After the door closed, the hospital room suddenly felt very empty.
Not in a physical sense.
Just now, five people had been crowded into this small room, noisy and bustling, making even the air feel warm.
Now that only two remained, that excess warmth dissipated instantly, like a beach revealed after the tide recedes—damp, quiet, and carrying an uncomfortable candidness.
It was as if everything superfluous, frivolous, and escapist had been taken away along with those three people.
Pavela's face was still a bit flushed.
The lingering effects of the farce just now hadn't completely faded; the tips of her ears were still burning, and her heart was beating slightly faster than usual.
But she had already keenly sensed it—
The atmosphere had changed.
Eleanor didn't speak imdiately.
She stood up, walked to the window, and reached out to push it open.
The cold winter wind rushed in, carrying the scent of damp earth from the distant lawn, dispersing the residual stuffiness in the room.
The sll of disinfectant was diluted, replaced by a clean, chilly freshness.
Eleanor stood before the window with her back to Pavela.
The hem of her deep blue military coat was ruffled by the wind, and her dark hair floated gently on her shoulders.
Her back was very straight.
Her shoulders were square, her spine erect, as standard as if asured by a ruler.
This was the back of a soldier. The back of soone accustod to maintaining a perfect posture in any situation.
But Pavela noticed ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ a detail.
Eleanor's right hand rested on the window fra, her fingertips unconsciously tapping the wooden edge.
Very light, very slow, and without rhythm.
This wasn't Eleanor's habit.
Pavela had been with her for nearly two months and had never seen her make such a superfluous little movent.
Eleanor was the type of person whose even breathing seed precisely calculated; her body language was always restrained and purposeful.
aningless repetitive movents were, for her, almost equivalent to losing her composure.
The silence lasted for a long ti.
Long enough for Pavela to start counting the seconds in her head.
One, two, three...
When she reached forty-seven, she finally couldn't help herself.
"Eleanor?"
She called out tentatively.
Her voice sounded a bit thin in the empty room.
Eleanor's fingertips stopped.
She didn't turn around imdiately, only slightly tilting her head, allowing Pavela to see the profile of half her face.
Backlit.
The winter sunlight from outside shone in behind her, swallowing all her facial details into a bright white.
Pavela couldn't see her expression clearly, only a sharp silhouette outlined by the light.
"Pavela."
Eleanor's voice was a bit lower than usual.
Not the kind of low that was intentionally deepened, but like a string stretched too tight, slightly out of tune as it produced sound.
"...Yes."
Pavela responded softly.
She subconsciously pulled the blanket up a bit, as if building a thin line of defense for herself.
She couldn't say what she was defending against.
But her intuition told her that the upcoming conversation would make her need this defense.
Eleanor turned around.
She left the window, walked to the bedside, pulled over the white plastic chair, and sat down.
The movent was natural and composed, just like everything she usually did—elegant, precise, and not wasting a single bit of extra effort.
But after she sat down, there was a very brief pause.
About half a second.
In that half-second, her gaze fell on Pavela's gauze-wrapped right arm, then quickly shifted away.
So fast it was as if she had been burned.
She folded her hands on her knees, fingers interlaced, her thumb unconsciously rubbing the knuckles of her other hand.
Pavela recognized this movent.
This was Eleanor organizing her emotions.
"Let's talk about the first thing first."
Eleanor raised her eyes to look at Pavela.
In those ice-blue eyes, the mischievous, teasing smile from before had completely vanished.
It was replaced by an expression Pavela rarely saw, one belonging to "Eleanor" herself—not the "blood rose," not the Eldest Daughter of Schwartz, not the Imperial Lieutenant Colonel.
It was her own.
"I'm sorry."
Pavela froze for a mont.
These words coming from Eleanor's mouth created a strange sense of dissonance.
Not because they weren't sincere.
On the contrary, it was precisely because they were so sincere that they created a misalignnt with the Eleanor in Pavela's mory.
"...What?"
"I said, I'm sorry."
Eleanor repeated. Every word was articulated clearly, as if she were afraid Pavela wouldn't hear.
Pavela opened her mouth.
Her first instinct was to say "It's okay."
But she swallowed those words back down.
Because that wasn't what Eleanor needed right now.
"That... actually, it's nothing..."
Her voice was a bit dry.
"I'm not soone who's so easily discouraged..."
Even she felt her words lacked conviction as she spoke them.
She had just buried her face in her pillow crying "Let die here," so saying she wasn't easily discouraged had about as much persuasiveness as a paper shield.
"No."
Eleanor interrupted her.
Her voice wasn't heavy, but it was firm.
"You don't understand, Pavela."
"I'm not apologizing for teasing you just now."
Pavela blinked.
"...You're not?"
"No."
Eleanor's gaze shifted from Pavela's face to her own interlaced fingers.
Her thumb was still rubbing her knuckles, but slower than before.
Slow, as if she were hesitating.
"I teased you," she said, her voice suddenly becoming very soft, "because I didn't know how to face you once you woke up."
Pavela's heart skipped a beat.
"When I stood outside the door and heard your voice, I knew you were okay."
"But the mont I pushed open the door and saw you—"
She paused.
The pause was short, but Pavela heard the weight in it.
It wasn't about organizing words.
It was about suppressing sothing.
"I still didn't know what kind of expression to face you with."
"So I chose the safest one."
"Teasing you."
"Making you shy, making you angry, making you focus on those insignificant things."
"That way, you wouldn't notice—"
Her voice showed a barely audible crack here.
"How scared I was."
The room was quiet for a few seconds.
The wind outside made a door at the end of the hallway rattle gently, producing intermittent tapping sounds like an irregular heartbeat.
Pavela didn't speak.
She just watched Eleanor quietly, waiting for her to continue.
She knew she shouldn't interrupt at this ti.
Not out of politeness.
She could feel that Eleanor was doing sothing very difficult for her.
She was tearing down her own walls.
"When I saw you by the edge of that pit, my mind was blank."
"Completely blank."
"I didn't even dare to jump down."
She didn't say anything more.
But Pavela understood.
She rembered the scene from that day herself—scorched earth, rubble, blood, and singed hair.
Eleanor didn't need to describe it again.
"When I picked you up later, you were so light it scared ."
Eleanor's voice rasped for a mont.
"I was counting your breaths the whole way, but the interval between each one was long enough to drive crazy."
Her fingers tightened on her knees, her nails almost sinking into the fabric of her military trousers.
"Pavela."
She looked up.
In those ice-blue eyes, Pavela saw sothing she had never seen on Eleanor's face.
Not anger.
Not indifference.
It was fear.
A bone-deep fear that remained hidden despite being disguised by countless layers.
"I gave you a new na, a new ho, and I thought that as long as I kept you where I could see you, I could protect you."
"But on the very first day of school, you almost died right under my nose."
"And I was even not far from you at the ti."
She lowered her head, her dark hair falling down and covering half her face.
"Do I really have the right to be your sister?"
Her voice was very soft, as if she were asking herself.
"Is what I gave you really the 'peaceful life' you wanted?"
"Or am I just dragging you out of one hell and pushing you into another with my own hands?"
She said those last two sentences very slowly.
Every word was like it was carved with a knife.
Carved into herself.
User Comments
0 comments from readers