step down.”
The corner of Flora’s mouth twitched, as if wanting to smile, but not quite forming one.
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not complicated to begin with.” Ilya paused. “What’s complicated are the things after you step. That’s why I told you to dare to move forward.”
Flora didn’t respond.
Her hand moved under the blanket, touching Ilya’s hand. Ilya’s hand was slightly cool. It wasn’t a cold coolness, but a quieter kind, like a stone soaked in a stream.
She didn’t hold it, just let her fingers rest against it. Her middle and index fingers lightly touched, sometimes feeling the other, sometimes a deep breath or a slight turn of the head shifting an arm would separate them.
The sunlight outside the window slowly moved, crawling over them, retreating inch by inch toward the wall.
“Mother.”
“Hmm.”
“Thank you for what you said today.” Flora’s voice grew even softer.
Ilya was silent for a second.
“It’s fine, you don’t need to say anything. I just wanted to thank you.” Flora gave a light laugh.
Not a forceful one, but a soft, breathy laugh that seemed to come from her nose. After laughing, she pressed her lips together, a slight curve still lingering at the corners.
“Mother.” After a moment, Flora spoke again.
“Hmm?”
“Do you remember that flower?” Her voice was soft, tinged with drowsiness.
Ilya turned her head to look at her.
“That purple flame flower.” Flora opened her eyes, looking at the ceiling. “The one Eileen planted.”
“Hmm, I remember.”
“I remember reading in a book that while this flower can survive in human territory, to bloom well it’s still very particular about its environment. Too much water won’t do, too little won’t do either. It needs enough sunlight but not too harsh.”
Ilya said nothing.
“It bloomed so beautifully.” Flora paused. “The purple flame flower.”
“But she raised it so well.” Flora’s voice grew even softer. “How do you think… she managed that?”
Ilya was silent for a few more seconds.
“She put her heart into it,” she said.
“Did she really put her heart into it?” Flora pressed.
“Hmm, I think so,” Ilya said steadily.
After a while, Flora seemed to suddenly think of something else. She turned over, her back to Ilya.
“Eileen… when she sees me, she just sees a stranger. A stranger who helped her. She smiles at me, talks to me, invites me to eat, thanks me… Those things are for me, but they aren’t for ‘me’.”
She paused.
“To be precise, they’re for ‘Miss Flora’.”
Ilya looked at her.
“I’m not ‘Miss Flora’,” Flora said. “I stand before her, so close… yet so far away. She happily and skillfully pours tea for me, smiles at me, it’s all similar to before, but she doesn’t know who I am.”
Her voice held no sob, but that calmness was more heart-wrenching than crying.
“She said to me, ‘Thank you for coming’.” Flora closed her eyes. “And what I wanted to say was… ‘I’ve always been here’.”
At that moment, Ilya seemed to hear a faint, choked sob.
Ilya didn’t move closer. She simply extended her right hand, gently placing it on Flora’s back, patting slowly and evenly. Her left hand reached around in front of Flora, found one of Flora’s hands, and held it.
Flora responded softly, grasping that hand.
“It’s okay. At least… I’m still here now…”
Flora didn’t know when she started feeling especially sleepy. That drowsiness wasn’t fatigue; it was something deeper, seeping from the inside out, like water slowly soaking through a sheet of paper.
Her eyelids grew heavy, even wanting to open them felt difficult.
The hand holding Ilya’s gradually loosened its grip a little.
“Sleep,” Ilya’s voice seemed to come from very, very far away.
Flora’s lips moved, but no sound came out.
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