I open my eyes. Iâm here, calmly thinking ânot againâ at the jet black darkness that spreads around me. I feel like someone is calling out to me, but right now I canât possibly know who that is.
Well, just what happened to me? I had certainly confirmed in the palace garden that Celves was the culprit that casted the curse on meââthen I protected that man from Celvesâs blade of light, and I have no memory of what happened after that. By the time I realized it, I was here. I probably, or rather, certainly collapsed by that blade of light and lost consciousness. After that, I must have been led onto this regular nightmare course as always, or something like that.
ãâ¦â¦Heâs probably angry again.ã
Those whispered words echo surprisingly loud in the darkness. âOh?â I think, perplexed. Usually, my voice doesnât even come out, drowning in the darkness.
Some time has passed since I even saw this nightmare, but this is the first time Iâve truly sensed this, strangely.
I donât know for sure how strong that man is, being the head wizard of the royal palace and the savior of the world. But if he has enough ability to be called those titles, then getting hit by that blade probably wouldnât have been a big deal for him. If so, then I may have done too much, and heâs certainly angry. But, could I really have helped it? My body moved by itself.
Nevertheless, what the heck am I supposed to do now? Where should I go in this place, where I donât even have any sense of direction? âMaybe I canât go anywhere at all.â That thought crosses my mind. As if proving it, the mud-like darkness coils around my foot the second I take a step forward. Temperature-less, it tries to drag me downwards to where I canât see, and I sit down right there.
Then, I see the sight of that man and the young girl with strawberry blonde hair standing beside him, as if a spotlight shines on the two of them in the darkness. The sight of Lunamerie happily talking about something, and that man agreeing with her. Perhaps itâs because Iâve known him for so long, I can tell that although at a glance he looks like he doesnât care, but in reality his expression is not that annoyed. Itâs so ironic, though.
If it was the same dream as usual, I would hesitate at the sight of the two of them. But for some reason, right now, I donât do that.
Shaking off the darkness coiling around me, I stand up and walk towards them. Each and every single step feels terribly heavy, but I canât really care about that. Forcibly ripping off the hem of my dress, I determinedly head towards them.
Thereâs no signs of them noticing me, as I move frantically like an idiot. But I donât even care about that.
ãEdi!ã
I call out that name now, that I havenât ever been able to call out in this nightmare before.
Edi.
His nickname, only allowed for me, that only I can call him. My special privilege he gave me, more beloved than anything else. But though I think he looked at me for a second, he immediately drops his gaze to Lunamerie again. Thatâs when I believe it for sure.
ãYouâre not my Edi, are you?ã
In that second, the man standing beside Lunamerie crumbles down like a clay doll.
Whatever it was that took his appearance, it dissolves and disappears in the darkness. âI thought so,â I mutter voicelessly. It really wasnât that man. It was just a counterfeit copy, taking his appearance.
I think it was well-made. But thatâs wrong. Why didnât I realize sooner? If I say âEdiâ, he always responds in one way or another without fail. Well, it also depends on the situation what feelings he puts in his response, but itâs impossible for him not to respond when I call him. Certainly, when we fight I end up having to call him countless times, but thatâs a different story because he enjoys it then. At the very least, itâs impossible from the real Agedilusâs perspective to just completely ignore me like this.
The thing that took his appearance isnât there anymore. Left there is Lunamerie alone.
ãLuâ¦â¦ã
I try to call out to her, but I reflexively shut my mouth. Her deep purple eyes stare at me. Her face is expressionless, the loveliness of her features becomes vague, truly looking like a human-size doll. A chill runs down my spine for some reason. I realize too late that Iâm being watched. If this Lunamerie in front of me is the same as the clay doll pretending to be that man, surely sheâs a fake too, the essence of this mud-like darkness. But despite that, why? Right now, sheâs just likeâââ¦â¦
ãâ?!ã
My feet suddenly sink down. I canât even fix my posture. Unable to do anything, Iâm just swallowed up by the darkness at my feet, then sinking down. The crying voice steadily gets louder. My instinctive scream too, is swallowed up by that crying voice.
I sink down further and further. My sense of time grows vague. Then, how much time must have passed, I wonder? Iâve already grown tired of screaming, endlessly listening to the crying voice. Thatâs when my feet suddenly land to the ground. I say âgroundâ but really, itâs all jet black darkness, so I can only tell by sensation that thereâs ground under me.
I try to take a step forward like before but I fail. I end up falling and sitting down again. But even so, I somehow manage to stand up, certainly progressing further one stem at a time. If you ask me whether my destination really is in front of me, Iâm not very confident about that. But I know. That when I arrive, ãsheã will be there, always, always crying.
ãââââLook, I knew it.ã
ãSheã is here, crouching, surrounded by black thorny vines. ãShe,ã who ceaselessly sheds tears as if sheâs forgotten everything but crying.
ââI didnât want to dieâ¦â¦!
Finally clearly understanding that voice, I look through the vines at ãherã.
She has black hair that isnât dyed, that no one in this world except that man can possibly have. Dark brown, almost black eyes. ãSheã has all these features like itâs only natural⦠No, Iâll stop talking in this roundabout way. I know who ãsheã is.
ãSheã is me.
ãMeã, who lost her life from an unexpected purse-snatcher of all things on a planet called Earth, before I became who I am right now. The first time I remembered this ãmeã. I was 3 years old. This is ãmeã who my young self couldnât react to, and who still isnât accepting death.
I touch the thorns surrounding ãmeã. The black thorns are ominous, reminding me of the patterns on both of Celvesâs arms. At the same time, thoughts start pouring into me like a storm from my fingertip as it touches the thorny vine.
Die. Die. Die. ãIã didnât want to die. ãIã didnât want to die. Why did ãIã have to die? ãIã didnât want to die. Die. Die. The more Filmina lives as Filmina, the more ãIã disappear. ãIã didnât want to die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. But ãIâmã still being killed. ãIã hate it. ãIã donât want to die anymore. ãIã donât want to die. Die. Die. ãIã donât want to die. ãIã donât want to die. ãIã donât want to die.
I immediately pull my hand away from the thorn. Thereâs an awful burn on my fingertip even though I only touched it for just a moment. Holding my hurting hand, I can do nothing but keep looking at ãmeã.
It seems anger and fear of dying has isolated ãmeã from me, helping the curse. These thorny vines must be the last stronghold of the curse. Iâm sure they are. These black thorns are ãmyã last dam. A castle that deteriorated the curse, made to protect ãmeã. At the same time, itâs also a cage that imprisons ãmeã.
I take a deep breath once. Then I reach out my hand into the thorns, tearing off those vines, and begin to step further.
Every time I step forward, my hands get burnt from the vines I tear off, the thorns hurting my face and body. Itâs not like it doesnât hurt. But even so, I move forward. The sizzling sound of my hands burning is awfully clear even amidst the resounding crying voice.
Itâs because of this pain that even I shed tears. Definitely not because the thoughts â the memories of the past ãmeã â are nostalgic. Whatâs the point in clinging to a past I can never return to anymore? I already have the ãpresent timeã. Just like how ãIã donât have something ãIã can give up, I also have something I canât give up.
The truth is, you understand. Donât you, ãmeã?
Finally coming out of the cage of thorns, I stand in front of ãmeã. Crying, sobbing in a way so unbecoming for ãmyã age, ãIã wear the same suit worn for an interview that day, that second ãIã lost my life. Itâs an awful state, if I do say so myself.
But even so, right now I canât criticize ãmeã. My dress is in tatters, my body covered in cuts and gashes, bleeding from everywhere, both my burned hands smell somehow burned, even my face has wounds on it. Even my carefully plaited, arranged hair, is now unrecognizable. âThis is definitely what they mean when they say âwalking woundedâ,â I think matter-of-factly.
ãIã slowly look up at me in this state. Yes, now that I look at it again, that really is an awful face. That makeup put on so painstakingly is now all soppy. But this, this really is ãmeã.
In front of ãmeã crouching, I crouch down too. Then, I put my arms around ãmyã back. In my arms, ãIã gasp. I whisper softly to ãmeã, who is trembling all over.
ãYou didnât want to die, did you?ã
âââ!
ãIã completely freeze. I hug ãmeã even harder, continuing again.
ãYou didnât want to die. I get it. Iâm the same too.ã
Three years old, I got a sickness from an epidemic. Somehow or another, back then I didnât want to die. But essentially, I must have been dead then. Since I was in the grips of death, ãIã showed up. I managed to keep my soul latched onto the present world by swallowing down ãmeã. Because of that, at three years old I ended up with ãmeã. Thereâs no way I could have accepted the part of ãmeã that had personally experienced âdeathâ. Because of that, I ended up deserting ãmeã in a place like this.
ãIâm sorry. Though I know apologizing makes no difference here.ã
Even so, I canât help but apologize. ãMyã tears soak into my dress. ãMyã body, which was heaving with sobs, stops shaking. ãMyã hands wrap around my back, as if clinging to me.
ââI didnât want⦠to die.
ãThatâs right.ã
ââI wanted⦠to live.
ãThatâs right.ã
ââIâm scared⦠of death.
ãThatâs right. Butâã
I cut my words off for a moment, looking up at ãmyã face. I smile at ãme,ã who looks like a deer in headlights.
ãHey, ãmeã. Now weâve known things even scarier than that, right?ã
Those dark brown eyes widen at my words. Large teardrops fall from those eyes.
Thatâs right. I know scarier things than death. I remember the time of the demon kingâs rule. Iâm sure even ãIã know that too. Why, because ãIã am me. What comes to my mind is that manâs face, so beautiful it makes me angry. I canât help but smile at how he makes me remember his sunrise-colored eyes looking at me, whether I like it or not. Thatâs right. In other words, itâs just like that.
All these thoughts that I donât put in words must have reached ãmeã. As if ambushed, ãIã look at me. Those lips move. It looks like ãIâmã trying to say something, but ãmyã voice doesnât come out.
âââââ¦â¦mina.
We both exchange glances at the faint voice we hear. I smile again. Tears fall from my eyes too at that.
ââââFilminaâ¦â¦!
Hey, I know you can hear it. That voice, calling us. That manâs voice, calling us with such an unimaginable grieving voice. Because heâs just hopeless. What can he do if weâre not there for him? Hey, you get it, donât you? The truth is, you understand, donât you?
I ask that to ãmeã in my arms. In response, ãIã nod countless times, smiling while crying.
ââYou married such an unthinkable man, ãmeã.
I canât help but laugh at ãmyã words, spoken with a tearful voice. My wounded body hurts everywhere, but laughter overpowers that. It really is just as ãIã said. But the one that chose that man was none other than me. Thereâs no way I can complain after so long. My one and only is that man and no one else.
Well then, letâs go together. We have to go, for that manâs sake and for our sakes too.
My words are transmitted to ãmeã even without speaking them out loud. ãIã nod deeply. Then, ãIã disappear from my arms. No, not disappear. ãIã just dissolved. Dissolved within me, this time for sure.
By the time I realize it, countless warm tears fall down my cheeks. But for some reason, even though my vision is warped with tears, I feel like everything in front of me has opened up completely. Tears sting the wounds on my face but I couldnât care less about that. Holding my aching body, I somehow manage to stand up. By the time I realize it, those black thorny vines have all withered. The darkness still hasnât cleared up, but now I know where to go.
ââââFilmina.
I just have to walk where that voice guides me. Yes, Edi. Iâm coming now. So just wait a little more.