It took a while before Tilda's fit of coughing came to an end.
Even then, she didn't speak right away.
Her eyelids drooped, too heavy to lift.
She didn't seem able to fully open her eyes. But still… she tried to look at him.
As if, even with the little strength she had left, she wanted to see him.
To take in the face of the little prince… the face of the baby who had grown up.
She felt as if a god had granted her wish by bringing the little prince to her, in her final moments. And so, she wanted to cherish this moment.
Tilda, the last remaining maid from the Solvaire household, looked at the boy who was no longer a boy.
For a fleeting moment, she seemed to want to keep looking at him… to drink in the sight of how well he had grown.
But time was short, and she knew it.
So, between her shallow, broken breaths, she managed to whisper, "P-please… save… Her Ladyship."
It seemed that speaking those words had drained all her remaining strength.
