Chapter 220 - 220 Nightmare
220 Nightmare
“Aurore attacked me.”
The words echoed in Lumian’s ears, crashing through his mind like a burst dam. A surge of memories flooded in, washing away the hidden horrors buried beneath the surface. They were ghastly, painful, and pierced his very bones.
One by one, scenes played out before Lumian’s eyes. Guillaume Bénet, the padre, encircled by a horde of undead figures in the wilderness. Madame Pualis soaring through the air with her wings spread wide. And there, in her eyes, Lumian caught a glimpse of a familiar blond figure.
It was Aurore!
Lumian’s gaze shifted to the castle’s third-floor walls, covered in translucent faces of bluish-white hue. He witnessed Louis Lund giving birth, Sybil Berry being reborn within the body of a lady’s maid, Guillaume Bénet, Pierre Berry, Pons Bénet, and a group of believers of Inevitability engaged in a fierce battle against the midwife, Administrator Béost, and their companions.
All of this unfolded within Lumian’s own visions, emanating from a small bubble floating in the air.
White Paper…
White Paper!
Lumian’s face contorted in agony as he staggered backward.
Bluish-purple veins, densely packed, protruded from his body, each representing a blood vessel.
Meanwhile, the words of Psychiatrist Susie flashed through his mind: “Always remind yourself not to overreact. Whenever you feel a similar surge of emotions, take deep breaths and find your calm…”
Lumian gasped heavily, feeling as though the world around him had turned into a vacuum.
In an act of sympathy, Madame Pualis spoke, “You have indeed forgotten many things. No, you’ve buried them deep in your heart, afraid to confront them.
“I, too, suffered. It was not pleasant for me. After becoming a Banshee, it was the first time I encountered a woman who truly touched my heart. She possessed charm, kindness, gentleness, and a vibrant spirit. I never imagined that she, as a follower of the evil god, would turn against me.
“Even then, she was already a Fate Appropriator, favored by Inevitability more than Guillaume Bénet.”
Lumian couldn’t help but bring his hands to his head, as if it might explode from the intense pressure within.
Taking deep breaths, he recalled Aurore, who brushed off his concerns about the village’s peculiarities. He remembered her cautioning him against laying eyes on forbidden things. He thought of Aurore, who would often sit on the roof at night, gazing at the vastness of the cosmos. The dream of the diaphanous “lizard” crawling out of Aurore’s mouth resurfaced in his mind. He remembered how Nazélie and the others, the initiators of the horoscope heresy, had close ties to Aurore.
Amidst these recollections, Lumian also recalled his failure to avenge Reimund and Ava’s deaths, discovering himself captured by Pons Bénet instead. He endured torment before finally being set free. He recalled Aurore, who had cut the livre bleu and assembled a plea for help together with him. He remembered Aurore explaining the mystical knowledge she possessed. And above all, he remembered Aurore pushing him off the altar during the ritual, her eyes flickering with a newfound liveliness…
Huff… Huff… Lumian gasped heavily, as if still trapped in the clutches of a never-ending nightmare.
A soft sigh escaped Madame Pualis’s lips.
“I should have noticed her strangeness sooner. Although we didn’t often cross paths, I always sensed something peculiar about her. The way she would gaze up at the night sky, speaking cryptic words about her hometown.
“Later on, I wished for her to embrace the Great Mother’s teachings, but alas, it was too late…”
Lumian’s trembling lips struggled to form the question. “When… did she… start behaving strangely?”
He had a vivid recollection of Aurore’s habit of stargazing and reminiscing about her homeland, but there had been no signs of trouble in the early years.
Granted, Lumian acknowledged that Aurore had been fixated on the cosmos more frequently over the past year, but he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when it all began.
Madame Pualis shook her head, suppressing her emotions, and spoke with a hint of amusement.
“That’s a question you must answer for yourself. You spend every day with her, whereas I do not. Sometimes, I envy you deeply. Yet, at other times, I believe you have your own merits. Why should we be bound by the rules of a conventional society, denying ourselves the freedom and joys of life?”
Lumian seemed lost in his own thoughts, barely registering Madame Pualis’s words. He continued to hunch over, pressing his head against the carriage floor. Muttering to himself, he questioned, “Who… who led her to embrace Inevitability?”
“Perhaps only she knows the answer. Unfortunately…” Madame Pualis sighed once more.
Lumian fell into silence, taking deep breaths to steady himself.
Once… twice… thrice… Time seemed to blur as he wrestled with his thoughts. Finally, he straightened his posture, lowered his hands, and turned his gaze towards Madame Pualis.
“Have you ever encountered an elf-like creature resembling a lizard in the village?”
“No.” Madame Pualis shook her head.
The diaphanous “lizard” from my dream was merely a symbol. Did it represent the influence of Inevitability? Or did it actually exist, concealed deep within reality? Lumian pondered incessantly, as if this were the only way to prevent the razor-sharp blades from piercing his shattered heart.
He posed a new question.
“Have you ever come across the legend of the Warlock? The one about nine bulls being the only ones capable of pulling the coffin.”
“No,” Madame Pualis replied once more, shaking her head.
Lumian continued to inquire, one question after another. Eventually, he lost track of what he was asking and whether Madame Pualis had even responded. In his mind, her face became hazy, as though she were standing dozens or hundreds of meters away.
At some undetermined point, the four-wheeled carriage came to a halt. Lumian found himself back on the roadside, moving forward without purpose or destination.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The cathedral bell tolled, signaling midnight.
Suddenly, Lumian snapped out of his daze, realizing he had returned to the Auberge du Coq Doré.
Almost instinctively, he ascended the steps and prepared to push open the door. But after a few seconds of shock, he retreated back onto the street, wandering towards the end of Rue Anarchie like a lost soul.
He walked until he reached Avenue du Marché. The sky, perpetually gloomy throughout the night, now became shrouded in thick, dark clouds. There was no crimson moon or stars to be seen.
Finally, Lumian arrived at the entrance of Salle de Bal Brise, where a cacophony of voices and the rhythmic beat of drums emanated, creating an unusually vibrant atmosphere.
Feeling overwhelmed by the environment, he abruptly spun around, staggering to the side of the road. Finding a spot in the shadow, far away from the nearest gas street lamp, he sat on the ground.
Pitter. Patter. As time ticked by, raindrops began to fall, landing on the ground, his head, and before him.
The raindrops grew stronger, creating a steady patter.
Lumian remained motionless, as if he had transformed into a statue, allowing the rain to soak his hair, face, and clothes.
Suddenly, a shadow appeared above him, and the raindrops vanished.
Confused, Lumian looked up and saw a dark-blue umbrella, its metal frame supporting the fabric, held by Jenna.
He averted his gaze, staring blankly at the middle of the road where mist had started to rise. He made no effort to stop Jenna nor acknowledged her presence.
Jenna, wearing heavy smokey makeup and a sequined, low-cut red dress, draped a lightly-colored shawl with sizable holes over her shoulders to conceal some of her skin.
She observed Lumian for a few seconds, refraining from asking any questions. Standing beside him, she held the umbrella aloft.
The heavy rain persisted for an entire hour before gradually subsiding. Only scattered droplets now dripped from the buildings on either side and the street lamps.
Lumian rose slowly, as if he had lost something.
Jenna folded her umbrella and muttered, her voice barely audible.
“The rain will cease eventually, just as darkness always gives way. The sun is destined to rise, and its light will surely illuminate the earth.”
Lumian remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the darkened road ahead.
“How would you feel when you discover that someone you trust isn’t who you thought they were?”
Jenna didn’t respond directly. Instead, she countered with a question of her own, “Do you still trust him?”
Lumian pursed his lips, his answer unwavering, “Yes.”
“If you still trust him, then find out why he did it,” Jenna advised, her tone calm.
Lumian’s hands trembled slightly as he took a series of deep breaths.
Eventually, his body returned to normal, and he turned to face Jenna. “Why are you here?”
Jenna’s reply carried both frustration and amusement, “Dammit! This is just outside Salle de Bal Brise! I didn’t need to go to the theater tonight, so I came here to sing and make some cash. When I stepped out, I spotted you sitting by the roadside, completely drenched.”
Lumian averted his gaze and began walking forward, his expression devoid of emotion.
He splashed through puddles, striding toward Rue des Blouses Blanches.
“Where are you going?” Jenna asked, a hint of concern in her voice.
Lumian responded without looking back, “To find out the reason!”
He recalled Aurore’s words when she pushed him away from the altar: “My grimoires…”
Considering the current circumstances, Lumian suspected that his sister was trying to convey that he could uncover clues about the source of the abnormality within her grimoires!
Jenna followed Lumian, holding the umbrella, and probed, “Do you think you can find the reason in just one night?”
“Perhaps it will take a long time,” Lumian impatiently replied.
Jenna muttered under her breath, “Then why are you in such a hurry? Rest and clear your mind. It might help you uncover the reason more quickly.”
Lumian contemplated his limited understanding of the grimoires’ contents and his lack of mystical knowledge. He fell into silence.
Once again, he turned to Jenna. “Is Franca at home?”
“Why do you ask?” Jenna appeared perplexed. “She probably won’t return to Rue des Blouses Blanches today. She mentioned wanting to spend a pleasant evening with Gardner Martin.”
Phew… Lumian exhaled and redirected his steps toward Rue Anarchie.