CRASH!
Not long after that moment, Selene—who still managed to flash a sweet smile before fate took her—fainted. She collapsed, face-first, into the ground.
The earth clung to her body, as if to confirm: her time had come.
SIZZLE... SHATTER!
The imitation of Helena shattered apart, cracking and crumbling into oblivion.
Fine fractures snaked across her surface before she splintered into fragments, leaving behind a mound of shapeless quartz sand—like raw glass yet to be sculpted into art.
There was no echo of victory, only silence that swallowed every shard.
To win is to turn to coal, to lose is to become ash.
That proverb painted this moment perfectly. Not just as some old saying, but as a bitter pill of reality scattered before me right now. At this very moment.
My head bowed low, emptiness gaping within me.
The tears swollen in my eyes had long dried—replaced by a suffocating void.
It felt like staring at the remnants of a dream that could never become true again.
Meanwhile, Selene laid still akin to Aurora in the old classic fairytale—not the cheap imitation version of glitter and plastic illusion, but the original story, rich with meaning and pain—that required the spark of life through a kiss of true love.
But in this story, the prince was never the answer.
No, never ever the answer.
And definitely not some sorts of knight on horseback arriving fashionably late, but someone who truly, deeply loves her. Who loves her sincerely.
The true love of a woman who raised her as if she were her mum.
Love that grew without condition. The love of a woman who raised her with her own hands—not the hands of a palace let alone a kingdom.
Love that is silent, but never absent. Voiceless, yet soul-shaping.
That was Maleficent. Not some CGI-winged witch imitation, but the true Maleficent—a mysterious figure uninvited, yet irreplaceable in her role, crucial for Aurora.
She was no mere fantasy. Rather, she was the uncomfortable reality.
In other words, she is real.
Not exactly beautiful nor pretty, but true to herself.
And she was not the prince who would wake her.
Therefore... in this world, perhaps I indeed was that Maleficent.
But, unfortunately, the "Aurora" of this story was too perfect.
Well, not really. They’ve had their true nature of both characters hidden.
The real Aurora is a curious soul, full of brilliance and a light that sleep nor fairytales can extinguish. A genius and talent brimming with wonder for the world.
As if every second of her slumber was a loss to a world she never got to understand.
The real Maleficent is kind-hearted and humble—but hides it behind her ego, her logic, her relentless questioning of existence.
She is not evil—just too curious. And the world hates those who ask too much.
So, not evil. Just too logical. Too aware. Too human.
I don’t think I can do that here.
Selene’s "corpse" laid before me, and I began to work on it with my magic.
Transcription... Bio-Cipher-Deconstruction. Selene Eryndell Veylith.
A truly forbidden spell. Perfectly fitting for her demeanour.
Deconstructing a ’body’ is a major taboo—even in the world of magic. But I could feel ’death’ hovering. As if she were saying, "I’m only dead for now," through that soulless shell.
Moments later, her organs, flesh, and skin all separated gracefully, almost in line with her signature Selene elegance.
All scattered, because I too was curious...
Curious not because I didn’t care—but because I didn’t know how to save her.
Or rather, the right way to carry all of these at once.
Oh, right. Of course...
The brain is the most vital organ in the human body.
As Selene once said, it’s more or less a quantum processor—not just accelerating and decelerating what we perceive, but also a projector, a simulation engine, and a library.
And that got me thinking.
Do simulacra really exist inside the brain?
As an ex-doctor who’s gone through everything up to this point, I was honestly starting to question such spiritual concepts. If the soul truly exists in form, can it be translated into a language I can understand? A materialist approach works only for the visible—no matter how small. But for the unseen, it’s hard to decode.
Wait—this wasn’t the right time to be pondering such strange things. I
t’s time I did something useful. Using this brain of mine that had already been contaminated by Selene. Every thought I pull felt like it no longer belonged to me.
Like a virus, she’s infected me. Like she’s trying to rewrite the way I think.
"We’re both really stubborn, aren’t we, Selene..."
I said as I looked, one by one, at each part of her.
Two mirrors reflecting the same light, but refusing to admit it.
Honestly, I don’t want her way of thinking to change me. But in the end...
You have won.
I simply gave in.
Not because I was weak—but because I had chosen to love you in my own way.
Transcription. Mnemonic Compression.
SELENE ERYNDELL VEYLITH. Target: "KAILENE – Selene Ernyndell Veylith."
Piece by piece, her essence was compressed and entered the personal library I keep. Without a second thought, I inhaled the unreadable traces of Selene’s essence—absorbing it into my mind.
Don’t worry. You’ll still live inside me.
Sleep well. I’ll find a way to fulfill my promise.
That kiss on your lips.
Soon after, I felt her essence tremble in my mind, as if in agreement.
I smiled faintly, then limped away through the ruins of Helena’s world-building, staggering forward—hoping for a miracle to await me.
"I have to get out of this sandbox, find the Void Rifter, and meet Helena."
I muttered, dragging Mytheia slowly behind me.
Honestly, I might die.
But a sliver of hope, no matter how small, worthed everything when I faced Helena later. And therefore... for now, I could not die.
Yes, this was the only way to settle everything. All at once.
I would do everything for my beloved Selene—whom I love.
Truly... from the deepest part of my heart.
* * *
"Kairi, Kairi... KAIRI!"
I screamed so loud in my slumber. It felt like being jolted awake from a nightmare—one so vivid, so terrifying, it clung to my bones.
I shot up, gasping.
"Miss, what’s wrong? Why are you calling your own name? Bad dream?"
Her voice was puzzled, laced with concern. I could almost see the thought flickering behind her eyes: Why would someone cry out her own name in a dream?
Her gaze lingered, curious and quietly unnerved.
And I had to think about this quickly.
The only way out? Lie—calmly, innocently, without a trace of guilt on my face.
Such a hypocritical nature had become one of my habits: throwing a nonsense.
"Oh, it’s nothing. Really. I just had a dream where someone kept telling me to remember my name over and over again endlessly."
I said it with a sheepish chuckle, hoping it would land. Apparently, it did.
She nodded slightly, glancing up at the sky as if searching for meaning in the clouds.
"I see... that must’ve been quite scary for you, Miss Kairi."
"It’s alright. Someone once told me that dreams are just the flowers of sleep."
"So don’t worry too much about it, okay?"
I gave her a quiet nod and followed her gaze.
The sky stretched wide above us—blue, endless, and uncaring.
We were in the garden, beneath a sakura tree in full bloom.
Spring had arrived.
A spring without the real Kairi had arrived.
Still, like a miracle, it felt as if I had just awakened from a long, long dream.
I wondered... what would become of Kairi from here on?
The thought lingered like a stone in my chest.
And finally, I gathered the courage to ask.
"Nurse, may I ask you something?"
My voice was gentle, though hoarse—maybe from a throat long unused.
"Of course, Miss Kairi. What’s on your mind?"
I inhaled slowly, then asked,
"If I may ask... what is love supposed to feel like? Does it feel hurt? Or is it bittersweet? Also... is it selfish to love someone in my own way?"
"And at last, if my love really does exist... is it still something that can be saved?"