Her body felt heavy, and Callan was caught in a nightmare.
It was a memory from long ago, from a time when she was still a little girl, before she had mastered the plague.
On the shallow beach, bathed in the lingering glow of the setting sun, she walked barefoot and alone.
Children her age kept their distance, even though her brilliant golden hair and striking features made her stand out.
They whispered that she was a monster, that she had caused the death of her family.
The adults, less direct, secretly warned their children to keep their hushed conversations from reaching her ears.
She paid them no mind; she had grown accustomed to it.
Continuing to look down, she gathered her skirt and carried her shoes, tracing the footprints left by some unknown person.
Usually, this stretch of beach was pristine, free from litter, but today, misfortune struck.
She stepped on a shard of glass, and her tender young foot was easily pierced, bleeding profusely.
Immediately, she took action, wrapping her foot with the hemostatic bandage she carried and hurrying to a dry spot.
Still, it was too late.
Splash—
A wave crashed in, sweeping her blood into the vast ocean.
Before long, several muffled thuds echoed from the distant waters, and fragments of sea fish floated to the surface, where they were pecked at by gulls scavenging for prey overhead.
More sounds erupted, and from the sky, the mangled remains of gulls plummeted, landing directly before her.
Adults and children shrieked as they fled, and the terror in their eyes, directed at her, became an indelible memory.
Thereafter, she rarely ventured outside, remaining confined within the family estate.
The next incident occurred during playtime with the large white dog, one of the few beings in the household willing to approach her.
The big white dog was good in every way, save for its excessive playfulness.
Each day, it would pester her to play fetch with a frisbee.
Ordinarily, a common plastic frisbee couldn’t cut a finger, but the dog had a mischievous habit of tackling her when it returned the frisbee.
As was their routine, she would throw the frisbee before the big white dog could lick her face.
Everything should have unfolded as usual, but this time, the frisbee never returned.
After a harrowing shriek, where the frisbee should have landed, a pile of mangled flesh and blood remained.
A faint ache emanated from her finger, a wound so minuscule that an ordinary person would have overlooked it, yet a few drops of blood welled from it.
Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably; she could bear it no longer, fleeing the estate in a frenzy, rushing into the street, and hiding in a deserted alley to weep silently.
She dared not cry too loudly, fearing someone might find her and cast that same gaze upon her. Her heart was consumed by guilt for the white dog’s death and remorse for not noticing her bleeding finger sooner.
After an indeterminate amount of time, her weeping gradually subsided. Then, a gentle yet utterly impolite hand brushed against the crown of her head.
It continued to stroke her, much like one would pet a small dog.
This rekindled the memory of her family’s large white dog, which had died because of her.
Her eyes, barely dried, began to redden once more.
With palpable annoyance, she lifted her head, and at last, the hand ceased its ministrations.
The one who had been stroking her like a puppy was a nun.
She wore a black habit, but no wimple, her hair the color of snow.
Had it merely been her snow-white hair, a rare sight but certainly not unheard of in the Royal Capital, it would have been acceptable.
What truly dissipated her anger, however, was the nun’s smile.
It was a polite and benevolent smile, utterly devoid of pretense, a stark contrast to the hand that had rested just above her head.
No one had ever smiled at her in such a way before.
“I can cure your affliction.”
The hand on her head returned to its gentle caress.
Moved by the sincerity of the smile, she lifted her small head, not refusing to speak with the nun.
“Are you a bad person?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Mother always said that no one helps another without reason. If someone states their demands upfront, they might be a good person, but if they offer help with only a smile and ask for nothing in return, they are, in a sense, worse than a bad person.”
“Yet you neither fled nor cried for help. Behind me lies a bustling street, and if you were to shout for rescue, or utter any words to draw attention, someone would surely discover this place.”
“Because I’m lying to you… I don’t have a mother; I just made that up…”
The little girl dejectedly buried her head back into her arms, allowing the hand on her head to stroke her.
The nun visibly faltered, withdrawing her hand, at a loss as to how to respond to this child.
“I lied to you. Will you still help me?”
Finally, the little girl, her head still bowed, broke the silence.
“Perhaps I am even worse than a bad person.”
“Then make a request, if you please.”
“A good suggestion, hmm… let me consider…”
The nun knelt down, hugging her knees, mirroring the little girl’s posture.
“Would you be interested in coming to my abbey and becoming a nun?”
****
Slowly, she opened her eyes to the dim glow of a lamp. It was night, and Callan found the ceiling vaguely familiar.
The bed was remarkably soft, tempting her to linger a while longer.
The blankets carried a pleasant scent, one she felt she had encountered before.
As her mind gradually cleared, she realized her whereabouts.
Gently turning her head, she saw a profile so beautiful it was impossible to forget.
“Konehl-Ghervil…”
Gazing at that face, an inexplicable thought stirred within her: ‘to reach out and stroke the other’s head, a playful retaliation for the Abbess’s actions in her dream.’
‘After all, you’re part of the abbey.’
A large tail swished against her hand. It wasn’t painful, but her plan for retaliation was thwarted.
“Why didn’t you drink the potion I gave you?”
Govet-Ghervil leaped directly onto Callan’s chest, nearly pressing the breath from her lungs.
“Had your condition not been unique, possessing a certain degree of resistance to that concoction, you would now be nothing more than a puddle of blood.”
“Under those circumstances…”
She struggled for a long moment, unable to formulate an explanation.
It wasn’t her fault, as Govet-Ghervil had never mentioned that the dream-inducing potion could be used as a life-saving remedy.
“Are you… concerned about me?”
She regarded the large furball with a peculiar gaze.
It was far too unusual.
‘Why is no one from Solis Abbey acting normally today?’
“It’s less about concern for you and more about concern for my sister,” Govet-Ghervil retorted, clearly annoyed.
As it spoke, it sprang forcefully onto her chest, then used the momentum to leap back onto Konehl-Ghervil, gently pulling the blankets over her.
“She has spent most of her life in slumber, and thus cherishes those around her. She considers you her first friend, and in turn, you hold a certain place in her heart.”
Turning, it regarded Callan with earnest eyes,
“If you were to die, she would be deeply grieved.”
‘Only a ‘certain place’…’
‘I’ll have to redouble my efforts from now on.’
Callan pushed herself up, propping a pillow behind her back.
“What is the situation at the manor?”
“In what regard do you mean?”
“The casualties.”
“Of the seven people who entered, including yourself, three perished, and one was cursed. However, the curse was mild, and a timely antidote saved their life.”
Callan could largely surmise who had died. When she fell unconscious on the first floor, she faintly heard the voices of the two individuals who had led her out.
Applying the process of elimination…
With a sigh, she gathered herself once more.
To face such a monstrosity and lose only three lives was nothing short of a miracle.
“That… meatball…”
“That was no meatball!” Govet-Ghervil corrected her, its voice rising sharply,
“It was the heart of a mythical creature!”
“That’s precisely what I meant. Was that heart destroyed?”
Given such minimal casualties and her own safe presence here, Callan could only conceive of this possibility.
“What do you take a mythical creature for? Engage your rusty brain and consider: if it were truly so easy to destroy, would the vanished priest have expended such immense effort to seal its heart?”
“Sealed?”
“Indeed. From what I observed, that is precisely the case, though it won’t hold for long. That priest was truly a remarkable individual, and the other who bought him time was equally formidable.”
Callan felt she had just heard something extraordinary: the situation wasn’t relayed to Govet-Ghervil by her subordinates, but rather, it had observed it firsthand!
“Do not look at me with such an unworldly gaze. For your sake, I expended a great deal of power today, even sacrificing a precious opportunity to be with my sister!”
Govet-Ghervil burrowed into the blankets between the two of them and settled down.
“I require ample sleep to recover. If you’ve had enough rest, you may leave; no one will hinder you.”
“I haven’t had enough sleep; I’m utterly exhausted right now!”
Callan, of course, would not forgo such a prime opportunity. She promptly switched off the lamp and lay down.
‘To share a bed with Konehl-Ghervil, without any bothersome interruptions in between, would be perfect.’
“Are you truly… so concerned about Konehl-Ghervil?”
Despite their kinship, Callan found Govet-Ghervil excessively… clingy. Since Konehl-Ghervil had fallen into slumber, it hadn’t left the room.
“She is the youngest in our family… If I don’t care about her, then who should I care about?”
A drowsy voice drifted from beside her,
“Silence. Dare to cross the line tonight… and I shall make you taste the Abbess’s discipline once more…”
Whether it was spoken in sleep or with true intent, she could not tell.
Callan closed her eyes, a faint sense of contentment washing over her.
If it were indeed true, she hoped to thank the Abbess before experiencing her discipline.
And to offer an apology she might never voice.