The manor’s flower exhibition proved to be quite captivating.
Konehl-Ghervil had initially assumed it would be a predominantly commercial affair, but upon witnessing it firsthand, she discovered its true essence leaned more towards the artistic and religious, a stark contrast to her expectations.
While the entrance fee was moderately steep, there were few other expenditures once inside, with most costs confined to refreshments.
This served as a subtle barrier, ensuring that not just anyone could gain entry.
The exhibition commenced at three, and by the time they arrived at half past, the grounds were bustling with activity.
The entrance area, main garden, open plantations, and central square alone hosted tens of thousands of visitors by conservative estimates.
Including other sections, the numbers would undoubtedly swell further.
From a considerable distance, she beheld the goddess statue in the square, adorned in a magnificent gown woven from various types of roses, its voluminous skirt cascading to the ground.
Below, the choir’s voices, accompanied by the organ’s majestic strains, narrated tales of the goddess.
Among the Dream Weaver Goddess’s many passions, as recounted in song, was her fondness for roses.
Normally, Konehl-Ghervil would have recoiled from such a crowded environment.
Yet today, feeling unusually spirited and emboldened by her makeup, she was eager to explore every single exhibition area and stall.
Every so often, she would discreetly prompt Govet-Ghervil for botanical facts, only to then grandly offer her own ‘scholarly’ critiques.
Ishmele-Esli, similarly, adopted the role of a keen listener, patiently absorbing the nuns’ and priests’ explanations of the various flowers.
Dr. Callan, who had refrained from disclosing the precise location of the person they were to meet, trailed behind them impassively.
Dressed in the black robes emblematic of her medical profession, her somber presence compelled many to avert their gaze, refraining from staring.
Those who could afford such an exhibition were not the destitute masses; most had, to some extent, heard whispers of the Hospital Department.
After half an hour, the deluge of information and botanical knowledge began to weary Konehl-Ghervil.
She sought out a rattan chair in a designated 休息区 (TL Note: 休息区 translates to ‘rest area’ or ‘lounge,’ typically offering refreshments and a place to relax.), where she could sit and recuperate with some drinks and snacks.
Sunlight filtered through the overhead broom branches, dappling the ground with fractured shadows.
A delicate floral scent perfumed the air.
This spot offered a measure of tranquility, occasionally graced by the distant, mellifluous strains of an organ.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone willing to expend energy on such an event,” Dr. Callan remarked, picking up a fan-shaped apple pie adorned with petals, offered by a Sanctuary staff member, and taking a bite.
The light, breathable fabric of their black robes had kept them from feeling overly warm during their stroll.
Leaning back fully into the rattan chair, Konehl-Ghervil observed the woman take a bite of the apple pie, her brow furrowing as she slowly swallowed it.
“Not to your liking?”
Though complimentary, it shouldn’t have tasted particularly bad.
She subtly gestured for Govet-Ghervil, perched on her shoulder, to try it.
Govet-Ghervil, appearing hesitant yet curious, jumped onto the table, quickly popped a small piece into her mouth, chewed, and then shook her head at Konehl-Ghervil, signaling that the taste was acceptable.
“Let me try,” Ishmele-Esli offered, grabbing two pieces at once.
She bit half of one, swallowed it with little chewing, then immediately picked up another, as if fearing someone might snatch it away.
“Aside from being a little too sweet, I think it’s delicious.”
Clearly, then, the problem lay with certain individuals.
“Don’t look at me like that, Madam,” Dr. Callan finally said, having slowly finished her piece.
“I never claimed it was bad; merely, its peculiar flavor evoked certain memories.”
Her tone remained even, yet her expression told a different story; if Konehl-Ghervil wasn’t mistaken, the woman’s face held a look of profound nostalgia, perhaps even longing.
‘Only a few days had passed, had they not?’
‘Konehl-Ghervil scoffed inwardly at the woman’s rather singular sentimentality.’
“It’s about time,” Dr. Callan announced abruptly, leaving everyone puzzled.
She raised a finger to her lips, signaling for silence.
They quieted, straining to hear.
The faint murmurs of conversation and orchestral music gradually faded.
Then, a familiar sound resonated.
A deep, resonant bell.
Konehl-Ghervil quickly realized it was the Holy Bell, used to aid in dream entry.
‘Had the Long Night arrived already!?’
Her mind instinctively raced to this thought, and she cautiously lifted her gaze to the distant sky.
Ishmele-Esli shed her relaxed demeanor, a chill gathering in her hands as she vigilantly scanned her surroundings.
“Are Ms. Rowan and Knight Ishmele-Esli attending the Florence City flower exhibition for the first time?” Dr. Callan noted their reactions.
Even the most unobservant person would find their behavior peculiar.
According to their records, both were locals, and Ms. Rowan had been living in Florence City for five years.
Many non-locals had traveled great distances, drawn by the unique reputation of the Florence City flower exhibition.
Yet these two…
‘What reason could the Sanctuary possibly have to cover up their identities?’
“Ahem… I trust, Dr. Callan, that my evident excitement throughout our tour of the exhibition makes it clear this is indeed my first time attending one.”
Realizing it was merely part of the exhibition’s proceedings, Konehl-Ghervil maintained an outward calm, though inwardly scrambling for an excuse.
“I rarely concern myself with matters outside my research.”
“Me too! I’ve only just returned from my travels abroad!” Ishmele-Esli quickly added.
This cleverly explained their un-local behavior during the stroll, a remarkably astute piece of sophistry that fit them perfectly…
Dr. Callan nodded subtly.
“That is understandable, and it aligns with my perception of scholars and knights.
Indeed, we doctors seldom pay attention to such events either; I only make an effort to understand them when compelled by my duties.”
Dr. Callan resolved to probe further for any inconsistencies; she remained unconvinced that this was truly Ms. Rowan.
Not long ago, she had sent a letter mocking Ms. Rowan’s illiteracy, yet the scholar before her had effortlessly deciphered the documents.
“Most people who attend the flower exhibition are not here for the flowers themselves.”
A peculiar sensation struck Dr. Callan: she, an outsider, was explaining a significant local event to apparent natives.
Observing their earnest attention, she patiently continued her explanation, driven by certain objectives.
“They come to witness divine power—the power of the Goddess.”
The Goddess herself could not possibly descend.
Konehl-Ghervil, having read the history of the Elephant Kingdom, knew there had been no recorded divine descents since its founding.
As no one had truly seen her, Konehl-Ghervil harbored doubts about the Goddess’s very existence.
It was far more probable that this was the dream power of the Holy Bell’s summoner.
“Is Bishop Gomor not concerned about the Long Night’s arrival? It is still summer, after all.”
She was probing.
“Rest assured, Madam, more than one individual within the manor can ring the Holy Bell.”
“This event won’t last much longer, so we must make haste.”
Outside the rest area, the cobblestone path now teemed with nuns and priests in their robes, patrolling the grounds.
Accompanying them was a contingent of uniformed police, tasked with maintaining order and safety in reality during the dream-entry period.
Not everyone, it seemed, would enter the dream.
“The person we are seeking is within the dream?”
Konehl-Ghervil felt a flicker of unease, having never successfully entered a dream before.
“Dandelion-Cambaton, a friend of Mrs. Penelope, a name I’m sure you’re familiar with, is currently under our protection due to certain special circumstances.
To prevent any unforeseen incidents, meeting him within the dream realm is most appropriate.”
Her eyes, hidden behind sunglasses, subtly flickered towards Govet-Ghervil, whose rapidly wagging tail served as a silent affirmation.
“I understand.
Ishmele-Esli, you…”
She turned to the female knight.
“Of course, I’d very much like to fulfill my duty as a protector out here! But…”
‘But you’d rather go play in the dream.’
Konehl-Ghervil easily discerned Ishmele-Esli’s true inclination.
With a helpless smile, she sought Dr. Callan’s approval.
“I have no reason not to trust a knight who has already mastered the plague.”
“Thank you, Chief!”
With permission granted, the next step was to enter the dream.
This was simple enough: one merely had to lie back in a rattan chair, listen to the bell, and close their eyes.
Cradling the furball, Konehl-Ghervil felt her body gradually grow heavy.
Her physical form slowly lost sensation, replaced by a light, ethereal drifting, allowing her to swim through a vast, boundless space.
Waves of light rippled through the darkness before her, and a colorful speck of light drew nearer, expanding as it approached.
Slowly, the essence of the light became clear: it was a floating garden, meticulously crafted from vibrant blossoms.
****
In the waking world.
Of the three who had entered the dream, one opened their eyes.
Dr. Callan verified that the other two were indeed asleep.
Rising, she moved with soft, measured steps towards the young woman.
First, she scrutinized the face; traces of makeup obscured her natural features.
She had a faint intuition that beneath it all, the true face would be exquisitely beautiful.
Extending her right hand, she gently removed the sunglasses with minimal force, but as she prepared to lift an eyelid to examine the eyes, her hand paused.
‘Since when had she resorted to such underhanded tactics?’
‘There were countless other ways to get her to remove her sunglasses.’
Dr. Callan began to reflect on her actions.
‘If it truly was her, this would surely anger her…’
‘No, it was *she* who should be angry, for daring to sneak into such a place!’
Amidst her hesitation, a powerful sense of being watched suddenly enveloped her.
She glanced left and right, finding no one.
Then, looking down at the young woman’s embrace, she met a pair of large, round eyes—the fluffy furball was staring fixedly at her.
Silently, she replaced the sunglasses, then, feeling a touch of guilt, returned to her seat and closed her eyes, entering the dream.