In a garden wrapped in mist and pastel pink light, Lyre spun around. Her dress fluttered like soft clouds, and with every step she took, the mist beneath her feet bloomed into strawberry flowers.
She giggled and sat down on a wicker chair in the candy square—where the ground was made of soft biscuit, the sky an arch of melting caramel, and the wind whispered like glass melodies.
On the table, layered cakes, honey-infused tea, and candies shimmering under sunlight were neatly arranged—as if waiting for her since a past life.
> "So delicious," Lyre said, tilting her head. "Tastes like Geal..."
A pearlescent butterfly landed on her shoulder. In the distance, glowing mushroom stalks clapped, celebrating her like a chorus from a fairytale night.
> "I'm a princess now!"
She leapt onto the table and danced an unnamed dance. Her dress flew, and her golden eyes lit up like twin suns. She raised her arms skyward, as if waiting for someone to pull her out of this world.
From afar, a four-colored plush bear approached, its tiny steps echoing like bronze bells. On its belly was a silver eye, stitched with living thread, blinking gently as if sentient.
> "Sir Bear has arrived! Dance with me!"
---
Where there had once been a lecture hall, now only a blood-soaked sanctuary remained. Light from shattered stained glass spilled across the floor like streaks of dead lipstick. The air was thick with the smell of charred flesh, candle wax, ash, and despair.
Lyre stood in the middle of the room. In her hand, she held something... limp and oozing. It was unclear whether it was hair, silk, or the remnants of a sweet dream long gone.
Her eyes were wide open—not seeing, only drifting.
> "Geal liked it... sweet like strawberries…"
Her voice rose, light as a winter night's breath. Blood spread like ribbons around her dress, red-violet streaks trailing along the hem like living embroidery.
No one answered.
But in Lyre's ears, Geal's voice whispered like wind from a cracked music box:
> "Don't be afraid. I'll never leave you." And she smiled.
---
Lyre fed the plush bear a heart-shaped candy. It didn't open its mouth, but she patiently pressed one candy after another into its fabric, whispering like telling a secret.
> "You know, Geal was so kind. He touched me so gently…"
A flicker of sorrow crossed her cheek—like a raindrop on a sugar-coated cake.
> "Not like the priests. They smelled of sweat, had filthy hands. They never said my name the way Geal did…"
She looked up. The trees bowed low, and the leaves turned to shards of mirror—reflecting her smile, though the eyes in the mirror were crying.
> "I love Geal," she said, as if casting a curse.
The plush bear didn't answer. It only shook its head—slowly, like the motion of someone hanged by the wrists. Black ink seeped from its broken button eye.
---
Lyre was drawing a circle with blood. In her hand was a piece of embroidered cloth from the infirmary—now soaked with patterns painted in blood.
> "Geal touched me here…"
She laughed, pointing to her abdomen—where the fabric had been torn to shreds. On her skin, faint marks lingered, as if someone had tried to reach in... or carve her open.
> "But I'm ugly now… Geal won't love me anymore…"
She sniffed her wrist—where jasmine perfume had once been. Now only the stench remained, but to her, it was still the scent of memory.
No one had ever touched Lyre.
Geal wasn't real. He was just a name she imagined on the night she was locked in the chapel.
---
The candy tree wept. The butter statue melted, revealing a rusted steel core. Luminous butterflies dropped like peeling skin.
Lyre kept smiling, twirling hand in hand with the plush bear.
> "I'm the prettiest princess!"
"You're the bravest knight!"
"And Geal will be the prince!"
She said, and the sky turned to glass. Stars cracked open. The plush bear bled from its back, threads snapping loose like writhing snakes. But Lyre didn't see.
She saw only love—eternal—and her dress spinning in a spray of pink fireworks.
---
A cracking sound echoed—the final wall of the lecture hall collapsed.
A cold wind swept through the ashes. The ceiling crumbled. Lightning burst into light, illuminating the room like the final judgment.
"How delightful, monster."
Lioren stepped in.
His white hair tangled. Eyes triple-ringed—a vortex of four elements. The ground cracked beneath each step. Wind tore at his back like shattered wings of a fallen angel.
He looked around: The floor soaked in blood. Walls streaked with dried gore. Shadows slumped like broken puppets.
And in the center, Lyre spun. Her dress soaked in something dark and slick like engine oil. In her hand, something soft and dripping like old tears.
> "I told you, dying would have been better…"
Lioren muttered, voice cold and hard like frozen stone. There was no compassion in his eyes anymore.
> "A demon wearing the skin of an angel."
He raised his sword.
Lightning flashed.
Wind howled through memory.
Three bolts of lightning shot toward her.
The first severed her arm.
The second pierced her stomach.
The third struck her eye.
Blood gushed endlessly as she collapsed into a pool of it.
> "So bright... sir... knight…"
> "Still breathing," Lioren murmured.
Suddenly, she teleported—onto a mountain of corpses. She sat there, her arm fully restored.
Lioren stared in disbelief at the towering shadow behind her—immense, terrifying beyond reason.
> "To have changed this much... It's unreal."
---
> "Geal… save me."
Lyre whispered. Soft as mist.
Soft as a soul breaking apart.