On August 12, 1956, the funeral for all the victims of Solis Abbey was held at the Cathedral Cemetery.
This belated funeral should have taken place a month earlier, once the incident had concluded.
Its postponement until now was due to the absence of a crucial figure in eradicating the plague, who had only just awakened after more than a month of slumber.
According to reports from the local Epidemic Prevention Bureau, patients in the underground hospital began to mutate two hours after the Long Night descended, and rats escaped from the Cathedral.
A Level Four agent, with a shock of yellow hair and an ever-present pipe, had privately remarked,
“Had it not been for the last nun of the Abbey, who, with all her might, rang the Sacred Bell, we might all have become fodder for the rats before even succumbing to sleep.”
“Regrettably, with Bishop Sartre missing, we couldn’t find a single person capable of ringing the Sacred Bell, nearly leading to an irreparable catastrophe.”
A newspaper reporter, without authorization, made this private conversation public, a statement later confirmed by officials.
Any discerning individual could see that these pronouncements were overly contrived, a mere performance of their own making.
Yet, no one questioned the nun’s pivotal role during that Long Night.
It had always been so.
For many years, the Abbey had earned considerable credit for Mistfall City’s effective disease prevention efforts.
Today was Sunday.
Many people had come.
Rumor had it that several prominent figures from the Royal Capital were among them.
As eight pure white coffins were interred, flower petals were scattered around the graves, and the earth was sealed.
After memorial flowers were placed before each tombstone, and heads were bowed, eyes closed, and hands clasped around crucifixes in prayer, heavy rain began to fall from the sky.
Ghervil departed early, neither participating in the subsequent memorial activities nor attempting to curry favor with the esteemed guests.
There was no help for it; the person holding her umbrella incessantly urged her to return home and cook, claiming to be starving after a month of arduous labor and eager to sample the culinary skills she had acquired from Mrs. Keith.
As she sat in the passenger seat, muffled giggles drifted from beside her.
She was nearing her breaking point.
Yet, she was powerless against this individual; she couldn’t very well dictate when others were allowed to laugh.
She knew it was because of the emergency sunglasses she was currently wearing.
Their square frames were designed to accentuate a man’s masculinity and mature demeanor.
On her face, they weren’t merely ill-fitting; they created a stark contrast, making it seem as though the Church had issued some peculiar new directive, demanding nuns set an example by embracing modern trends.
By the time they arrived home, it was already four in the afternoon.
Folding her umbrella, she removed the sunglasses and tossed them casually onto the sofa.
From behind her, the other woman closed the door, changed her shoes, and began a cheerful chatter,
“If you ask me,” Dr. Callan began, “you shouldn’t keep dwelling on changing your eye color. Your eyes are truly beautiful as they are now; at least, I don’t find anything strange about them.”
“Whose fault do you think it is that I’m like this now?”
Indeed, during Ghervil’s slumber, Dr. Callan had fed her all the remaining Nightmare Revelation Potion, not leaving a single drop.
Any new batch would require ten hours to settle.
The increased mental burden from reading text was also a concern.
While familiar words posed no issue, prolonged exposure to unfamiliar text brought on headaches; learning had become easier, but her narcolepsy had undeniably worsened, and she still hadn’t ascertained if other accompanying symptoms had changed.
“Who knew you’d sleep for so long…”
Dr. Callan, guilt coloring her expression, averted her gaze, her eyes darting about as if lost in a flurry of chaotic thoughts.
“It wasn’t entirely my fault either,” she continued, “just administering nutrients and cleaning your body took a tremendous amount of my energy, not to mention having to watch over you sometimes in the middle of the night…”
“If you mention one more time that you had to blindly insert a catheter for me because I wet the bed, and it took multiple attempts, you’ll never set foot in this house again!”
Ghervil immediately interjected, halting her.
“As a doctor, what do you possibly have to be embarrassed about…?”
Despite her words, her own face flushed crimson.
In the days leading up to her awakening, she had indeed sensed someone periodically wiping her body.
“I’m not a *normal* doctor, and it was my first time caring for a patient… I even tried massaging your abdomen and using the sound of flowing water to help you,” Dr. Callan mumbled, her voice growing fainter, defending herself with diminishing confidence.
Even helping her remove her socks had caused half a day’s hesitation, let alone undertaking such a task; it was utterly excruciating.
And she hadn’t felt comfortable hiring a professional caregiver…
“Stop!”
The young woman made a stopping gesture, poking her palm with a finger.
“Let’s put this matter behind us. If a similar situation arises again and you find it too troublesome, you can simply send me to the hospital.”
“No! It has to be me!”
Having blurted out the words in haste, Dr. Callan paused, frozen for a moment before scrambling for a clumsy excuse.
“I am your employer; if an employee encounters an issue, I am obligated to fulfill my responsibilities and duties.”
The young woman stifled a laugh inwardly.
‘Provocation always works so well.’
Indeed, should her illness resurface, she would require a trustworthy caregiver.
Preferably someone of the same s*x, to avoid any impropriety.
A nun’s reputation was paramount, and carelessness could lead to violations of Church law.
An hour and a half later.
The table was laden with an abundant spread of dishes.
Though Ghervil had initially planned to prepare all the food herself, Dr. Callan, finding her too slow, had joined in halfway through.
“Now that you are the sole remaining member of the Abbey,” Dr. Callan said leisurely, spearing a piece of braised red pepper and swallowing it, “both The Order and the Epidemic Prevention Bureau will be sending more personnel to Mistfall City. Perhaps even Plague Knights will arrive.”
“How will this incident be accounted for?”
Ghervil cared for little else; her only concern was whether she would receive a reward, specifically money.
The public announcement credited her with the primary achievement.
“The situation is actually far more complex than what was publicly announced… *gulp*…”
Dr. Callan’s face contorted as she tasted a fried potato; it was utterly dreadful, tasting as though it had been brined in a salt shaker for decades.
Bearing in mind it was the young woman’s cooking, she forced herself to swallow it.
‘Perhaps it was a mistake; after all, she’s a novice.’
“Is that so…?” Ghervil’s expression remained perfectly normal.
Dr. Callan then sampled a piece of stewed meat prepared by the young woman; this time, the taste was acceptable, neither delicious nor unpalatable.
“According to our post-event investigation, the cemetery ritual should have commenced one to two hours after you rang the bell.”
“…And then what?”
Ghervil, busily eating the dishes she hadn’t cooked herself, asked casually, feigning complete disinterest.
“This implies that everything we heard, saw, and experienced ourselves and around us from the moment the ritual began until the next morning was a dream; in reality, we were all asleep in the Cathedral, which aligns with where we found ourselves upon waking.”
Assuming her cooking was simply delicious, Dr. Callan gave it no further thought.
“By comparing accounts from the Epidemic Prevention Bureau agents and drawing reasonable inferences from a series of evidence, we concluded that we all shared the same nightmare.”
“A nightmare?”
The young woman displayed a perfectly timed expression of bewilderment.
“Yes, it seems it was an attempt to spread the plague through this method, but it failed for unknown reasons… perhaps one of us survived within that dream.”
At this, Dr. Callan, ignoring the exceedingly bitter taste in her mouth, looked up to observe the young woman’s reaction.
“Of course, the most logical explanation is the Goddess’s power.”
“Oh, so have you figured out how much money I’ll get?”
“That… not yet.”
A hint of disappointment flickered in Dr. Callan’s eyes, having failed to elicit the desired reaction.
“Because the losses weren’t extensive… the only true plague victims were the patients in the underground hospital, the Bishop, and the mother of that agent with peculiar habits; the latter two are currently listed as missing.”
“Never mind. Just remember not to delay my promised overtime pay.”
“…Was your dream the same as ours?” Whether it was the dreadful taste of the food or some sudden memory, Dr. Callan felt a pang of bitterness in her heart.
“I can’t recall clearly; I was asleep for over a month, how could I possibly remember everything? Just eat quickly; don’t blame me if it gets cold and tastes bad.”
“Mm…”
The two did not speak of the matter again until the unpalatable dinner was finished.
Their complex emotions were gradually enveloped by the sound of rain outside.
“For such a short distance, you don’t need me to see you off, do you? You can return the umbrella tomorrow.”
Having almost finished tidying up, the woman stood by the door, offering no reply, silently accepting the black umbrella extended to her.
“Was my cooking so delicious that you don’t want to leave?”
“Don’t worry, you can’t escape. You’re always welcome if you want to eat; this is my only property.”
The woman remained standing, head bowed, still silent.
Having no other recourse, Ghervil took the umbrella, opened it, pressed it into Dr. Callan’s hand, and half-coaxed, half-ushered her out of apartment 101 and into the middle of the road.
The rain wasn’t heavy; a quick dash back from the middle of the road should prevent her from getting soaked.
Just as Ghervil turned, stepping out of the umbrella’s shelter, a force pulled her back.
“Hey!”
“What are you doing!”
The umbrella fell, and a pair of arms from behind enveloped her, holding her captive.
“I will cure you, so…”
A muffled, tearful voice vibrated against her neck,
“Promise me, don’t do anything reckless.”
“I will face it with you.”
In mere seconds, she was drenched; her meticulous calculations were no match for the occasional childlike temperament of this person.
“Alright… didn’t you want to know what I dreamt?”
“Tell me…”
A ticklish sensation on her neck, whether from an intake of breath or an exhalation, she couldn’t tell.
“I dreamt of a bright, sunny morning,” Ghervil began, “where I rested my head on someone’s lap, lying on the grass, and slept for a very, very long time…”
“Longer than a month?”
“Perhaps several months, or even years.”
“How could that be? Dreams don’t work like that; no one would be so foolish as to let you use their lap as a pillow for such an extended period.”
“One can never be certain.”
“Rest assured, I am a very selfish person. I prioritize myself in all matters and would never do anything foolish.”
Her tearful voice subsided, and she finally released Ghervil.
“Whether you’re selfish or not, I don’t know, but I do know you’re very fond of money.”
“You know that, yet you still haven’t settled my salary for over a month? By the way, it should be calculated at two hundred Denarii per day for external missions.”
“Haha… then you’d better keep praying someone will let you use their lap as a pillow for months or years.”
“Honestly…”
‘Such a grown-up person.’
Casting a look back, Ghervil bent to retrieve the umbrella, shook off the mud and water, and walked towards her home.
“If I catch a cold, I’ll make you take care of my three meals a day and daily life.”
“What if I catch a cold too?”
“Then you’ll just have to drag your sick body to take care of my three meals a day and daily life—”
The door gently closed. This time, there was no pursuit, no overwhelming sense of unease and despair as there had been in the dream.
****
Later that night, after showering and changing, Ghervil sat at her desk and had just uncapped her pen when she noticed a figure perched in the brightly lit window opposite.
Clad in a bath towel, they watched silently, seemingly having waited for a long time.
“Go to bed early,” Ghervil called out, “and stop dwelling on your impossible daydreams!”
Gazing at the bright moon, now clear of clouds after the rain, she felt as though she glimpsed that golden afternoon.
Just as she was about to retort, the figure in the opposite window vanished.
‘Yes, a dream is just a dream; it will never become reality.’
‘But…’
Opening her long-unseen diary, her gaze fell upon the last page.
Her pen tip danced gracefully across the paper, its movements synchronized with the words she murmured aloud,
“I will never forget—”
“This dreamlike summer of 1956.”