"I choose you!"
A high-pitched voice of a giggling little child pointed her finger toward a boy. She held a jar filled with water, containing within it is something swimming erratically.
Little Deimfel, with adorable chubby cheeks and coarse ebony hair, fell into astonishment as he looked in a daze.
"Me?" He pointed his small finger at himself.
The little girl nodded excitedly and raised the jar in her hands. Inside it... was a little fish.
The fish swam in circles in careless indifference with colorful scales and a blemished tail.
"Ms. Snum chose you to be her bride!"
"Lucila!" But then, a deep male voice called from afar.
Little Deimfel grew even more confused; he arched his eyebrows while tilting his head to the side. Peering from the bushes by the pavement.
There it was, a butler. He had silver linings in his hair around the temples, pendulous cheeks, repressed eyes, and refined bearing, clad in a suit.
He was wheezing, "Lucila! Come back here!" At some point, he steadied himself against a wall of the manor just to catch his breath.
The little girl, whose name is Lucila, embraced the jar of water tightly in apprehension as she noticed Deimfel's face. Seemingly privy to what was going on and reluctant to approach.
There was anxiety in her mischievous eyes, and she slowly turned her head and saw the butler.
"Lucila! You have to return!" The butler shouted wearily and in a deep voice.
"No!" Little Lucila hurried to Deimfel's behind and she shrieked, "Hurry! Protect your groom!"
In his white, long-sleeved shirt and small dark pants. Deimfel was torn from what was happening.
He lowered his head, slowly glanced at Lucila, and asked, "Do you mean the baby bass in your hand?"
"It's a goldfish!" Lucila retorted, her face winced cutely as she was trying to show her displeasure.
"That's uhh..." Deimfel was at a loss.
That fish clearly had pastels all over it. It can't be mistaken.
Deimfel sighed and said, "I became a bride of a goldfish?"
"It's not just a goldfish! It's magical!" Lucila explained eagerly.
Deimfel fell silent.
"How magical?"
Lucila's eyes sparkled. "You see! You see! When I tapped the jar? She turns around!"
Tap. Tap.
Deimfel saw the fish swim away, perhaps seemingly tired of the girl.
"It doesn't like you."
"What!?" Little Lucila was shocked and disheartened. Very peeved by the remark.
"It turns around. So it doesn't like you."
Then, Little Lucila's lips curled into a grin before bursting into a smile.
"Yes! It likes you! Become her bride!"
"No!" Little Deimfel shook his head vigorously.
"Yes!" Lucila nodded.
"No!"
"Yes!"
"No!"
Then, Lucila grabbed his hand. She smiled so wide her eyes closed adorably. A giggle escaped her lips after seeing the butler coming in their direction.
"Ah! Help! Protect your groom! Hehe." Lucila ran opposite the butler. They heard his pleading voice fade before the confused Deimfel was tugged by the girl's gleeful smile.
...
Monte Seul. Gale County. Cellos Town.
In the middle of the night.
Deimfel Leor closed the door of the hut, not muttering one bit. The dim light of the kerosene lamp revealed a room of carved designs. Intricate and pristine, as if recalling an old echo.
He took his fedora off, and his lavish coat quietly. He hung them on the rack that had another coat beside it and finally took off his shoes and cane.
The towel next to it was what he used to shed the numb and sullen gaze he had, but he failed miserably.
He placed the towel on the high-back chair and noticed letters scattered all over the desk. They all had a common signature of an italic flair initial: "Lucila" written at the ends.
Deimfel's eyes deepened, and he turned to see a miniature fish toy there, sitting as a paperweight. The pastels painted all over it did not make it seem like a goldfish. It likely came from a carnival and would die prematurely if it were alive.
The still Deimfel took it, and a chain dangled right as he lifted the item. It was a keychain, a keychain miniature toy fish.
All of a sudden, his grip on it tightened. For the first time, Deimfel sighed soundly before lifting a random letter:
"Dear Deimfel.
"How have you been? Ever since you've been gone, the Conquisens have started to ordain public rundown. Awfully meticulous cults who act like priests!
"I have never burnt any of your letters. I hope you won't as well. Also, some little sunshine earlier argued that my keychain was a bass. It's painted, so it's a goldfish, right? Seriously, we should prioritize educational facilities for these younger generations!
"Anyway, I hope you're alright. Signed, Lucila Solent."
Then, Deimfel put it down and took another paper note from the desk.
"Ms. Rousette was sentenced. I didn't know what was happening, but she was sentenced to life in prison after testimony that she was an aide in your group's escape. Did she? I hadn't received your letters yet; I'm worried.
"You know, one shouldn't make a lady uneasy, right? Ugh, you're so far away I wouldn't even be able to pinch your ears again! Feeling glad, huh?
"Please, Deimfel. Write for me."
Then another.
"I have read your letter. Seriously, you shouldn't make a lady wait that long! But I'm glad. Anyway, what's it like in Britain? I often glimpse the Thames and local roundabouts, and it seems Britain is especially cold this time of month and has a rich culture of sourcing wine.
"Drunkard foreigners also remarked on lavish homes and beautiful women. You're not dallying yourself with anything, right?
"Come back soon. I miss you. I fear that your complex will outgrow you if I don't intervene with my pinching."
The spreadsheets rustled with a page's unique clutter.
"It sounds wonderful. I hope you can take me with you. If only Father would accept. He probably wouldn't.
"Did you know? Father said I smiled too stiffly again. I mean, who wouldn't? These friars are simply too obnoxious and repulsive! If one more merchant son remarked that my smile reminds them of the sun, I'd throw them off a river!"
...
"Deimfel. Leave. Please."
There were obvious smudges of ink and dried spots of water all around the letter.
"I have chosen... to be a nun. Saint Guillaume would not harm you anymore; the people of Monte Seul would not suffer anymore. So please. Leave.
"Please.
"I love you."
Deimfel's hand suddenly became colder. His fingers gently let go of the thin sheet, and he turned toward the shelves. Refusing to notice a glance at a single entry:
"Death of the Mayor's daughter. Lucila Solent. 1680."
Reflecting on the porcelain objects- a teacup with a floral pattern, a figurine of a ballet, and a necklace bearing a cross, was Deimfel slowly closing to a letter on the fourth shelf. He caught the note that rested there, which was already torn.
"From Madam Clement."
He placed it back and shifted toward the other antiques.
Deimfel saw a sun hat made of straw, wide to the brim beside it was a fan with a breeze pattern, accentuating the leaves churning. An unlit tobacco sat right next to a bottle of Monrell, then a revolver, with its barrel beside it, dismantled.
With each glance, his eyes grew deeper and deeper, as if he were drowning.
The silence was either occupied by gusts of flames or a cacophony of crickets outside. Deimfel never paused to look; he continued marching toward a desk right at the end.
He did, however, feel for the smooth surface of a guitar standing on the shelf, the metallic touch of the empty musket, and a cane that barely had a handle due to erosion.
Deimfel suddenly stopped. He saw the desk illuminated by an iron-gridded lamp, chained to a stand.
There was a seemingly insurmountable mess of papers on it. Some were headlined in a news article from a year ago, while others varied in timeline, no greater than ten years.
"Invalidated! Construction of Educational Facilities failed to reach the Government!
"Mandated by Lord's Grace! Every tenant of Monte Seul is to submit!
"High Priest Guierro has remarked, 'None of the Monte Saulians will ever get to live without us.'"
"Ever get to live without us..." The foul voice that stretched far into the past reverberated in Deimfel as he slowly raised his hand and swiped the papers away.
Leaving the table empty except for the gas lamp and a vial.
Deimfel looked at the vial quietly. His thoughts unknown, but his body stood like a hollow statue.
"There! He's in that hut!
"Capture him!
"Deimfel! There's no escaping now! Hahaha!"
Deimfel's hand trembled for the vial as he reached for it.
Bam!
The door slammed open, broken by the impact of a group of armed men holding muskets and lances.
Their faces were either elated or grim, and among them stood a man with a white robe, a cross pendant dangling from his neck, and a deep-outlined face bearing the blemish of a scar.
He was smiling, ear to ear, overjoyed to see Deimfel in his former appearance, shed of any disguises.
"Your plan had failed. How foolish of you to patronize us...
"Civil guards, arrest him!"
Thud!
Deimfel fell on his side! Unconscious!
Then, a vial rolled from the dying warmth of his body; a drop of bluish-black liquid was spilling from it.
As Deimfel saw the silhouettes growing closer, his thoughts had begun to turn blank and languid. The dim lights receded slowly; he couldn't help but feel a dreadful pain in his heart.
What could have possibly gone wrong?
Why did everyone suddenly conspire against him?
Everyone died.
Everyone.
If only...
... In the end. There was only him. Him and his stubborn elitism and martyrdom.
Deimfel had only gone through so much. Hence why he chose the bliss of closing his eyes.
And end it himself.
If there was another timeline...
If I was able to return...
I won't let it happen this way again...
I will make things right... I will change our fate...
For everyone...
For you, Lucila...