SG! 55: LAMENTATION

When I exited the room, accompanied by Leon, I found Aira outside. She was dressed as an ordinary maid.
The moment she saw me, her eyes went wide with shock.

“Big Sister! You woke up!”

“Mn, I’m sorry. I keep causing you worry.”

When Aira threw herself at me, just as she had last time, I could only catch her in my arms as I spoke.
For now, it looked like Aira was alright. As I absently stroked her head, I felt a sense of relief. Though the truth is, the one who worried her was me, so even shamelessness had its limits.
After burying her head in my chest and rubbing it for a time, Aira lifted her face as if she suddenly recalled something.

“B–Big Sister. Palmira is — ”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got the gist of it.”

We’d had our rooms assigned at the very beginning. Me, Palmira, and Aira, in that order.
And right now, Palmira was in hers.
In other words, the fact that she drew a sword on Leon had almost been swept under the rug. ‘Almost’ being the keyword. Unsurprisingly, her sword, at least, seemed to have been confiscated at Allie’s suggestion.
That night, following the disturbance, Palmira had been in hideously low spirits and would not leave the room. It was a shock, but even so, Aira, who was in relatively better shape, had been checking up on her several times a day.

“I see… it’s like you’re the only one who’s being burdened with all the worry. I’m sorry.”

“Not at all. It’s fine. More importantly, Big Sister. Palmira…”

“I know. I’ll take it from here.”

When she learned of Leon’s true identity, Palmira was not her usual self. I never expected that she could possibly have had such a violent response.
In other words, she couldn’t forgive the ones responsible for destroying her country in the past.
To be honest, it’s not like I don’t understand.
When I think about the fact that my own hometown no longer exists, I’m not sure whether I’d be able to control myself either, if the prince of the Holy Kingdom were to stand before me.

“Sorry, Leon. I’m going by myself from here.”

“I understand.”

Even as he sighed, Leon smiled gently.
Seeing that, I suddenly reached my hand out to him, touching his cheek.

“Wha… Is something the matter?”

“Ah, no. It’s okay. I’m off.”

I pulled back my hand right away.
I simply remembered, for some reason, that I wasn’t able to touch Leon before I blacked out that night. Leaving Leon behind in his discomposure, satisfied with the warmth I felt against my palm, I knocked on the door to Palmira’s room.

“Palmira, I’m coming in.”

My tone deliberately nonchalant, I turned the knob.
The door wasn’t locked. Not from the outside either, of course. It opened easily with just a turn of the knob.

It was pitch-black on the other side of the door.

Well, it was just that the curtains inside were drawn. Faint sunlight came in through a gap between them. Dim as it was, it kept the room from sinking into total darkness.
Palmira was sitting on the bed.
She was completely hollow, the life leeched out of her. Her head hung slightly. Though her eyes were open, their usual penetrating gleam was gone, and they stared dully at the joint between wall and floor.
Her hair was a mess, her clothes in disarray, but without a single shiver, she was like a broken doll. She even seemed slightly emaciated.

“—-”

The scene, too painful to look at, made the breath catch in my throat. Even now she looked so unstable, like she would crumble at a touch.
This is dangerous. So my intuition told me.

After shooting Leon and Aira a brief glance and a nod, I stepped inside. I closed the door behind me. The room fell into darkness again, but I paid it no mind. Right now, it was better to avoid strong stimuli.
I slowly walked over to Palmira, who still showed no reaction at all. And so, without speaking, I smoothly sat down beside her.

“Palmira.”

Softly, I called out to her profile.
No response.

” — Palmira.”

Once more, I gently speak up. This time, her eyebrow twitched. Her gaze, its focus indefinite, pulled together and slowly turned to me.

“…Chris?”

Our eyes met. Nodding, I smiled and replied,

“Yeah. Morning, Palmira.”

Palmira’s figure back then, her sword drawn. The emotions she couldn’t afford to harbor, even in her chaos. But she might have nursed a grudge against the Empire, even so.
‘I don’t want to go to the capital.’
Palmira had said so. Though she still said she would come with me, she had probably been forcing herself.
She secluded herself in the carriage without looking at the city. Though I’d thought that it was as she said, that she didn’t want to go, maybe a greater emotion was brewing inside her that her behavior was meant to suppress.

Would I have been able to figure it out?
Well, I didn’t. Taking her curt words at face value, I intended to just leave it at that.
That wasn’t it, though.
I never even imagined the other side of that rugged honesty.

“Chris, I…”

“Yeah.”

“I…”

Palmira was trying to tell me something. But perhaps unable to express it well, she didn’t say another word.
Her eyes were conflicted.
She must’ve been full of things she wanted to say. She wanted to communicate, but there were so many things she wanted me to know.
Too many, or perhaps she was scared about whether they would get across to me. She hesitated on her next words.
That’s how it seemed to me.
The long silence flowed on.
Palmira’s gaze busily jumped between the inside and outside.
She couldn’t help but be anxious. It was in her expression.
So.

“Palmira. It’s okay. Say whatever you like. I’ll listen. No matter what, I’ll listen.”

Even if I say so myself, wow, how’s that for empty platitudes? But I wanted to hear what Palmira was trying to tell me. I wanted to know. I wanted to understand.
I get it. I can’t say for sure that I’ll understand it all.
But still.
But still, I want you to talk to me.
Because I’ll definitely be able to understand far more then than if you were to say nothing at all.

“I — ”

–

–

” — I had a big sister. I never knew my parents. So she was all the family I had. By the time we understood the world around us, we were in the middle of war, and as a matter of course, we picked up our swords and fought the enemy.”

Maybe my words flipped a switch, but making up her mind, Palmira slowly began to speak.
Those were her memories of the war. She was fleshing out the story she’d shared before.
All the same, I wordlessly gave her my ear.

“It was a fact of life, so that was the only thing we could think about. We had nothing other than ourselves. For laughter, for comfort. For understanding. But — my big sister died. Before my eyes, just like that. Because she protected me. Because I was unprepared. Because I was reckless. She died because of me. She was kind. Strong. My aspiration. She was everything to me… Her face is already hazy. I can’t remember it anymore.”

She had an older sister?
I was hearing it for a second time, but Palmira’s past truly was brutal.
War as a fact of life. It was everything. She witnessed the human struggle between life and death as an everyday occurrence.
That’s why her one and only older sister would have been her precious refuge.
But reality stole that away from her along with everything else.

I know that.

I’ve gone to war myself many times.
I remember it clearly, the first time I killed a man.
A middle-aged man in his thirties or forties, who looked like a veteran.
Against my expectations, he went down easily. I swung my sword; the man died. That was all.

But those thirty years he’d lived until then. Maybe forty. Then, the decades he should have lived from then on. I stole them. Because he was the enemy, and so on. Drawing that line didn’t come easily to me.
That life probably was no different than the years I’d weathered myself.

The day that man was born.
The things that made him happy. That made him sad. That troubled him. That made him laugh. He might have had a lover. He might have been married. He might have had children. He might have had people he cared about, and people who cared about him.
Everything he built up, I stole from him. With ease.
That was extraordinarily terrifying.
I knew what it was to be stolen from. But the horror of doing the stealing was unknown to me.
By the second time, the third, I stopped thinking about those feelings.
It wasn’t a question of right and wrong. If I didn’t kill, I wouldn’t be able to live.

Now, I thought of them again.
They died so easily, the people I killed.
Some of them must have been like Palmira. Or maybe like her older sister. There were many of them, to be sure.
But I couldn’t think about them. I couldn’t afford to consider their lives.
They fell, like it was only natural. That was war.

“Suddenly, I lost everything. No more laughter. No more comfort. No more understanding. But still…!”

Her words stopped.
For a moment, a shiver wracked her body. As if she were holding something back.

“I can’t complain. People die, and die, and die. Even so, even so, I wanted them to know. The grief, the anguish, the pain. I wanted them to understand. So I worked hard. I devoted my words, displayed the right attitude, but no one noticed. No one understood. No one had that luxury, and then they died. I hated war. I hated the Empire. My big sister, the most important person in the world to me, who understood me; opportunity; freedom; emotion; they all disappeared. I lost everything. No one would see me. No one would understand me. So I mustn’t try to be understood. I mustn’t try to be found. All I can do is grow more bitter, more sorrowful. I am alone. As someone no one will understand, I don’t know what I should do. I can’t even ask.”

The words spilled over, one after another.
It was completely unlike her, this incoherent rambling.
But it was for that very reason that it was dreadful.

At the end of the war, her family lost, her home gone, she was left adrift.
Just like me. Those memories had left deep scars in me.
I’d lost. I’d grieved. I’d regretted.
They couldn’t be conveyed to another by words alone. It was utterly impossible to share with another the entirety of what lay in the heart. Not with words alone.
It was the same for Palmira. That’s probably why she’d ended her words so quickly during Irene’s tea party.

“And yet, I thought I’d lost something again. Because of my selfish feelings, because of my emotions. And mine alone. I thought I’d lost you, Chris. I — . I — didn’t want to. Even though I didn’t want to lose anything anymore. The things that matter to me — why!?”

“Palmira.”

As she trembled, faltering and fragile, Palmira screamed.
And yet her face was still emotionless. Gently, I held her close.
I might not be able to follow it all.
I might not be able to understand everything.
I might be mistaken.
But there are things I do know.
That what I need to do now is accept her.
That I need to feel her. And just a little but mostly, that I need to remember it within.

“It’s alright, Palmira. I know. I know, so. It’s okay.”

“I–I–I…I–!”

“I know. I know.”

So.
I’ll teach you more, Palmira.
Coaxing, I peered into her eyes. Her frightened eyes.
— The color of those eyes — changed.

“If I look bitter, will you worry for me!?
If I’m sad, will you show me compassion!?
If I’m in pain, will you give me your sympathy!?
If I cry — will you forgive me!?
Uwa–ah–ah–uwaaaaah! Aahh! AAAAAAAAHHH!”

Her mask collapsing on a grand scale for the first time, big drops of tears flowed from Palmira’s eyes. Tumbling and shaking, along with her sobbing wails, they spilled out without stopping.
But that’s okay. It’s fine that way.
When she’s happy, she should laugh. When she’s sad, she should cry.
Bottling it up inside, holding on to it tightly, is definitely too heavy a burden for a person to carry alone.

“I’m so sorry, big sis! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! Chris! Uwaaa! Aaaaaaaahh!”

I hugged Palmira tightly as she apologized between her continuing sobs.
Palmira was strong. She was more determined than others. And she was a coward.
Wanting to be understood, and fearing that she wouldn’t be.
So, to avoid being understood from the very start, she stuck to her poker face and didn’t let a hint of emotion escape outside.
But she wanted others to know.
She wanted others to understand.
Because it’s lonely to be by yourself. It’s sad.

–

–

Though it might seem like I could understand everything about Palmira in the end, I think it’s more likely that I’ll never be able to.
Even if I think I do, I might be mistaken.
But right now, I can hold her as she cries.
Without a word, I hugged her and stroked her head.
Just for now, even though I’m definitely treating her like a kid, she won’t get angry.
Right now, that was definitely the thing I understood the best.

–

–

Softly, I opened the door and came out.
Leon and Aira were still standing outside.

“Big Sister!? Palmira — ”

Surprised by the sight of me, Aira started to cry out, but I swiftly covered her mouth with my hand.
Then, with the other, I lifted a finger to my lips.

“Mn.”

Seeing Aira shut up, I removed my hand and pull the door closed. For that one moment, Palmira was visible through the gap, asleep on the bed inside.

Good night.

Click. The door shut behind me.

Author’s Notes
The word count increased by just a bit.