The dormitory bedroom was eerily quiet. Moonlight streamed through the window, slashing a pale line across Lyre's face as she sat motionless at the edge of the bed. She wasn't crying. She didn't speak. Didn't blink. Only her hand moved—clenching, releasing—like trying to remember… a feeling that had long since slipped away.
The door opened. It was Geal, the only one who still talked to her normally these days. They had lost three trainees in three weeks. No bodies were ever found. And Lyre… was growing quieter by the day. She ate less, stayed up later, and her eyes no longer reflected anything but a void.
Geal stood there for a moment, as if to speak, then fell silent again. But it was she who spoke first:
"Geal."
"…What is it?"
"Do you think… I'm still human?"
Her voice didn't shake. It wasn't afraid. But something inside had cracked.
Geal slowly stepped closer. "Of course. You're—"
"Don't say something kind," she cut in, lifting her face to meet his gaze. "I can't hear it."
She stood up and walked toward him. Every step stretched the air tighter. She was barefoot. Her hair fell forward, covering half her face, but her eyes still pierced through.
"I tried everything. Slashing my skin. Scratching my hands. Bathing until blood seeped from my pores. That stench… still lingers."
She smiled—just barely.
"Geal… Please. Touch me. Let me know… I'm still human."
He took half a step back. "Lyre… You're not—"
"Please. Just this once."
It wasn't desire. It was a quiet desperation, as if her body were a walking corpse, and she needed proof it was still warm.
Geal hesitated, then reached out, his trembling fingers brushing her shoulder. She didn't pull away. Instead, like a dried petal leaning into the breeze, she tilted toward him, her cheek resting against his chest.
"I'm still warm… right?" she asked, whispering more to herself than to him.
And then, in the faint glow of the moonlight, they sank into each other. Not in passion—but in silent pain, like two broken pieces trying to fit together just to feel real again.
Clothes dropped to the floor. Breaths quickened. Sweat mixed between them, but Lyre's eyes never closed. She stared at the ceiling, biting her lip, whispering:
"This feeling… is it real?"
Geal didn't answer. Their bodies merged, but in their hearts was only fear—that if they let go, one of them might disappear.
Each movement was Lyre clutching at the last shards of her soul. But then… amid the gentle touches, the breaths, and the shattering silence, her body suddenly stiffened.
"…No. Still not clean…"
Geal heard it clearly. But he didn't understand.
"…That stench… it's still there."
She laughed. A dry, brittle laugh, like cracked earth. Then she clung to him tightly—not out of love, but out of fear of falling apart.
---
Moonlight still poured down as they lay beside each other. No moans. No tears. Only heavy breathing, mixed with the faint trembling of a girl pressing herself against a memory.
Then came the stillness.
Geal reached out and touched Lyre's back—faded scars still rough under his fingers.
"These are…"
"Purification cuts," she said.
He tightened his grip slightly. "You… where have you been?"
She didn't look at him. Only stared out the window. The moon still shone—but it seemed to illuminate something rotten.
"Saint Luce Monastery. Beneath it—basements. They teach that light is salvation. But their hands… were never clean."
She paused. "There was one man… who saved me. An old man. He pulled me from the wreckage. Put clothes on me. Gave me water. Asked nothing."
Geal whispered, "He was your teacher?"
"Yes. The only gentle one… back then."
She turned to him. Her eyes—no longer held light. Just two deep hollows, as if they had seen something terrible… and survived, though not whole.
"But I know… he didn't save me."
Geal clenched his hand. "What do you mean?"
She gently touched her belly. "There's something… living inside me. Not me. Not light. It's a worm. A worm of light. Crawling through my heart, my throat, into my head, into my eyes. And every time I sleep… it whispers."
Geal froze. Not at her words—but at the light blurring in her eyes, like a living flame.
"Lyre…"
She laid her head on his chest.
"I don't know who I am anymore. Maybe… everything I do is because of it. Maybe… even this…"
She let out a quiet laugh.
"Maybe… it's sitting inside my head… clapping."
"Geal, if I die… will the world mourn me?"
---
In the darkness, Geal held Lyre tightly. Not like a lover. But like someone trying to hold onto a soul teetering on the edge.
Lyre closed her eyes. And in sleep, she dreamed.
A voice whispered in her ear—sweet as honey, but cold like salt-drenched steel:
> "See? This… is flesh. But you—are just something borrowing it to live."
She smiled. A smile fractured to pieces.
And deep within her subconscious… a word repeated, clearer each time:
"Unclean… unclean… unclean…"
"It's okay… this warmth… it'll be okay… it'll be okay…"
---
A bed.
Two people.
Holding each other to sleep.
"I'm a princess."