As time passed, the crimson aura seeped into Philomena’s body, drop by drop. Her previously pale complexion gradually bloomed with a healthy flush, and even her labored breathing smoothed into a steady rhythm.
The dark circles beneath her eyes slowly receded, and the debilitating weakness that had plagued her from her severe illness vanished without a trace.
Seeing this, Beacai finally released her hand, severing the flow of divine power.
“Now, feel your own body.”
Heeding Beacai’s words, Philomena opened her eyes and slowly drew back her hand. She then clenched her fist, and as a surge of newfound strength coursed through her veins, her heart began to pound with an exhilarating beat.
A deeper blush crept across her cheeks. She tossed aside her cane and slowly rose from the sofa.
Lily, seeing her attempt, rushed to her side, ready to offer support. Yet, Philomena stood firm on her own, unaided.
She could feel it—her illness was truly gone. The hidden ailments within her body had been completely dissolved by Beacai’s divine power. She had, in every sense, been reborn.
“It’s truly… truly healed…”
Philomena gazed at her own hands in utter disbelief, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. With a choked sob, she pulled Lily, who was standing beside her, into a tight embrace.
Cradling her soft, fragrant daughter, she knew with certainty that none of this was a dream.
Illness had tormented her for countless years, leading her to completely abandon hope and even entrust Lily’s upbringing to others. Yet, against all odds, a miraculous turning point had arrived in the final moments of her life.
Someone had saved her, and that saviour was none other than the Evil God.
This dreamlike sensation clouded her mind, and the unbelievable reality rendered her incapable of coherent thought. Thus, she could only silently hold Lily, completely enveloped in this profound joy.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she finally snapped back to reality, her composure and rationality slowly returning. She knelt before Beacai once more, her movements considerably more fluid than before.
Lily, meanwhile, slipped out of her embrace and left the living room, her destination unknown.
“Thank you, Your Eminence. I shall remember your grace for the rest of my life…”
Though the words of gratitude spilled from her lips, Isis could discern Philomena’s lingering fear of Beacai. She remained wary, apprehensive that the goddess harbored some hidden agenda concerning them.
This sentiment was entirely understandable. Murder and mayhem were the hallmarks of an Evil God. If, one day, an Evil God suddenly chose to save lives, those familiar with her established persona would inevitably suspect ulterior motives.
Furthermore, the fear of an Evil God was a natural instinct for all living beings, and Isis found herself powerless to change it.
Beacai, too, sensed Philomena’s fear and the subtle distance she maintained. Yet, she offered no further words. With a dim gaze, she merely looked at Isis and stated, “If you wish to give thanks, direct them to her. It was her who requested I heal you.”
It seemed she had grown accustomed to such reactions.
Philomena turned her gaze to Isis. Upon realizing that it was Isis who had prompted the Evil God to save her, the lingering fear quietly receded, replaced by a surge of warmth and familiarity.
This newfound warmth, however, was solely directed at Isis. In Philomena’s eyes, they were both elves, and Isis would never wish her harm.
“Beacai…”
Isis paid no mind to Philomena’s thoughts. She simply gazed at Beacai, and in that moment, she found herself understanding the goddess’s pain.
Despite genuinely helping others, the return she received was not affection, but fear and alienation. Each repeated blow had gradually disheartened her, twisting her very nature.
This, then, was why she had seized and imprisoned Isis by her side, to demand that elusive, inauthentic love.
Isis’s hands clenched almost imperceptibly. For some inexplicable reason, the sight of a despondent Beacai struck her as truly pitiable, like a small, outcast creature silently enduring the pain inflicted by others in a forgotten corner.
A strange urge to offer comfort welled up in her throat. Isis parted her lips, intending to speak, but just as quickly, she hesitated.
A wounded creature, when licking its own wounds, sometimes only needed to be left alone in peace. An intrusive word of comfort from another could, paradoxically, rip open that delicate wound anew.
To speak or to remain silent—that became her most agonizing dilemma in that moment.
It was precisely then that Lily, who had briefly left the living room, hurried back. She produced a pale green paper pinwheel, extending it toward Beacai with a sweet smile.
“Big sister, this is for you!”
Beacai froze, bewildered by Lily’s gesture. Philomena, witnessing the scene, felt her heart leap into her throat and quickly rose, intending to intervene.
“Lily! You must address her as Your Eminence!”
To address the Evil God as “big sister”—Philomena had never witnessed such audacity. And for Lily to offer a simple paper pinwheel to a deity? How could an exalted god possibly appreciate such a mundane item?
To the Evil God, it might even be perceived as a blatant provocation. If the Evil God were displeased, their fate would undoubtedly be grim!
At the mere thought, beads of sweat pricked Philomena’s forehead. Yet, Isis gently restrained her, simultaneously placing a finger to her own lips, silently urging her to be quiet.
Philomena trusted Isis, knowing it was she who had implored the Evil God for her salvation. Thus, despite her overwhelming anxiety, she refrained from pulling Lily away, simply watching them with profound worry.
Seated on the sofa, Beacai accepted the paper pinwheel from Lily’s small hand. She tilted her head, a question in her eyes. “What is this?”
The question seemed to strike a chord deep within Lily’s heart. She hummed proudly, then spread her arms, gesticulating enthusiastically as she explained:
“This is my favorite pinwheel! If you blow on it, it spins! And Mama made it for me a long, long time ago. It was a gift, so it’s very, very precious.”
In the innocent world of a child, the most cherished treasures are never crude gold or jewels, but rather objects that evoke joy and precious memories.
Beacai gave a gentle puff of air, and the pinwheel slowly began to turn. The pale green hues blurred into a mesmerizing circle, while a faint, enchanting fragrance, painted onto the paper, diffused into the air.
Beacai remained silent for a long while. Only when the pinwheel in her hand finally ceased its rotation did she lift her gaze to Lily. “You want to give this to me?” she asked.
“Mm-hm!”
“Why? Isn’t this your most cherished possession?”
“Because Big Sister cured Mama’s sickness, and I wanted to thank Big Sister, so I had to give my favorite thing to Big Sister.”
Lily clasped her hands behind her back, her smile revealing two tiny dimples. Clutching the pinwheel, Beacai’s crimson pupils softened considerably.
She tentatively touched her own chest. For reasons she couldn’t fathom, a warm current seemed to flow through her entire being.
If Lily had given her the most cherished item she possessed, did that mean the little girl liked her too?
As she gazed at the adorable little girl before her, an inexplicable impulse stirred deep within Beacai’s heart.
Slowly, she raised her hand, intending to reach out and gently stroke Lily’s head. But a sudden fear made her hesitate, her arm freezing rigidly in mid-air. She was afraid Lily would recoil.
She no longer wished to experience that particular agony. All those who feigned closeness to her, in truth, harbored deep fear. This little girl, she presumed, would be no different.
‘No one would ever truly like her, except for Mama. No one…’
Lost in these thoughts, she was startled to find Lily gently nudged forward by Isis. The small, adorable head nestled beneath her palm, and a comforting warmth spread from her hand, permeating her entire being.
A tremor went through her heart, and she instinctively moved to withdraw her hand. Yet, she found Lily was like a clingy kitten, rubbing against her palm, her face alight with pure enjoyment.