Flora went to the bedside, lifted the covers, and lay down. The bed was softer than she had imagined, but also smaller.
Once she was settled, there was less than an arm’s length between her and Ilya. They were very close — close enough to hear each other’s light breathing.
Flora stared at the ceiling, her hands resting neatly at her sides, not daring to move.
Ilya reached out and extinguished the bedside lamp. The room fell into darkness, leaving only the remaining embers in the fireplace to cast a dim red glow.
“Sleep.”
“Mhm.”
Flora closed her eyes.
However, she could not fall asleep.
The day’s events kept swirling in her head. Eileen’s face, the sight of Glen kneeling on the ground, the cold temperature of her fingers when she released the ice spikes, and the silhouette of Ilya standing by the window. None of it would fade; none of it would stop.
She placed her arms over her stomach, then moved them back down, appearing conflicted. After about thirty seconds, she rolled over to face Ilya.
It was too dark to see clearly, but she could feel that Ilya was not asleep yet. Her breathing pattern was not that of someone who had drifted off.
“…Mother,” she whispered.
“Mhm?”
“You’re still awake.”
“How am I supposed to sleep when you keep tossing and turning?”
Flora paused and said in a small voice, “I wasn’t tossing and turning…”
“You were.”
Flora fell silent again.
A hand reached out and rested on her forehead. It didn’t pull away, but instead slid down, gently brushing over her eyes.
“Close your eyes.”
Flora obediently did as she was told. The hand covered her eyelids; it was warm and carried a faint, distinct scent that belonged to Ilya.
“Mother.”
“Mhm?”
“Did you used to coax people to sleep like this before?”
“No.”
“Then am I the first?”
“Yes.”
Flora’s heart suddenly softened.
The hand pulled away. But before long, she felt a corner of the blanket being lifted, followed by the warmth of a body drawing closer.
Ilya’s arm slid beneath her neck, gently wrapping around her shoulder as she pulled Flora toward her chest.
“It’s a bit chilly,” Ilya said. “Cover yourself properly.”
“I am covered,” Flora replied, her voice carrying a hint of helpless resignation.
Flora stiffened for a moment, and her arm twitched as if in a reflex.
“I’m cold,” Ilya’s voice came from above her, faint and calm. “Move a little closer.”
Flora didn’t know what to say. Cold? The room was clearly quite warm. She knew what Ilya was doing, but she didn’t call her out.
She cooperatively moved over, turning on her side and resting her forehead against Ilya’s shoulder.
Ilya’s arm encircled her, and her palm gently patted Flora’s back — one stroke, then another, very light and very slow.
Just like coaxing a child.
“…Mother.”
“Mhm?”
“Do you think I did okay today?”
“You did.”
“That’s good then.”
It felt like something from a very long time ago. She couldn’t remember the exact feeling anymore, but it was like when she had a fever as a child and her father had patted her just like this.
Flora closed her eyes. That rhythm made her feel very safe.
Ilya said nothing more, though her hand continued its gentle patting.
She didn’t know how much time had passed, and she wasn’t even sure when she had finally fallen asleep.
She only remembered that before she drifted off, she heard Ilya say something extremely soft, her voice so low it was as if she were talking to herself. Flora didn’t hear it clearly and didn’t have the energy left to think about it.
***
Then came the next day.
She woke up for some reason. It was still very dark outside, and she couldn’t tell if it was the middle of the night or close to dawn.
She was lying on her back. She remembered being held by her mother before she fell asleep, but they were separated now.
To her right was Ilya, who was also lying quietly. Her breathing was steady; she was likely still fast asleep.
Flora’s and Ilya’s arms were almost touching, and she could clearly feel the warmth radiating from the other woman.
She hadn’t slept well and had woken up suddenly. She wanted to turn over to check the clock and see what time it was.
Just then, Ilya seemed to sense something and turned onto her side, wrapping her right arm around Flora’s slender waist.
Flora was startled by this sudden “attack” and turned her head to look. She found that Ilya was still asleep, her breathing steady, though she seemed to be mumbling something.
She tried to gently move the hand away, but it seemed to have a lot of strength. She couldn’t move it with just a light effort.
“I’m just checking the time, stop holding me for a second,” Flora whispered.
Suddenly, the hand seemed to tighten its grip.
“No, don’t…”
It was Ilya’s voice. That naturally majestic and calm tone sounded incredibly fragile now, like an ordinary girl pleading for something.
“No, don’t leave… Mother… stay with me a little longer…”
The hand Flora had placed on top of Ilya’s completely froze.
‘Is she… having a nightmare?’
Flora couldn’t help but associate this with Ilya’s state the previous night and wondered if there was a connection.
But she didn’t care about that anymore; her mother was in this state, so she would stay with her for now. In this situation, offering some comfort should be fine.
Flora turned back around to face Ilya, who was right in front of her with her eyes closed.
This was the first time she had seen Ilya’s sleeping face. It was so peaceful, yet also somewhat… broken.
“Mhm… okay, I’m here. Don’t worry about anything, I’m still here.”
Flora made her voice even gentler, whispering softly into Ilya’s ear.
She felt the hand Ilya had around her waist loosen slightly, though it didn’t let go completely. Gradually, the hand relaxed, changing from a firm grasp to just resting lightly on her.
Flora didn’t move again. She remained lying on her side, letting the hand rest against her waist.
The room was very dark, with only a sliver of extremely faint light leaking through the gap in the curtains. She couldn’t tell if it was moonlight or the precursor to dawn.
Ilya’s brow relaxed a little.
Flora watched her. This face usually held so much distance, but now it was close enough to see the curve of her eyelashes.
She suddenly remembered how Ilya looked standing by the window last night — that silhouette and that phrase: “someone very important to me.”
Did that person appear in this dream?
Flora didn’t know.
She simply reached out and very lightly tucked a strand of hair that had fallen over Ilya’s forehead behind her ear.
Ilya did not wake up.
Flora pulled her hand back and continued to lie on her side, watching her. The room was so quiet that she could hear the breathing of two people — one deep and one shallow, overlapping.
After an unknown amount of time, sleepiness washed over her again. Flora closed her eyes, this time without thinking about the time.
When she woke up again, it was already light out.