What is birth?
What does it feel like?
I suppose it depends on whose eyes you're looking through.
For parents waiting in anticipation, birth can be joy — or perhaps relief, the long journey finally reaching its destination. There are, of course, other stories, but we won't dwell on those now.
And for the child? They likely have no idea what's happening. It must be like drifting off in a favorite armchair on a quiet afternoon, only to wake up unsure what year it is or what day you're in.
Although… what if they do know, but can't speak? What if, in time, those memories simply fade — wiped away like data from an old hard drive?
If that's true, then what will my own birth be like?
Will I remain who I am — the adult I remember — or will I simply become a child in some new world? Will my memories be erased, or will they linger as life experience, guiding me through what lies ahead?
Who's to say?
All I know for certain is that I don't want to forget — no matter how many years pass.
One thing is undeniable: birth is the unknown.
And now, the unknown is exactly what I face.
The moment the door opened, pain seared my eyes — a white, merciless light struck them like a blade. I squeezed them shut, but it only made things worse. The light burned through my eyelids like a searchlight in the night.
Sound crashed in from all directions, jumbled and overwhelming. I tried to shut it out, to cover my ears, but my arms refused to move. My body wouldn't obey. I was trapped inside myself.
I tried to breathe. Once — nothing. Twice — my lungs twitched uselessly, like empty bellows. My chest locked tight, as though pressed in a vice. Air — where was it?
My mouth gaped like a fish stranded on shore. My lips trembled. I was suffocating, though even that didn't feel real — as if I remembered how to breathe but had forgotten the actual act. Panic spilled through my veins like poison.
Then came the pain.
Sharp, stabbing — as if something inside had torn. Fire spread through my throat. My lungs kept drying, as though left to bake on hot asphalt. I wanted to scream, but what came out was a rasp. My throat clamped shut. My body jerked in protest.
The world blurred and swayed. Three shapes hovered before me — silhouettes, smeared like raindrops on glass. I tried to reach out, but my hand drifted uselessly, weightless, as though my muscles were made of cotton.
Only the frantic pounding of my heart kept me tethered to consciousness — a heart gone wild after centuries of silence.
And what was it telling me?
That struggling was pointless?
That I should simply let go?
— ХХ-ХХ
— ХХ-ХХ
What was that?
A sound — faint but unbearable, like nails dragging along the inside of my skull. Their lips moved, but the noise refused to shape itself into words. Then what was it?
No doubt remained: if my body had obeyed me, I would've clawed the skin from my bones to stop the agony. Screamed until my throat tore. Pulled out my hair. My eyes rolled back… I wanted to breathe.
Help…
Please…
A sudden gust of wind brushed over my skin, and something warm and rough grazed me — carelessly, like sandpaper. I was falling.
Was this… the end?
A sob burst from me, raw and loud. My muscles tensed as a sharp slap landed on my backside. My vision snapped into focus, and air crashed into my lungs so suddenly my head spun.
My chest rose and fell in frantic bursts, as if I'd just climbed a mountain. My arms and legs jerked — not by my will, no. It was as if someone else pulled the strings, like a clumsy puppeteer.
I glanced down — I was cradled in large, male hands.
The world beyond them was still a blur, but those hands seemed impossibly huge — as though I truly had shrunk. Or perhaps they were simply that large.
"She's fine," a man's voice said somewhere nearby.
"Of course — she's a strong girl," another replied, pride threading his tone.
I froze. The muffled noise had become words, and my crying stopped in an instant.
A strong girl? Who? Who were they talking about?
The harder I tried to think, the more my thoughts unraveled. My mind was still running on something primal, primitive.
Gradually, my body adjusted to the sudden flood of air, and the haze before my eyes began to lift. I turned my head and saw my own hand — tiny, soft, unmistakably that of a child.
So… I was that "girl"?
"You did it, Emi! Look at her — isn't she beautiful?" the man said, lifting me higher and turning me toward him.
This simple gesture jolted me out of my fog, and my eyes widened.
Before me stood a man, no more than twenty-five. His crimson hair jutted in all directions, like pine branches in the wind. His voice was rough, gruff even — yet there was no hostility in it.
If he was the one who pulled me out of that nightmare… then he must be the doctor here.
"Quint, don't hold her so carelessly — she's a newborn!" a young woman scolded sharply. "Give her to me, you brainless brute!"
Quint? Emi? I see… So this man must be my father, and the woman — my mother, obviously.
Quint deflated at her words and lowered me to chest level, passing me over to Emi like a baton in a relay race.
A faint chuckle drew my gaze. By the wall stood another man, his straw-blond hair neatly parted to the left. Even from here, his blue eyes looked like a slice of clear summer sky.
My brother? No… too old for that. An uncle, perhaps?
Our eyes met for a brief moment. He smiled faintly, and, as if we were already acquainted, gave me a small wave. I laughed — absurdly so, but for some reason it felt perfectly natural.
"Heh, she looks quite spirited," he said.
"No doubt. I only hope she stays that way," Emi replied with a strained smile, lifting her gaze to Quint and the other man. "I don't want to see that look of despair again."
Huh? Did I really look that awful before… well, before this?
Emi's hands trembled slightly as she held me tighter. Something in her tone hinted at a deeper meaning — but I had no idea what it could be, so I simply let it go.
"It's fascinating to see her so weak and defenseless," Quint said, leaning over me with a broad grin.
"Shut up, you oaf," she narrowed her eyes. "Yori is still just a baby! Of course she's weak and defenseless." Her voice dipped with disappointment. She pushed him aside and looked back at me, her smile softening. "Um… hello. I… I'm your mother, yes," she said, sounding far from confident.
Hello.
I tried to nod in response, but as expected, nothing happened.
My head lolled to one side. Looking into Emi's eyes, I felt… weight. As if she were carrying a burden alone. Fighting something. Was she not ready to be a mother? Or maybe it was just exhaustion, and I was imagining things.
I tried to dwell on it a bit longer, but my current body — and mind — were far too limited for deep reflection.
Night faded, and in its place opened a world filled with light — and with countless things I had already forgotten. That was a simple fact, impossible to deny.
Then came the realization of language. When exactly had I begun to understand it? And how? It had happened so abruptly, as if, along with air, someone had installed a translator in my head.
"Euriel, could you pass me a towel, please?" Emi asked softly.
I tried to turn my head to see who this Euriel was, but he was faster. Before my neck could so much as twitch, he was already beside her, towel in hand.
It looked utterly ordinary — grayish, a bit worn in places, almost like an old kitchen rag. I even caught myself thinking: Is this really sanitary?
But then something remarkable happened.
The towel in her hand began to darken, as if soaking up water. Damp patches spread outward from the center, and I found myself staring, transfixed. She hadn't dipped it in anything — that was obvious.
So where was the water coming from?
Was this… magic?
Though I had once witnessed far flashier displays of magic, I couldn't help but be taken aback. This was so… practical.
I wondered what element this young woman wielded. For some reason, I found myself thinking of darkness.
I didn't get the chance to finish that thought before the towel touched my skin — first my chest, then my shoulders, arms, and neck.
It was warm. Comfortably warm.
Emi wiped me with a care so delicate it was as though she feared to damage butterfly wings. Only then did I realize I was covered in blood. Not in some tragic, dramatic way, but… well, the obvious way. Birth.
I had just been born. The thought still felt absurd.
A sudden jolt of sensation rippled through me when Emi's fingertip brushed lightly against my stomach. It was barely a touch, yet it sent an electric shiver across my skin. I was mortified at the ridiculous little laugh that slipped out of me… but I couldn't stop it.
She bent down, bringing her forehead close to mine. Her long hair fell forward, creating a canopy that hid me from the rest of the world.
"Yori, you're adorable," Emi murmured, her voice soaked in tenderness.
How did I know? I couldn't say. Maybe this was what people meant by a family bond, though I wasn't sure how such a thing was supposed to work.
Whatever the reason, I could feel the warmth of her breath against my skin, carrying with it a mingled scent of sweat and flowers. Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply, letting the long-forgotten fragrance seep into every corner of me. Whatever worries had lingered moments before dissolved completely.
"That's not fair! I want to hold the baby too!" Quint protested.
Emi lifted her head. Her expression seemed almost contemptuous. A small shadow of doubt crept into my thoughts — was Quint really my father?
"She's not some pet for you to play with!"
I decided to leave my new parents' quarrels for later. The realization that I had been reborn as a girl slipped into my mind quietly. In a burst of indignation, Emi lifted my head, and I caught sight of the most unmistakable difference between boys and girls. What I saw — or rather, didn't see — made it perfectly clear. Honestly, my heart gave a tiny flutter at the sight of my new body.
Why bother finding a girlfriend when you can simply be one and admire yourself? Truly, a flawless plan.
All jokes aside, I wasn't even slightly bothered by the fact that I was now female — and not for the reason I just mentioned. Why? Honestly, I had no idea. There were plenty of potential advantages, I supposed. For example: a field of flowers is far more beautiful when it's not hidden beneath the shade of oak trees, wouldn't you agree?
A yawn escaped my lips, an attempt to fight the growing heaviness in my eyes, but my eyelids only grew heavier still.
The world around me dimmed, moment by moment. People and walls alike lost their color, and the voices nearby softened into a lullaby. Perhaps this was simply how an infant's body worked — like a smartphone slipping into low-power mode.
My head nestled unconsciously closer to Emi's arm. That's when I noticed my cheek felt warm and damp — as if I had yawned so deeply that a tear had rolled free.
No matter how fascinating this new world might be, my decision was made. I let my eyelids fall, and in the next instant—
Hrrr.
.
"I'm a baby, I'm a baby…" That was the mantra I clung to while being breastfed.
That single thought summed up the rift between my mind and my body.
Less than a day had passed since my birth, and already I was locked in another internal conflict. Possibly an external one as well.
I couldn't help but wonder — how would my body have reacted if I'd been born a boy?
The very thought was enough to make me despise myself.
But back to reality. I think it's obvious what I was doing — eating.
My fingers flexed and uncurled instinctively, like a newborn kitten's, reaching out toward… well, no, let's not dwell on that.
Honestly, it took considerable effort to restrain myself.
And let's be fair — there wouldn't have been anything strange about me touching her breast.
Or… would there? No, wait. Yes. Or maybe? That was a good question.
The real problem was that I didn't see Emilia as my mother. I still hadn't fully accepted her — or myself.
And yet, the fact remained:
Right now, I was doing something I could never have imagined in my previous life. Not even with that girl.
Warm milk slid gently down my throat, spreading heat through my body from within. Slowly, an oddly calming sensation began to replace my unease.
I adapted to the situation far faster than I expected.
My gaze drifted to Emilia. Wearing the night like a crown, her long hair spilled over her shoulders like flowing water. Her face was fleeting, elegant — as though it had been shaped from porcelain.
It was hard to judge her character. Like anyone else, she seemed to have many facets. The way she treated me and the way she spoke to Quint were proof enough. And not much time had passed for me to form any real understanding.
This was not one of those cases where a name tells you everything.
Speaking of which, it was probably obvious, but "Emi" was short for "Emilia." Not that it mattered. For me, there was no need for such formalities — it would be strange for a child to call their parents by name.
Of course, there was no point in thinking about that now. For them, such things belonged to the future — a possible future.
For me, it was the present.
It was winter — the snow outside the window made that clear. Of course, it could have been late autumn or early spring, but winter seemed the likeliest. Let's call it winter.
Emilia lay on the bed, holding me close, one arm supporting my head. She looked out the window, and I looked at her.
Her gaze was calm. Almost detached. And because of that, I felt lighter myself, as though I had truly become weightless.
As the scent of flowers and milk filled my nose, and the milk warmed my throat, my eyelids slipped shut and—
Hrrr.
—
Through the window, the warmth of spring began to seep in. The air was less damp than in winter, yet it still didn't make me want to move. Not that I could, really. My feelings about the seasons hadn't changed in the slightest — and unsurprisingly, that was the first thing I needed to work on.
Months had passed since my birth. By then, it was clear that the mouth muscles of a newborn were far too weak for me to speak — even making individual sounds was a struggle. So I stopped trying.
Drifting with the current had always been my greatest skill.
In any case, I was still young enough to believe my future would be long, and there was no need to rush.
Sometimes I wondered — was I even behaving properly for an infant?
I'd never had children of my own to compare to, and when my younger brother was born, I was too young and restless myself to care.
The lack of experience occasionally made my new parents stop and think. Why didn't I cry when I was hungry, or when… well, never mind.
The sensations were genuinely unpleasant, but I was far too embarrassed to draw attention to them.
Probably for that reason, the image I projected was a rather clumsy one.
It was hard to decide what to let go of and what to keep. Get carried away, and you might end up hollow.
Increasingly, I felt like I was inventing new ways to ignore problems that really should have been addressed.
Well, whatever.
I put effort into turning onto my side. No matter how I wobbled, it didn't work.
I sighed and folded my tiny hands over my stomach.
It still felt a little unsettling, having fingers so small.
I closed my eyes and exhaled again. A wave of cool air from the open bedroom door brushed against my cheek — pleasant enough, and a perfect excuse to drift back into the world of dreams.
Just before slipping away, I caught the sound of a knife hitting a cutting board downstairs, followed by the creak of wooden floorboards.
…Creak?
I opened my eyes just as a shadow loomed over me.
My body had begun to respond — more or less — to the brain's electric impulses, but in this moment, it refused to obey.
I slowly turned my eyes to the side and swallowed.
This was obviously not Emilia.
It was none other than—
"Well, well, well! Look who's awake!" Quint stood with his hands on his hips, grinning ear to ear.
I immediately squeezed my eyes shut, as if that would make this madman disappear.
Not that Quint was a bad person. On the contrary, he seemed like a perfectly loving father.
But unlike Emilia, he always made me feel… on edge. Too loud. Too energetic. Too… opposite.
The loud growl of my stomach made me open my eyes again, and made Quint burst out laughing. I could feel my cheeks heat up.
"If you're so hungry, why didn't you call anyone? Come on, Yori, say: 'Da-da.' 'Ma-ma'…" He paused. "No, that's too easy. Let's try: 'Yo-ri.'"
I wanted, more than anything, to scream at him — to beg him to just leave me alone. But all I managed was something that sounded like 'blll.'
"No, no." He shook his head, raising a finger. "Yo-ri! I know you can do it. You're such a clever girl." He hesitated, eyes narrowing. "Or… wait. Do you even know who Yori is? That's you! Yo-ri. Repeat after me."
Oh, for heaven's sake, shut up already!
If you've noticed I'm hungry — go get Emilia! Don't torture me with this performance!
Of course I know my own name! What am I, a Yorkie? Why are you talking to me like a dog?!
Overwhelmed by helplessness, I nearly burst into tears. I kicked the bed — pain shot from my heel all the way to my neck.
And I would have cried if not for—
Slap!
The sharp sound came from behind Quint's head. Emilia had appeared as if from the ground itself.
Quint tried to defend himself, but before he could even turn, she smacked him again.
"Hey, hey! We were just playing! I wasn't doing anything bad, I swear!" he protested, scooting away from her.
"You're such an idiot, Quint," Emilia said, holding her head and shaking it. "If Yori's awake, you should have called me or brought her downstairs. Is that really so hard?"
"You were busy. I thought I'd keep her entertained," he muttered guiltily, looking everywhere but at her.
"Entertained? You nearly drove her into a tantrum! Or can't you hear… oh…"
I felt something in my lower belly clench treacherously. A moment later, accompanied by an unpleasant smell, a sharp, warm sensation spread through my body — and I don't mean my cheeks. Apparently, that stomach growl had been announcing more than hunger. Or maybe all of it at once. I still wasn't good at reading my own body.
This was definitely not one of those situations where a simple "hrrr" could save me.
.
I had always slept incredibly deeply and without moving. At one point, my parents even began to worry about my viability. That's why they moved me from my crib into their bed.
From that moment on, I began to hate summer.
Sleeping with someone or alone didn't make much difference to me. But the especially hot days became truly unbearable. I felt like a ball being pressed flat. Sweat ran down my body, mingling with my parents', and by morning I looked as if I'd been steamed in a sauna.
Emilia, of course, tried to fix the situation, but nothing really changed.
She had this green stone that glowed faintly and gave off a cool breeze — apparently the local equivalent of a fan.
But like all fans, it was nothing compared to a proper air conditioner.
Still, even that minor discomfort didn't stop me from sleeping most of the day away. What else was there to do?
Not long ago, I'd started practicing speech. Obviously without much success — my infant body just couldn't keep up with the thoughts in my head. The best I could manage were things like ta, na, ma, pa… and, oddly enough, yoi.
These "words," especially when I used them in the right context, were enough to make my parents raise their eyebrows again.
It happened about a month ago. That was when Emilia bought a pink dress at the market. It looked… cute. But not the good kind of cute — the kind that made you want to recoil in horror at first sight.
"Look, Yori, do you like it?"
I was in shock when I saw that piece of fabric in her hands.
What is that? Who is it for? Me? Are they going to put me in it? I'm supposed to wear that?
These worries quickly started to seep into my mind. My lips trembled, producing some incoherent mix of sounds.
Emilia, it seemed, tried to cheer me up, shaking the dress like a toy.
The motion was sharp — like a pigeon's nod — and I instantly came to my senses. I looked at Emilia and shook my head firmly.
"No."
"No?" she tilted her head in surprise.
"No," I repeated with conviction.
"I see, I see." She nodded a few times.
"She doesn't know what she's saying. She obviously likes it," Quint cut in with a chuckle.
The sunlight streaming through the open window lit up his finger — in its glow, the shadow it cast spread across the floor like the hand of a clock. It perfectly captured that frozen-in-time feeling his comment gave me.
He looked truly pleased with himself, as if he'd just scored a small victory in some competition.
"You're the only one here who doesn't understand anything," Emilia shot him down, then showed me the dress again. "Okay, one more time. Do you like it?"
"No," I shook my head quickly.
"Hm? Alright."
Emilia shrugged and set the dress aside. Instead, she tapped her chin thoughtfully, her gaze drifting around the room.
Honestly, I was confused. That was it? Seriously? No, I was glad she listened to me instead of Quint, but… seriously?
"What's going on in here?" Euriël asked, stepping over the bedroom threshold.
"Oh, Euriël, you're here already?"
"You were taking too long to come down, so I came to check."
"Emi thinks Yori is consciously refusing the dress. But just look at that cute, silly little face. She's—"
Quint didn't put up any resistance when he hit the floor. As for how it happened… well, let's leave that a mystery.
"What do you think? Is it possible?" Emilia asked, sounding worried.
"Why not? Even children can tell what they like and what they don't."
"But she's not even a year old."
"Hasn't she always been like this?"
For some reason, that question made my heart skip — and not in a good way. I should have guessed that even for a baby, a conversation like this might seem unnatural. But I'd been too distracted by the terrifying prospect of wearing dresses to think clearly.
More importantly, Euriël's reaction was… unsettling. He didn't seem surprised at all. If anything, it was as though everything was going exactly as he'd expected. That couldn't be a good sign.
Still, things worked out as well as they possibly could. Instead of skirts and dresses, they bought me T-shirts and pants. Since then, I've decided there's no need to rush to defend my opinion. Sometimes, a look is enough to get your point across — the words… they'll come later.
.
As it usually happens, summer gave way to autumn. The air outside had grown noticeably fresher, and the greenery beyond the window was beginning to give way to shades of yellow and orange.
But that was outside. Inside, everything stayed the same.
I sat on the bed, leaning my head against my hand, staring out the window. Just like yesterday, and probably just like tomorrow.
The only real change was that I could finally sit and crawl. Not that I actually did it very often.
Anyway.
I glanced at Quint, who was sitting on the floor across from me — and, oddly enough, our eyes met. Not that it was strange, really, considering he was blatantly staring at me.
After a series of smacks to the back of the head from Emilia, he'd gotten a little quieter, but no less irritating. I had to admit, his ability to be annoying without saying a word was worthy of an award.
For the next few moments, we just looked at each other. In times like these, the resemblance between us was obvious — we had the same eyes. Pink irises, as bright as cherry blossoms.
That was probably one of the few reasons I could proudly say he was my father.
Time passed, but Quint stubbornly refused to look away. Part of me wanted to poke him in the eye, just so he'd stop staring. But common sense reminded me that could hurt both of us.
I sighed wearily. Quint practically radiated silent enthusiasm, which somehow made me even more tired. I was just about to wave him off and turn away when…
"When you pray, you're supposed to put your hands together. Did you know that?" said a voice from behind the door.
Quint and I turned our heads at the same time.
Standing in the doorway was Euriël, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's, a bun in his hand.
I tilted my head, thinking about his words.
What was that supposed to mean? Because Quint was kneeling in front of me? Hm…
"What's that in your hand?" Quint hissed, narrowing his eyes.
"Oh, this?" Euriël twirled the bun in his hand and shrugged. "Not sure. It was on the table in the living room. Next to a mug of tea. I drank the tea too, by the way."
Just as a living being needs air, Quint couldn't imagine his life without Emilia's baked goods. He was the kind of man who needed to eat again after about a hundred steps or so.
The color drained from his face — or maybe it changed — with alarming speed. And I could understand why.
There's something satisfying about being able to make happiness… and Euriël was deliberately taking that away from him.
Of course, he meant no harm. His antics were always harmless. That's exactly why he'd become my second hero — he always showed up when Emilia wasn't around.
"Bastard! That's mine!"
Euriël started biting into what was left of the bun, taking chunk after chunk. It looked like Quint might burst into tears watching his precious pastry disappear into Euriël's mouth. Moments like these almost made me pity him.
"And now it's mine," Euriël snickered, stretched his arms forward, and ran out.
Quint's face was filled with raw outrage, the veins on his forehead standing out as proof.
Wiping the tears from his eyes, he leapt over the bed in a single bound and took off after him.
"Stop! I'll turn you to ash the moment I catch you!" his growl echoed from somewhere in the distance.
Euriël's visits weren't unusual. What was surprising was how he showed up. No one ever knew when or where he came from.
Though he was a bishop, his uncanny habit made him seem more like a house spirit to me — popping in whenever he pleased, for no apparent reason.
At first glance, he and Quint might have seemed like they were on the same wavelength. But behind that childlike smile of his was a restless look, as if he were waiting for something. But what?
It's not like aliens were going to descend from the sky, right? …Right?
No matter how much I wondered, the answer never came to me. Besides, I was too happy about Quint's sudden disappearance to worry about it.
Folding my hands behind my head, I lay back on the bed. Sure, this whole reincarnation and magic business made me feel like something out of a fairy tale — but that didn't mean life came with fewer problems.
This ridiculous situation reminded me of something from my childhood.
I'd always been the only child in the family, and the arrival of a baby made me feel… jealous, I guess? Though now, I can't quite recall what that feeling really was.
I'd been used to the idea that every sweet treat brought home was mine. If there was only one candy left, the thought of sharing never even crossed my mind.
Looking back now, I see what an egotist I was. My brother, on the other hand, was the complete opposite.
When our mother made me share the last bun with him, my emotions shifted as quickly as Quint's expression. Consumed by anger, resentment—or maybe all of it at once—I clenched my teeth and handed it over. And he… simply split it in half and held one piece out to me.
Even now, remembering it makes me unbearably ashamed.
That little incident did change me, but I never became a good older brother. A friend? Maybe.
I'd always hoped he wouldn't grow up to be like me. But the older he got, the more I saw myself in him.
Like a rolling ball, he filled the empty space I'd left behind when I was gone.
At some point, I let go of the rope of youth that had tied us together.
And so, here I am.
In a completely unfamiliar world.
In a completely unfamiliar body.
And under someone else's name.
Still sounds insane when I say it out loud.
.
Active Yori went into hibernation with the coming of the cold.
Not that the word "active" had ever applied to me. No matter the season, as a true king, I ruled my bed-bound kingdom without leaving it. So, if you think about it, that opening statement was a complete lie.
Winter marked my first birthday.
It's hard to say whether anything had changed outside since then. The city was wrapped in snow, and the view from my window blurred into a solid white rectangle.
No houses, no trees in sight. Even Quint—once he stepped out of the house—vanished behind the white curtain.
Truth be told, winter had never warmed my heart. Paradoxical, isn't it?
But if you think of Christmas or Valentine's Day, it starts to make sense. Those are the days when people's warmth can actually make the snow melt.
That's what this "warm winter" felt like.
I'd once heard that Christmas acts like a magnifying glass for the soul: if you're happy, it makes everything seem brighter.
And if you're alone…
Well, I don't think I need to explain what it's like, watching other people's closeness from a distance.
And, unsurprisingly, in that theater, I got the role of the spectator. Not that I complained. Probably.
Even snowflakes seemed to have partners, twirling together as they fell.
Absurd, I know, but that's the effect this "magnifying glass" had on me.
I wish I could've spent even one Christmas with that girl. Though I doubt she would've thought much of it.
Maybe that's why, in all the hundred years we spent together, I never once saw snow? Makes sense, in a way.
Thoughts of her always drained me, so I never lingered on them for long.
But—back to reality.
A few days ago, I celebrated… my anniversary. I'm not sure if that's the right word here, but… anyway, I turned one year old.
I won't go into who attended the celebration. Obviously, there were only four of us. I have to admit, that didn't make the evening any less cheerful.
The table was set with a variety of dishes, which, of course, I wasn't allowed to eat. And honestly… why even invite me?
I spent the whole evening on Emilia's lap, watching Quint devour a chicken drumstick with a sly grin.
I swear, if it weren't for Euriel quietly snatching food off his plate, I would have definitely thrown a fork at him.
By that time, I could already stand on my feet more or less steadily. Though they still shook, I could even move a little if there was something to hold onto nearby.
Unfortunately, speaking didn't go so smoothly.
It felt like listening to your own voice on a recording and being embarrassed by it. Clearly, I had a noticeable speech defect: hard, growling, and hissing sounds were still difficult for me.
Maybe that's why I stubbornly refused to speak. Quint kept teasing me, and I couldn't respond.
However, I communicated quite clearly with gestures. For example, when I pointed at Quint while looking directly at Emilia, then drew my hand through the air as if slicing him — he got a light smack on the head.
Emilia never asked "why." We understood each other without words. I think even Quint understood that he deserved it.
A clap, then a childlike giggle — that was the atmosphere in our house. It was probably contagious, because everyone started laughing along with me.
Here, among these people, there was a feeling you can't find anywhere else. It was fleeting and inexplicable, yet strangely pleasant — like déjà vu. And it existed only here.
Even though the cold often made me feel small and shriveled, in this house there was a real "warm winter."
In other words… it seemed I was happy.