Chapter 60: White-Crowned Princess
Voices.
Limbs.
And the white.
...Have you heard of the term 'Schizophrenic'?
There are many facets to the psychiatric disorder, but the most famous are the hallucinations and delusions of those suffering from Schizophrenia.
Considering the many misconceptions surrounding the illness, those suffering from it may feel afraid to reveal the issue to close ones, even going as far as to hide it from any new companions created along the way.
"..."
Staring at Leon's quiet, flushed face, I continued diving into the ocean of thoughts flooding my brain.
I once believed that I might be schizophrenic.
After all, I heard voices, saw things, disgusting things, that no one else could see. I would even listen to them, following their requests in exchange for lessening the number of voices pestering me.
But.
Some point down the line, as I came closer to the day of reckoning;
As I approached the day of the ritual to become this Perfect Cursed Doll;
I realised that I'm not.
"..."
Life.
The white haze is life.
Be it life force, life span, or some other metaphysical state that I am yet to comprehend-
It's inherently connected to one's life.
The white blood.
The white haze.
...I've been listening to the voices of people all along.
Or perhaps it's the lingering echo of their lifelong regrets, just a fragment of the person existing somewhere out there in this Domain of Light.
But one thing is for sure.
They've always been real.
...Hold on then?
How about the intelligent, seemingly sentient voices?
The ones informing her of the issue with Flamm's?
With the problems surrounding the Domain of Light?
Every answer seemed to create more questions, just as she thought she figured it out, she realised that she had yet to figure anything out. The truth was still entangled somewhere in this complex web that interconnected everything within the Domain of Light.
"Hold on, Leon, what's wrong-"
Ms. Senuela's panicked tone shook me awake. Adjusting my gaze, I looked towards the source of this panic...
Leon was keeled over in his mother's embrace, sweat pouring out as though he were an open faucet. His trembling little body vibrated through his mother and into me, allowing me to experience his struggle vividly.
"Leon?" Philip scooted closer to the bed, clutching the book in his arms tightly.
The other three remained still beside the door, watching over this scene with melancholic eyes. Hilda was even sniffling into a tissue that Lily was holding onto for her.
Esme's eyes, on the other hand, were watching me closely.
They would intermittently move over to Leon, but eventually, they'd return to mine.
Our gazes were locked for a brief second; however, I was the one to end this close eye contact.
I shifted my attention to the struggling boy.
His veins were popping out of his forehead, his throat was constricting, and heaves of air and retching noises croaked from his throat.
Leon's pain was palpable.
Death was approaching.
Lifting my hand-
Pat.
-I laid it on Ms. Senuela's back, nudging her gently and caressing her skin through the slim film of clothing.
I was just a spectator here to put a smile on Leon's face one last time.
That's all I was.
And there was nothing else that could be done; the white haze was oozing from his head at a slow, but visibly increasing rate. At this pace, he'd be dead by...
Tomorrow.
The 1st of July.
Our role was done here.
We should leave.
Looking towards Lily, I gave her a signal through my eyes that I knew for a fact Hilda would misinterpret for something stupid like 'Let us save him!' or 'I have a plan!'.
Lily, on the other hand, was more mature than Esme and Hilda.
Staring back at me, she nodded her head and mouthed:
[Okay.]
It seems like she also recognised the futility of our presence, as for Philip...
"Hic-!"
Tears were drooping from his eyes, splattering onto the book.
"Take him to his sister's room. He shouldn't watch this." Ms. Senuela's hollow voice echoed from my side as she nudged me with her elbow.
"Her room is on the eighth floor, the EoL Ward. Name: Finnie." Casting one last look at the group of outsiders, she beckoned for us to leave in almost dismissive fashion.
But none of us could blame her.
She was a mother on the verge of losing her son.
We also didn't bother questioning as to why a doctor or nurse wasn't around, odds are they've already done everything they can and now they've given space to the mother and her son to 'peacefully' part ways.
It was probably the best the doctors could do.
Regardless, I used this opportunity to slip out of bed. Hilda passed me my crutches, and I smoothly transitioned my footwork to the one she taught me.
I'm grateful to her for providing me with such a valuable method of reducing the pain.
But it almost felt pathetic at the moment, complaining about the pain and struggles, that is. Because right behind me was a boy even younger, without the added benefit of reincarnation, who was experiencing severe pain and was on the cusp of death.
There is an old saying stuck in my brain to this day.
[Comparison is the thief of joy.]
It may not seem related to this situation because I am not comparing joy, but pain.
At this very moment, I am comparing my pain to his.
Pain should not be compared, because pain is not a contest.
There is no hierarchy to pain.
All pain is equal pain.
"..."
I smoothly arrived at Esme and Lily's side.
But is that truly the case?
With just a small, dashing sprinkle of reality, you'd arrive at a dismal answer to that question.
Pain can be ranked.
My pain is undoubtedly worse than Leon's.
Yet.
Is it truly worse?
Mentally, yes.
But physically?
I don't know.
Lily pushed the door open, allowing the whispers and echoing cries of distant suffering strangers to somberly trickle into the room.
Still, I find myself pathetic.
Comparing my suffering to the suffering of a baby.
Truly, utterly, pathetic.
Why do these thoughts even overwhelm my brain?
Why do I attempt to place myself upon a pedestal of pain, deeming myself the worst of them all?
...Or am I asking myself these questions whilst knowing the answer to it?
...Whilst actively ignoring the truth of it all?
"..."
Lily was the first to exit.
I know, don't I?
"..."
Then, it was Esme.
I don't want to admit it, though, do I?
"..."
Then Hilda exited the room, pushing along the reluctant Philip who was crying out the word 'Leon'.
Standing at the precipice of the doorway, I glanced back at the bed;
At the mother and son.
The scene of her embrace, her warm, endlessly loving touch as she soothed his cries. As she allowed him to cry his fountain of tears out into her dishevelled clothing.
"..."
The fact that I want to vent my agony.
That I want someone to cry into the arms of, letting all my secrets free.
Letting all of my pain free.
It's the agony of knowing that I cannot.
That is why I am comparing my pain to Leon's.
That is why I am placing myself on this pedestal of pain.
...So that I can feel superior to this dying child who has what I cannot have.
"Farewell."
I stepped over the precipice.
Thud.
The door closed behind me.
Lingering echoes of Ms. Senuela's cries thrashed in my brain;
Lingering vibrations of the dying Leon crackled through my skin;
And that was the last I saw of Leon.
37th Year of the Dawn Era.
July 1st.
09:20 AM.
Another name was added to St. Neuvae Clinic's Memorial List.
On that day, Leon, son of Senuela, passed away in his mother's embrace.
-----
Pin-drop silence.
The stairwell echoed with our drumming footsteps as we marched upwards, following the downcast Philip.
No one spoke up.
Even the monkey by my side was quiet, a rare occasion.
An exchange of words was unnecessary, or perhaps, unsavoury. Anything we could say would only push down our moods, suffocating our already tense emotions.
To the other three girls, death was likely unfamiliar.
They didn't know how to feel when faced with it.
I, on the other hand, was a regular with death.
As someone who had already experienced it once, and then danced at its doorstep dozens of times afterwards, I could relate to Leon's suffering.
Because of that, I understood that words were not necessary.
It was best to let the three girls come to their own conclusions, to their own understanding of 'death' and its inevitability.
In this stiff silence, we arrived at the eighth floor, the first of the two EoL, End of Life, Wards. Leon had been on the sixth floor, the second EoL Ward.
Following the melancholic boy, we walked through multiple corridors, escorting him to his sister's room.
It wasn't necessary to escort him, but Ms. Senuela asked us to, so we obeyed.
Thus.
After a couple more minutes, we arrived.
[Finnie]
The name plate confirmed our location.
Philip, still downcast, held his head down in front of the door. With the book in his embrace, his arms and hands quivered violently. He struggled to release the hold on the book, to open the door to the room.
He doesn't know how to greet his sister.
Patting his shoulder, Lily walked by him and placed her fingers on the door handle.
Once we pass him over, we'll leave.
I have to prepare for tomorrow.
I didn't allow myself to linger in the memory of Ms. Senuela and Leon, my struggle was soon to come in the way of lessons with the Maiden.
The door groaned open, and, one by one, we filtered into the room. I entered with my head down, stuck in a quagmire of contemplation.
"...Philip." A lady's voice cracked this quagmire of thoughts.
"Come."
Her words slipped into my ears, digging past all the defences built around my blaring, agonising brain.
So.
I lifted my head.
I raised myself and took a look at this Finnie.
Thus.
That day.
I witnessed it for the first time.
First, the dense, white fog.
Enveloping every inch of the room, merging, clashing, and coagulating in thick smoke.
But.
Not in the centre of it all.
Not in the bed, lying in the corner of the room.
The white fog created an empty zone, tensely circulating around the person within.
There, she lay.
And I saw it.
A crown.
A white crown.
Billowing with white fog.
Dressing her head.
...It lay there, upon her, crowning her the queen of all life.