As night descended, before Penelope left, Konehl-Ghervil requested a thick overcoat, draping it over her shoulders, and slipped her feet into a pair of wool socks.
The night was piercingly cold, exacerbated by the fact that half her skirt had been torn away to bandage Esli’s wounds, and her sleeves were now mere stubs.
Facing the plummeting temperatures and the biting night wind in such attire, the outcome was easily predictable.
Maintaining the same motionless posture proved agonizingly difficult; a blend of pain and numbness crept from her limbs, deepening with each passing moment, burrowing into her very bones and flesh.
Such sensations were akin to the discomfort of prolonged inactivity after a long sleep, which was precisely why, during her month-long slumber, she had not voiced the slightest displeasure at Dr. Callan’s assistance with washing her body and changing her undergarments—acts that would ordinarily be considered highly impertinent.
She had even wished that Dr. Callan would bathe her and massage her body more often during that period of unconsciousness.
Lacking such comforts now, she could only attempt to distract herself with other thoughts.
Recalling Esli, the ever-optimistic knight who had sacrificed herself to save her, made her realize that her current suffering was insignificant.
After three or four agonizing hours, a new, unwelcome guest arrived.
Blumberg untied her sleeve, then cleanly and precisely cut a new wound into her wrist.
The entire procedure was completed while she was still hazy, and before she could even cry out in pain, blood began to drip steadily.
Like a robot programmed with a task, the doctor silently continued the work Penelope had begun, uttering not a single word.
“Do me a favor, Doctor.”
Seizing the opportunity while the man was still within earshot, Konehl-Ghervil decided to make as many requests as possible.
The person crouching by the edge of the pit paused their movements, then stopped entirely.
‘Did they agree?’
With a hopeful, experimental tone, she raised her voice.
“Give me something to eat, anything at all… And if it’s possible, please unfasten the chains from my feet. Don’t worry, I couldn’t escape even if I tried. Just release my ankles so I can move my legs and improve my circulation…”
Before she could finish her plea, a sharp *clink* echoed, and the chains below her thighs snapped, instantly alleviating the oppressive restraint.
The man then resumed his work, head bowed.
‘It seems food is not on the menu.’
The partial release of her chains was an unexpected boon, though her arms likely remained bound, as the bleeding required her to keep them spread.
Stretching and lifting her legs, moving them back and forth, brought relief to much of her body’s pain, allowing her a measure of rest.
She rested her eyes until the dead of night, when icy limbs and intense dizziness nearly blurred her consciousness.
Opening her eyes, she saw by the faint moonlight that the cuts on her arms remained unbandaged, still oozing blood.
‘Does this bastard intend to drain me dry tonight???’
Her gaze struggled to search the now-spinning plaza, settling on a blurry figure crouching in a corner.
The surrounding pits had been filled, leaving only about a dozen out of the original two thousand.
‘They’re truly not letting me live!’
She tried to kick up the dirt beneath her feet to attract attention, ideally aiming to kick it directly at the bastard’s head.
The distance was too great; the dirt flew only a few meters, instead splattering some muddy water onto her own face.
‘As a member of the medical department, how could he possibly not notice the situation here? That guy is definitely doing this on purpose.’
Yet, Konehl-Ghervil no longer possessed the strength to cry out.
Her life ebbed away, and she truly believed her end was near.
****
The dark clouds parted, allowing the pristine moonlight to cascade down.
The plaza underwent a strange transformation: seeds germinated, and rose saplings eagerly burst forth from the soil.
In less than ten minutes, they reached a height of about a meter, their growth unceasing; branches bore buds that rapidly swelled, hinting at imminent bloom.
This truly was the Dreamland, where Blood Roses, normally requiring two years to mature, reached their flowering stage in mere minutes.
Not all the seeds survived, nor did every plant produce as many blooms as conventionally cultivated Blood Roses, yet over two thousand seeds yielded nearly ten thousand flowers.
“Nine thousand eight hundred and eighty-one flowers.”
This was the number Blumberg reported as he bandaged her wounds.
“Normally, this many seeds would yield four times that number of flowers…”
Konehl-Ghervil’s voice was faint with weakness; she couldn’t tell if the man had heard her.
“As the quality of the blood improves, the quantity will only decrease.”
Blumberg’s voice drifted from her right to her left as the bleeding from her hand wounds finally ceased.
“Legend says that the plant bearing the first white Blood Rose produced no other fruits.”
“Father Aylmer’s notes… were they left by you?”
Having uttered this question, Konehl-Ghervil reached the absolute limit of her weakness, hovering on the brink of unconsciousness.
The man offered no reply, and the faint rustle of his clothes against the rose petals slowly receded into the distance.
After about an hour, someone fed her water and food, barely preserving her life.
She attempted to open her eyes to see her benefactor, but the person had already vanished.
Given his aversion to speaking or his conversational ineptitude, she surmised it must have been that accursed doctor.
‘Perhaps his conscience finally stirred.’
****
As the second day dawned, the dark clouds had completely dispersed, replaced by a scorching sun that hung in the sky, threatening to melt everything beneath it.
Konehl-Ghervil shook her head, then used one foot to push against the ankle of the other, shedding her socks.
Benefiting from her newfound flexibility and the surge of awakened potential, she managed a feat worthy of an acrobat: while standing, she threaded her foot through a sleeve, then forcibly pulled the insulating overcoat from the crucifix.
Such a maneuver was only possible in solitude, for it exposed her entirely, visible from any angle in front.
Overnight, nearly half the flower buds had unfurled.
To be frank, the sight was magnificent; Konehl-Ghervil had never witnessed so many roses blooming at once.
Situated at the very center, she was enveloped by a rich floral fragrance that had drawn numerous bees from the date palm grove.
She could even pluck some of the closer blossoms with her feet.
Without hesitation, she lifted her leg, her toes clamping onto a petal, and pulled it off with a decisive tug.
Attempting to convey it to her hand with the same movement she had used to remove her coat, she was on the verge of success when the petal slipped from her unsteady grip, falling to the ground.
A bitter sigh escaped her lips.
‘Was this a form of finding joy in adversity, a contagion caught from spending so much time with that unlucky knight?’
Had she not known the true city and her own impending demise, she would have truly wished to frolic in this sea of flowers.
The blooming of the roses signaled the imminent fulfillment of the mythical creature’s purpose; once all the roses were consumed, it would perform a ritual to cross into reality.
‘Hopefully, those in reality have already found a way to deal with the heart…’
*Clink—*
*Clink—*
Suddenly, all the chains binding her body snapped.
Her already weakened body, caught off guard, tumbled face-first to the ground.
Worse still, a sweet taste filled her mouth; she had inadvertently eaten the petal she had plucked with her foot.
Such an unfortunate coincidence made her momentarily wonder if she was cursed by ill luck once more.
“A pleasure to finally meet you, Sister Konehl-Ghervil. Forgive my tardiness and my inability to call upon you in person.”
A pair of calloused hands gently helped her to her feet.
Her eyes lifted, and the person she beheld shocked her profoundly.
“Baron Cambaton…”
“Indeed. I am the true Flower Baron, head of the Cambaton household, and Penelope’s father.”
He stepped to the left, revealing Penelope and Blumberg standing behind him.
“But weren’t you… dead two years ago?”
In her astonishment, Konehl-Ghervil failed to notice that she had swallowed the petal.
“That is precisely why I am here, and why I can only appear here,” the man replied with a hearty laugh.
‘What in the world is happening?’
‘Can the dead truly resurrect in a dream?’
‘There seems to be a precedent…’
She thought of one person: Alamany.
Upon closer inspection, it didn’t quite make sense; Alamany had been impersonated by Blumberg, which wasn’t a true resurrection. The Baron before her, however, was undeniably real.
“Father, the time is nearly upon us.”
With Penelope’s reminder, Konehl-Ghervil lost her chance to ask further questions.
The sun, now directly overhead, began to swell and expand at an astonishing pace.
A ring of pitch-black contours emerged around its periphery, twisting and writhing as it encroached upon the center.
The eclipse had begun.