After what felt like an eternity—though probably just a few months by the calendar—my friends finally came to visit me.
They stood just outside the cell, frozen in place, mouths slightly agape, as if they'd stumbled upon the remains of a once-proud civilization… only to realize it had crumbled into pitiful ruins.
And I—oh, I was the ruin.
My hair, once semi-manageable (on a good day), had taken on the texture of a distressed broom. Stray strands stuck out in chaotic directions, as if each had fought a different war and lost. My skin was pale, not the ethereal porcelain kind, but the "I haven't seen sunlight since the last dynasty" kind. Shadows hung under my eyes like mourning veils, and my frame… well, it could best be described as "sickly noodle draped in oversized rags."
I blinked up at them from the corner of the cell, where I sat curled like a half-boiled shrimp on a prison floor far too clean for how spiritually filthy I felt.
"Hey..." I croaked, voice barely audible, as if I'd forgotten how language worked. "You guys got… snacks?"
They didn't answer at first.
Probably because they were too busy trying to figure out whether I was still Llyne—or some ghost impersonating her just to haunt the cell out of pure embarrassment.
Honestly? Either answer would've been valid.
Rona was the first to move. She hopped toward me like a cautious bunny approaching a particularly mangy cat and knelt down, fishing something from her sleeve.
"Here, Lil," she said gently, handing me a snack—some kind of flaky bun wrapped in wax paper and, to me, radiating the same divine energy as a sacred relic.
I snatched it with both hands and devoured it in one desperate gulp. "Thanks, Rona. Got any more?"
Without a word, Rona opened her inventory pouch.
And unleashed a mountain of snacks.
Biscuits, buns, dried fruits, candy sticks, meat jerky—bless her, she brought everything short of a full-course banquet.
My eyes sparkled. The world had meaning again.
I fell upon the hoard like a starved raccoon in a luxury dumpster. Crinkling wrappers flew. Crumbs scattered. Nothing stood a chance. Within minutes, it was all gone.
I sat back, stuffed, satisfied, and reborn.
Wiping the crumbs and mystery stains from my face, I let out a contented sigh. "Oh man… I've never felt more alive."
"Why are you in here, Llyne?" Ronald asked, squinting into the cell like he wasn't sure whether to be concerned or unsurprised.
"Isn't it obvious?" Isaac replied flatly before I could answer. "She probably destroyed something again."
"I. DID. NOT," I huffed, slamming the pestle a little too hard into the mortar for emphasis. "I just asked for a reward after clearing fifty percent of my tests—and unbecomingly, this was my reward! How cruel is that?!"
Ronald blinked. "Master Sylph isn't that mean."
"Clearly you don't know her," I retorted with all the bitterness of someone who's been emotionally flung off a cliff and then handed a shovel to dig their own crater.
I turned back to the table and resumed pounding the mixture with renewed vengeance. "Hmph! I'm almost done, anyway. I've already made a thousand potions. Now I just have ten more pills left."
Isaac raised an eyebrow. "How long does that normally take?"
"If you're a beginner, an hour," I said with a proud sniff. "But I'm a pro, so ten minutes should suffice."
"Alright." Isaac nodded, apparently satisfied. "We'll wait for you outside. Good luck."
He turned on his heel and waved over his shoulder.
"What? You guys are leaving me here? Can't you stay? It's only ten minutes!" I screeched, waving my pestle in protest like a distressed old lady shaking a rolling pin.
"All the best, Lil!" Rona called as she jogged after Isaac.
Ronald gave me a sheepish smile before trailing behind the other two.
I stared at the empty doorway, stunned.
"…What friends I have," I muttered, shoulders slumping.
With a deep sigh, I returned to my last ten pills, pounding away with the solemnity of someone building their own tombstone—pill by pill.
After ten grueling minutes that felt like ten years of labor in a pill factory, I finally stepped out of my cell, arms stretched dramatically as if I had emerged from the underworld.
I looked left. Then right.
No Lady Nozomi. No confetti. Not even a single flower petal.
"…No one was here to greet me after I've been released from prison?" I whispered, a tear welling up in the corner of my eye. "How lonely…"
Dragging my feet like a misunderstood heroine in a tragic opera, I made my way to the guest house. And there they were—my so-called friends—alongside the twin towers of terror: Master and Lady Nozomi, seated in casual judgment.
I approached them with all the grace of a wilting potato.
Master turned to look at me, her expression composed. She raised a sleeve to her nose and sniffed. Then immediately recoiled.
"You stink," she said simply.
I blinked. "I just got out of prison and that's the first thing you say?"
"Right," she replied coolly. "My apologies. Go shower."
I puffed up my cheeks in protest. "Fine."
"Do wash up properly, Llyne," Lady Nozomi added, her gaze sharp enough to peel potatoes.
"Sure, sure," I muttered, waving a hand lazily like I was too noble for hygiene.
But then Master spoke again, her tone sweet and threatening all at once. "If I were to whiff even a hint from you... you know what happens, right?"
She fluttered her fan gently—except it wasn't gentle. No, it was the ominous sweep of a grim reaper preparing to harvest souls.
A chill skittered down my spine.
"I-I got it," I stammered, already speed-walking toward the baths. "Super clean. Scrubbed. Sterilized. You won't smell a thing, I promise!"
Behind me, the sound of the fan closed with a soft snap—like a coffin lid being politely shut.
By the time I was done scrubbing every inch of myself until I smelled like a lavender-scented hospital ward, I returned to the guest house—refreshed, sparkling, and slightly pruny from over-washing.
But the moment I stepped inside, I froze.
"…Where is everyone?"
The room was empty. Chairs pushed in. Teacups abandoned mid-sip. Cushions tragically un-sat on.
A suspicious silence hung in the air.
I narrowed my eyes.
Cue the full-blown detective mode.
I dove under the table. Nothing but dust bunnies and a forgotten slipper. I flipped over cushions, knocked on the walls for hidden passages, opened every cabinet (twice), yanked open the curtains in case someone was hiding behind them for dramatic effect—and even checked the ceiling.
Yes. The ceiling. You never know.
I tiptoed across the floorboards like a ninja, then belly-crawled across the carpet like a worm in training. I opened a decorative vase and yelled into it, "HELLO?"
Silence.
Behind me, two figures watched.
Master sipped her tea slowly, expression unreadable. Lady Nozomi blinked once, then twice, her gaze tracking my increasingly unhinged movements like a scientist observing a new species of particularly dense bird.
I finally popped out of a large indoor plant, face streaked with leaf sap and betrayal. "They're gone," I whispered, scandalized. "They've been taken."
"No," Master said flatly. "They left."
"They abandoned me!" I cried, clutching the potted plant like a tragic widow clinging to a memory. "After all we've been through!"
Lady Nozomi pinched the bridge of her nose. "Llyne, please remove yourself from the ficus."
Master leaned back, utterly unimpressed. "You were gone for twenty minutes. Not twenty years."
I pointed at the open door. "And in those twenty minutes, the bonds of friendship unraveled before my very eyes!"
Master exchanged a look with Lady Nozomi—one of mutual pain and existential regret.
"She's lost it," Lady Nozomi muttered.
"No," Master said solemnly, fanning herself with mild concern. "She never had it to begin with."
I sniffled and crawled out of the plant, dramatically flopping onto the floor like a defeated soap opera protagonist.
"Someone," I moaned to the ceiling, "bring me closure… or cookies."
Master sighed.
Lady Nozomi stood up.
I held my breath.
They walked away.
Somewhere in the distance, a lonely flute played. Probably just the wind in the chimney—but to me, it was the soundtrack of abandonment.
Just as I was about to compose a tragic haiku about solitude and betrayal, Master paused at the doorway and turned back slightly, her expression unreadable.
"They've left you a message," she said.
My ears perked up like a hopeful stray. "They did?"
"Yes. Now come along," she said, her voice smooth as ever, but with that usual undertone that made it sound less like an invitation and more like a veiled threat.
My mood did a complete one-eighty. My limbs reanimated like a puppet yanked upright. "A message!" I chirped, and scurried after her with all the grace of an overexcited puppy on a polished floor.
Lady Nozomi didn't even bother to glance back. She simply walked ahead, silent and deadly.
I, on the other hand, trailed behind them both, nearly tripping over my own joy, imagining a heartfelt letter from my friends—perhaps with doodles, or a hastily scribbled "We missed you!" Or maybe even snacks.