The Melancholic Solitude.
My consciousness returns in that very moment, and all the pain I had kept inside pierces me like a thousand swords thrusting into me. I collapse to the ground, gasping in agony.
"Marco!" Ram rushes to my side, extending a helping hand. "You must be a fool if you can't control your body."
She assists me in standing, and in these days, Ram has been considerably kinder to me. Yet, I can still recall her head flying. It's hard to believe she's in love with someone like him.
Ram certainly has terrible luck.
I've been returned to the moment just before I said something to Roswaal. I know this because he's still smiling.
"Thank you, Ram. I've been working on the project and didn't realize how tired I was," I say with a smile, but she grumbles.
"Hmpf! It's because you're useless," Ram mutters as she walks back over to Roswaal.
I don't particularly like Ram's attitude, but at least it's only verbal. I'm sure it's not what she truly thinks, so it doesn't bother me much.
"Yes, Miss Steam Potatoes," I mumble to myself, causing her to avert her gaze.
Almost like déjà vu, Roswaal chuckles a bit. Ram furrows her brow and turns her face away from both of us. It might have been a pleasant moment if it weren't for the fact that I've returned from death because of this bastard.
There's no redemption for Roswaal. If I want to continue existing here, I have to strip him of everything he has.
Only then can I kill him.
"Please, have a seat. I think we need to have a very, very serious discussion," Roswaal winks at me and with his right arm, gestures toward the couch.
I walk towards the sofa, replaying that scene in my mind over and over. I look out the window, where I remember the horrific death of Rem. Immediately, my body reacts with nausea and a headache. I attempt to use mana to calm my reaction, but I can't seem to soothe myself. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly.
I glance at Roswaal, who shows no change in his expression.
"There are several factors, however, I would like to request several things in order to proceed with the reconstruction."
"I thought those materials would be sufficient," Roswaal responds.
"Yes, they are sufficient for the village's reconstruction, but there are more matters to attend to," I rise while both of them observe me, and I walk slowly toward the window.
I can't let myself be affected by this. Even though it happened in the past, it no longer exists. I don't need to feel fear. I must be resolute.
"We need blacksmiths. With the blacksmith's passing, we need to bring in others. Additionally, I would like to request iron, as my plan is to construct a machine that will bring us great prosperity."
Roswaal's smile widens.
"I see, it is indeed a great tragedy what happened."
"Yes, that's why I need it to proceed to the next phase."
At that moment, Ram interrupts.
"The next phase? Isn't it just about building the village and selling the same product?"
I look at both of them, trying to display a confident smile. Though I'm still afraid, it's not the time to yield to it.
"No, if we want to match the other candidates, we need to have our own strength," I gesture toward the village. "We will train interested villagers to become expert soldiers."
A silence falls over the room, until Ram begins to laugh arrogantly.
"Those poor villagers? Training people is no simple task. We would need a fencing master, and it takes years to form knights."
I shake my head.
"I'm not going to turn them into knights. That's why I said I need to build that machine. Only with it can I create a new type of weapon."
Yes, that's what I've been keeping from the beginning. On my cellphone, I have many weapon designs. I managed to salvage some blueprints, and I've been working on them.
If I manage to bring weaponry to this world, I will gain a significant advantage in terms of combined strength. After all, it is easier to produce soldiers than to train knights.
"It will be costly, but I believe it will be worthwhile. If we bring those weapons from my world, no common knight can stand against what you call a mere peasant," I declare with conviction.
Roswaal intertwines his hands, deep in thought.
"You're right, Marco. If we wi~~ish to have influence, we need to have a grou~~up at our disposal. I understand your desi~~ire to invest in the village."
"Yes, my intention is to turn the village into our own strength. From there, we can produce anything that comes to my mind, and I'm confident we will attract more people to the village," I state firmly, locking eyes with Roswaal. "It's a risky gamble, but I believe you have the resources for it."
Roswaal seems to ponder for a few moments. As I watch him in silence, I can't help but feel nervous. If I deviate from the script, if my actions don't align with his plan, he could kill me.
Fortunately, he doesn't know everything I know. Furthermore, it appears he can't see beyond certain days. Otherwise, he would have been suspicious when I said, "It was you who told me." He couldn't accept it because he left the mansion.
Also, it seems he doesn't know he will go to Echidna's tomb. He doesn't know who I truly am and remains completely unaware of the distant future.
This means that if I plan carefully, I can set a trap for him.
My thoughts are interrupted by Roswaal.
"Intere~~sting, we shall do as you sa~~ay," he says as he begins to write on a sheet of paper. "If you truly manage to do that, you will be named the mayor of the vi~~illage. Moreover, your way of managing the accounts is quite efficient. I would like to work more with you on that, so we will do the calculations another time."
Roswaal smiles at me, giving me the green light to proceed with my plan. All of this has been for this moment. If Roswaal himself has said it, then I am on the right path. Of course, this is not the only thing I have in mind.
Irlam, in the future, I am eager to see what it will become.
I exit the room with a smile, trying to leave behind what has happened, although it's incredibly strange how easy it is to forget. Almost as if my body is striving to avoid madness in the face of circumstances.
As the sun bids farewell on the horizon, the stars begin to make their appearance, illuminating the path to my room. During this journey, I reflect on my return, lamenting the lack of time to properly consider the situations I face.
If only I had a broader margin of action, I would be able to make wiser decisions. But, unfortunately, reality is stubborn and prevails over my desires.
During my descent down the staircase, I encounter Emilia, who was ascending. We pause for a few moments, exchanging glances, before a smile graces both our faces.
"Good evening, Emilia," I look directly into her eyes, seeking to convey complicity.
Emilia responds with a smile and winks at me, demonstrating our shared understanding.
"Good evening, Professor. Or perhaps I should say... partner," a small laugh escapes her lips.
"Yes, I suppose I can accept that title this time," I draw near to her and gently rest my hand on her head, conveying closeness and trust. "Would you like to have a chat? We've been quite occupied since then."
Emilia nods, showing interest in the suggestion.
"Yes, I'd love to. We can go to my new room," Emilia suggests.
However, I shake my head, feeling the need to release all this tension outside the mansion's walls.
"I think it would be better to step out of the mansion. The courtyard is in chaos due to the ant creation, but at least we kept the exterior clean so it doesn't look bad."
Emilia lets out a giggle, quickly covering her mouth to keep from making too much noise.
"Hehe, when Rem saw it, her face turned pale," she remarks amusingly.
Ugh, even though I made sure not to harm the plants during our actions, the process involved has generated more dust than usual. Nonetheless, we decide to move away to the farthest part of the courtyard to avoid causing any damage.
As we walk together and descend the steps leisurely, I consider that it would be more convenient to relocate all these activities to the village.
"I suppose it would be more convenient to move all these activities to the village," I comment in a hushed tone as we progress.
In moments of peace like these, I greatly appreciate tranquility. Though I am aware that I provoked Roswaal to act in that manner, theoretically speaking, I assume the blame. However, that doesn't change the intensity of the pain I felt at that moment.
In particular, I recall Beatrice's warm embrace, which revealed the profound loneliness she experiences.
Contrary to what one might think, Beatrice instinctively craves happiness, and I must continue to nurture that desire. Despite suffering from profound depression, there are still parts of her that yearn for more.
True agony does not solely reside in the feeling of loneliness, but in the devastating loss of all hope. When one is alone, it's possible to find solace in introspection, in the search for oneself, and in the possibility of a different future.
However, when all hope is lost, the guiding light that leads our steps fades, and the heart plunges into a desolate darkness.
"Now that I think about it," my gaze meets Emilia's, seeking a moment of connection. "I haven't spoken to Puck."
Since I told him what I did, time has not allowed me to speak with him.
We used to meet before his time concluded, engaging in conversations about magic and other matters. Moreover, it was the time when he provided me with assistance in controlling my gate.
Emilia, with a pouting expression, descends the last step and quickly moves ahead of me with a small sprint.
"It seems you've been so busy that you haven't even had time for me. Puck says you're already forgetting about him," Emilia remarks, her voice revealing a hint of sadness.
"Once things settle down, we'll return to our routine. Puck is my mentor; I could never forget him," I assure her sweetly, trying to convey calmness and assurance.
Together, we leave the mansion, and every time I look up at the sky, I can't help but feel a profound admiration. Here, free from pollution, I can delight in a celestial view of indescribable beauty.
Furthermore, the fact that we are in a region free from volcanic activity allows the firmament to display its splendor.
However, I can't seem to identify the constellations; in reality, I don't have much knowledge about them. Despite my attempts to find typical ones like Orion's Belt, I fail to distinguish them in the night sky. This only reminds me of how alienated I feel from my own world and its wonders.
"You know, in my world, we often assign names to all the stars that populate the firmament," I share with Emilia as we walk toward an open field, where we decide to sit together.
"Really? But for what purpose?" Emilia shifts her gaze to the sky, reveling in its magnificence by my side.
Excluding scientific or survival objectives, I doubt there exists a concrete purpose. Instead, I believe it's a way to imbue romanticism into what we hold dear. Perhaps it's a means of feeling that these stars belong to us in some way.
"By giving names to what is part of our lives, even to those stars that are so distant, we manage to feel they are intrinsically linked to us," I explain as I extend my hand, pointing to the starry firmament. "Thus, when we appreciate and contemplate them, we can experience a sense of warmth and belonging, as if they are there to accompany us."
"Ah, so, naming them to feel they are a part of you," Emilia comments softly, her voice completely calm.
"Do you want to give it a try?" I ask her.
"Yes!" she responds excitedly.
Forgetting why we were there, we both begin to search for figures in the firmament. It proves challenging for me, as I try to find only those I recognize and fail to distinguish any meaningful shapes.
After a few minutes, we lie down on the grass, observing the sky attentively and seeking a connection, almost as if it were a competition.
In this moment, I can't help but feel a profound calm. A few simple words were enough to trigger the deaths of almost everyone, words directed at a psychopath. The idea is simply unbearable. I fear thinking about what to do or say, I fear deviating from his script and having to repeat everything.
I know he doesn't know all the future, but he does know the present. If I want to end him, I have to go to Echidna's tomb.
However, I'm not ready for that yet.
"I found something!" Emilia exclaims excitedly, raising her hand and trying to point out something to me.
On the other hand, Emilia is able to maintain her genuine attitude, and I admire that in her.
"Where?" I move closer to her to try to get a better view of what she's pointing at.
"Look, look! It has the shape of the crystal where Puck resides," Emilia points with excitement, but unfortunately, I can't see it.
"Wait, if you point it out like that, it's difficult for me to see," I roll over closer to her, right by her side, to have her perspective.
Emilia is surprised, and her cheeks blush softly under the faint moonlight. She tries to hide her embarrassment, quickly shifting her gaze back to the starry sky.
"I still can't see it clearly," I say softly, as her shyness becomes evident.
I may be overindulging in paying such meticulous attention to details, but ever since we began working together, we've cultivated a special trust. While I don't dare claim complete trust in her, I know she harbors no ill intentions toward me. At the very least, I genuinely matter to her.
No, there's another person, a young girl, who in her solitude chose to help me even at the cost of her own life.
Both of us lie on the soft grass, our heads close together, as we gaze at the starry firmament. In this shared moment of peace, the atmosphere is filled with a sweet complicity.
"Look..." Emilia whispers, trying to hide her embarrassment.
It must be difficult for her to openly express her emotions, but these interactions are gradually acclimating her. Each new experience is a step toward her personal growth, and I am delighted to witness it.
With her trembling hand, Emilia points to a star that shines with intermittent blue flashes.
"From there, do you see it?" her hesitant voice reveals her shyness.
"Yes," I respond softly, attempting to convey calmness and camaraderie.
Emilia slowly lowers her hand, and I watch in fascination. Star by star, her delicate gesture traces the shape of a diamond in the starry sky. At each tip of the diamond, a star stands out with a dull yellow glow, as if on the brink of fading.
"For me, Puck is the most important thing there is. He's been my unwavering support all this time," Emilia murmurs, her voice barely audible due to her shyness. "I love him very much, so I'm going to name those stars Puck."
My eyes light up with admiration and wonder. In that moment, Emilia's perception transcends the tangible and delves into the pure love of a family member. It's a deep and unadulterated love that transcends all barriers.
"The Puck Constellation. That's truly beautiful, Emilia," I murmur, moved by her gesture of love.
Embarrassment is reflected on Emilia's face as she lowers her gaze. It is a charming expression that adds a touch of vulnerability to the scene.
"Yes, it's a pity that I can't see it," she confesses softly, as if sharing an intimate secret. In that moment, I can't help but smile at Emilia's sweetness. It's in these small details where the true beauty of her love for Puck resides.
"I can take a photo of it with my cell phone," I propose.
Occasionally, it's not amiss to do something even when you gain no personal benefit. I would like to witness Puck's reaction when he sees it. To a spirit, it may seem trivial and foolish, but I'm confident he'll comprehend it when he sees Emilia's joy.
Emilia turns her head toward me, and as I gaze at the sky, she exclaims with delight:
"Really? Is it possible?" Emilia displays excitement, paying no heed to our proximity.
"Yes, tomorrow I'll bring my cell phone, and we'll take a photo. I want to see what Puck says when he sees it," I assert, brimming with enthusiasm for his reaction.
"Yes!" Emilia once again turns her gaze to the sky, and I can tell she's genuinely happy about what I said.
"Now that I think about it, the crystal represents that, but the point in the center," I remark.
Emilia falls silent for a moment, then speaks, with a more subdued tone.
"I won't tell you," She says, piquing my curiosity.
"That doesn't seem fair," I respond, intrigued by her answer.
We continue to gaze at the firmament, attempting to find more connections among the stars. However, after a while, Emilia begins to speak.
"It's difficult," her tone becomes more somber. "It's been a truly horrible experience having to contain everything and carry on, showing strength."
Emilia pauses and covers her eyes with her arm, as if she wants to conceal her emotions.
"Is that what it means to be an adult?" she sighs, trying to hold back tears.
I know these are not easy things to face. It's easy to blame and tell someone to be strong, easy to judge when you yourself feel weak, because these are things we tell ourselves in such moments. What's difficult is to be compassionate amid the pain.
Not everyone reacts the same way or experiences the same circumstances. I can't find words that provide Emilia with the support she needs right now.
Being an adult transcends age. It's a stage of life where you learn to control yourself, not to act impulsively as you would in adolescence.
"Crying is okay," I say as I take Emilia's left hand, resting on her abdomen. "Crying is a part of life; sometimes, I even envy people who can cry."
Emilia tightens her grip, trembling slightly.
"People will always expect you to be perfect. They'll want to see results, triumphs in everything.
People are inherently selfish, and the only way to teach them to be compassionate is to make them go through the same experiences. Criticizing is easy, but understanding is difficult.
Emilia is just a child, a child forced to grow up too fast.
Growing up in an unfavorable environment, surrounded by people who hate her for her appearance, without the opportunity to socialize properly, with happy memories of her family taken from her to shield her from the trauma of their death.
Blaming Emilia for crying, blaming her for wanting to give up, seems hypocritical in every sense. Expecting someone to be strong just because it's our inner desire to see our own wishes reflected.
"Don't let those thoughts control you. I know the pressure on you is immense, but you're also a person, and you don't always have to be strong."
Emilia turns her body, lying halfway on her side, and gazes at me intently.
"But all of this happened because I couldn't protect everyone." Her tears fall slowly, touching the grass. "If this is going to keep happening, then I'd rather give it all up."
"Don't be arrogant, Emilia."
My words surprise her, and she widens her eyes as the tears keep flowing.
"I know I've told you this before, and I know it's complicated because of everything that's happened. In fact, seeing that you still think this way shows me the big heart you have."
Unlike others, not all of us can feel the same. Whether it's the experiences that lead you to this or simply because you don't care. Everyone grieves differently.
"It's true; this could happen again. After all, we're not perfect. Believing we can do it all is just wishful thinking. Even if the hero of a story manages to save everyone, that only happens in fiction. Reality is never so beautiful."
"Is that fair?" Emilia asks with a trembling voice.
"I don't know," I reply as I wrap my right arm around her, pulling her closer to me. "All I know is that we must be strong."
Emilia doesn't reject me; she stays beside me, softly sobbing on my chest. She has been strong all this time, attentive to everything, never ceasing to study, and recently, she's been practicing her spiritual abilities, trying to better control her mana to prevent something like this from happening again.
She's exerted herself like never before, but I also know how exhausting it can be.
"Yes, I have to be strong," Emilia says without separating from me.
"But, when you need to." I embrace her with my left arm. "You can come and cry whenever you want."
Emilia starts crying again, but this time it's not a desperate cry. She simply cries, without saying anything, releasing all the pressure she's been accumulating in these days.
"Just promise me that you'll be strong when you need to be," I tell her.
Emilia keeps crying, but nods. How difficult must it be for her? Feeling that loneliness, despite having Puck by her side, she surely wishes to be with someone else. Laughing as normal people do and enjoying a peaceful life.
I slide my hand over her head, gently caressing it.
Crying isn't easy. I don't think true crying is something simple. Some people cry over anything, it's true, but we don't know what's going on inside their heads for that to happen.
I can feel the weight of Emilia's tears.
Although we've known each other for a short time, I can empathize with her situation. I also recognize her effort.
I stay with her as she releases her vulnerability, as she drains her pain. Maybe in the future, we can be good friends, trusting each other. This is an Emilia I had never seen before, far from being presented as a princess or a heroine who needs to be rescued by the protagonist.
I look towards the horizon as the gentle breeze caresses our bodies under the moon's glow. In the midst of that special moment, Emilia and I strengthen our determination, longing for a better future. Her words echoed in the air, full of gratitude and affection.
"Thank you, Marco. Thank you for being here," Emilia says, freeing herself from my arms and getting up quickly. She hurries to dust off her dress and extends her hand to me.
I smile at her persistent smile, despite having slightly swollen eyes. I take her hand and stand up, aware that there is still much work to be done.
"Yes, there is a lot of work waiting for us," I reply, sharing her enthusiasm.
We bid our farewells, and I decide to return to my humble servant's quarters, which are situated near the kitchen. However, I have no intention of staying there for long.
After taking a bath and changing my attire, I find myself standing at Beatrice's door.
With a heart that beats faster, I open the door from within. The aroma that once seemed unpleasant has been replaced by eager anticipation. And there she is, sitting, engrossed in the pages of a book, as she often does.
Without turning towards me, Beatrice lets out a disdainful sigh and says, "Hmpf! You seem desperate to see Betty, but Betty does not wish to see you."
Her cutting words cause a small pang within me. I cannot forget the words she spoke before her demise, and I cannot allow her to remain trapped in her solitude.
"Really? I thought at least you enjoyed my company."
"Who do you think you are, indeed?" She shoots me a glare that could cut through steel.
I maintain a steady gaze, determined not to let her slip away again.
"Perhaps I should stop coming then," I respond, defiantly.
The air becomes charged with palpable tension as we engage in this emotionally charged encounter.
"Yes, that's a splendid idea, I suppose," she replies.
I recognize the difficulty of accepting someone when you've felt the weight of exploitation and loneliness. Although I've mentioned her four hundred years of solitude before, my desire to help Beatrice arises from the depths of my being. Perhaps there is some inexplicable connection between us.
"Then I won't be able to bring you any more blueprints or share more stories with you," I remark, noticing how Beatrice lowers her head and lets out a soft sigh.
"I didn't say that, in fact," she replies, averting her gaze.
"Don't worry, even if you deny it, you can't deceive yourself." I wink at her. "Though it may annoy you to hear it, I hope that someday you can genuinely smile."
She averts her gaze, making it clear she doesn't want to discuss it. I also didn't come with the intention of debating it, so I have no issue with that.
"Is there a way I can perceive the miasma?" I inquire, needing to grasp it better.
Though I'm aware that there's something uncontrollable in my body, I can't identify if it's miasma or how to control it.
I know it's miasma because Puck told me, that ominous sensation in my body. So far, I can only use my mana and activate it to gradually eliminate the miasma. If I could identify it clearly, it would be of great assistance.
"There's a book that speaks of it. If you seek information, you can read it," Beatrice responds, using her gravitational magic to toss me a book. I catch it and examine its cover: "Curses."
"Thank you. I will stay here by your side reading, my dear reading companion," I express, taking advantage of the knowledge within this library. Although my time is limited, I must start reading everything here bit by bit. The more knowledge I acquire, the greater my chances of gaining more power.
After some time of reading, I begin to comprehend a bit more about the miasma. As expected, miasma is a force opposed to mana.
It originated at the same moment but manifests differently. One isn't born with miasma, but rather, one becomes infected by it when coming into contact with another being that possesses and transmits it.
Essentially, it's like a virus. Miasma can feed on negative emotions and alter the very rules of mana, triggering abilities that may resemble what is known as divine blessings. There have been cases of individuals born with miasma, such as a witch born with it.
The problem lies in the fact that if you're not compatible with miasma, you descend into madness faster than someone with greater compatibility.
"Genes, on the other hand, have ancient roots and are carried by witches of old," Beatrice explains. "Genes are manifestations of abilities. While miasma grants you certain resilience and power simply by possessing it, genes are skills that adapt to the deepest desires of the bearer and affect their mind. If you're not compatible with genes, your own desires will take control of you, turning you into a mere machine that fulfills your longings."
There's no practical way to perceive miasma, but here it mentions that this isn't the only way it manifests. Some individuals can develop the ability to detect it, especially spirits, who can perceive it effortlessly.
Those who develop this ability often do so due to traumas related to the miasma's effects, so it's not an easy thing to create.
That explains why Rem can sense it. I suppose I'll have to inquire with Rem about this, as I won't receive further assistance here. Beatrice, being a spirit, is simply capable of it, but I don't believe she can aid me further in that regard.
"Now that you have the information, it would be best for you to leave, I suppose," Beatrice says, closing her book and gesturing towards the door with her hand.
"I didn't come here to read that; I came to see you," I tell her, ignoring her gesture. "I want to talk to you, so come, don't make your life any more bitter."
I place my hand on her head, causing an energetic reaction in her. After a few seconds, she stops resisting and asks me, "Why does it have to be me? The half-elf is outside, and besides, the maid has been waiting for you in front of the door, in fact."
"Because I feel comfortable with you."
"Don't use me for your comfort, that's unpleasant, I suppose," she says with annoyance.
I knew those words would make her think that way.
"Feeling comfortable with you doesn't mean I'm using you. Feeling comfortable with you means I want to be with you," I respond as I walk to the side of her chair and kneel. "I don't want to do anything other than see you happy."
"Why? You've only been here a little over a week. It's strange that you want that for someone, in fact."
"Time is irrelevant, Beatrice. It's not about how much time you spend with someone, but how you spend it with that person. I enjoy the good company of a day more than a mediocre one for years."
Beatrice tightens her lips, trying to contain her anger. For her, time has become a painful torture that threatens to crush her spirit. In that moment, our eyes meet, and I feel a spark of connection that goes beyond words.
"The past remains in what it was, that's something that will never change, in fact," she whispers with a voice full of bitterness.
"That's right, that's why. I have no right to enter your life, but only if you tell me yourself," I respond, gently taking her hand, trying to convey a comforting feeling. I gaze into her eyes, as my words flow with sincerity.
"I don't know what experiences you've had, but it's better to enjoy the present than let the past drag you down. It's never too late to find happiness, Beatrice. Even if you may feel that all is lost, there are still infinite possibilities waiting for you."
Her eyes avert, as if accepting my words is too arduous a task for her. Sadness and despair appear to have deeply rooted themselves within her.
"We may not know each other, it's true, but that doesn't mean we can't change that," I tell her, with a note of hope in my voice.
Beatrice raises her gaze, as if about to say something, but her lips remain sealed. However, in that moment, I can see a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes, a hint that perhaps there's a crack through which light can filter.
"If there's even a glimmer of hope within you, let me guide you toward a new path. Allow me to show you that you can still find happiness," I say, briefly closing my eyes and wearing a confident smile.
A tense silence settles between us. Beatrice seems speechless, unable to respond. On the other hand, my heart flutters with uncertainty about the situation. I know it's not the right time to tell her this, I know we haven't built enough trust yet, but the desire to see her break free from her chains and experience the fullness of life is overwhelming.
"Get to know me better, Beatrice. Let me delve into your world, and when you trust me enough, you can tell me about yourself. I promise I won't pull away; I'll be by your side, unconditionally," I say, firmly placing my hand on her head.
A flicker of doubt crosses her face, but ultimately, she surrenders to the intensity of our shared emotions.
"Do as you please, I suppose," Beatrice mutters as she conjures a bed out of thin air and stands up resolutely. "I'm going to bed now. I'd appreciate it if you left as well."
With a smile filled with understanding, I slowly walk towards the exit. However, before I leave, my eyes meet hers once more, seeking a silent promise.
"I'll be back tomorrow, Beatrice," I whisper softly, conveying my unwavering commitment.
As I exit the room, I can't help but feel that the world is full of possibilities. This situation intertwines with the hope that, over time, we can heal together and discover the beauty of life and shared joy.
I gently sink into the welcoming mattress, feeling my body relax into the cozy bed. The accumulated tiredness of the day weighs on me, but there's also a spark of excitement burning within me. Tomorrow is a new day, full of possibilities and opportunities to build a better future.
The room plunges into darkness, and I slowly close my eyes, allowing sleep to envelop me like a comforting embrace. My mind fills with images and dreams as I surrender to the promise of a bright tomorrow.
In that moment, the bed seems to absorb my being, not just my physical fatigue but also my hopes and aspirations. I give myself to it without reservation, trusting that when I wake up, I'll be renewed and ready to face whatever destiny has in store.
After all, the next step is the formal beginning of the elections, and... the cult's attack.