Daydream, Part II
Although her gunshot wounds were already mostly healed, Delis Bloomfeld still had to rely on a cocktail of various medications. The primary drugs were, of course, painkillers and antibiotics. However, the small dose of sleeping pills included in the mix dragged her into a slow but persistent drowsiness.
'My efficiency has definitely... dropped quite a bit...'
Delis found her current state highly unsatisfactory. If she had executed her mission at the British Museum perfectly in the first place, none of this would have happened. Even with her diminished efficiency, she still performed far above the average person, but when one's standards were high, it was only natural to fret over the slightest decline.
At least, thanks to her trusted colleague, the Security Chief, she had managed to cut down the recovery time for a laceration that should have kept her hospitalized for a full month to less than half.
The primary task currently assigned to Delis was to memorize documents from inside the Ministry of Magic and reconstruct them. Confident in her memory, she would read the documents at the Ministry during the day and type them out at night. Smuggling the physical files out would draw too much attention, so they had adopted this method. It was a feat only Delis could pull off in the entire organization.
Staring intently at the flickering monitor light for hours made her eyes ache as a matter of course. Now, she also had to fight off the encroaching waves of sleep. This was another reason she found her current situation so precarious. If she slipped up and dozed off, it was painfully obvious what kind of dreams would plague her vulnerable mind. And that apprehension proved entirely correct.
"Haa..."
The dreamscape was, as always, the house she had lived in before moving to Greenwich—the place filled with more memories of her father than anywhere else. Even though it had already been two months since Lady Yerina had gifted her a new life, she had to admit the truth. She was still not entirely free from her past. Although her mind constantly told her she had to step forward, she ended up like this the moment she fell asleep. The cat, half-killed by curiosity, could only look back endlessly at the days that would never return.
Yet, if there was one thing that made her blood boil, it was that while she consciously tried to ignore this dream, a part of her deep down still yearned for it. If this was indeed the same dream she always had, all she needed to do to reunite with the person she missed so dearly was to fling open the study door.
It was blindingly obvious that letting this continue would do her no good. She would end up blind, forever bound to the past and unable to look toward the future. And yet, the option of not reaching for the door did not exist. The reunion was simply too alluring to refuse.
Creak— The light leaking through the gap in the door was warm. In the center of that warmth, which felt as though it would embrace her with all its heart, stood a dependable figure. She knew. She knew well enough that this wasn't real. Had her intellect deteriorated so much that she couldn't even distinguish that? Even so—
"Dad..."
Sometimes, there were stories you wanted to believe were true even when you knew they weren't. The conversations in her dreams were like one-sided lamentations, confessions, or grumblings. Pouring out everything that had happened that day as if writing in a diary. It changed absolutely nothing in reality, but simply uttering the words aloud brought comfort.
"You know, today I received a gift from Lady Yerina. I told you before, didn't I? That we stole the Rosetta Stone from the British Museum."
"They said it was crafted by processing that very Rosetta Stone. Apparently, as long as I keep it on me, I can sense all kinds of threats targeting me in advance."
"Lady Yerina, and Pavel too... they are truly good people. If I hadn't met them, the chance to take revenge on the man who ran you over and killed you would have been lost forever."
After slowly walking forward, she climbed onto her father's lap as he sat in the study chair. The very last time she had the chance to do so in life, she hadn't been able to because too many eyes were watching, but now was different. Accompanied by a strangely soothing sensation, a hand slowly stroked down her hair. Perhaps because the dead must remain silent, her father maintained his quiet throughout, but it didn't matter. Just being able to see him was blessing enough; to demand a proper conversation would be greedy. So, for Delis, this was more than enough. The dead could never return to life, but at least within her own mind, her father's death was temporarily suspended.
She knew better than anyone that this blind emotion was far from normal. Harboring feelings in her heart that could never be realized—and should never be realized—she had to keep them tightly locked away, telling no one. It was a feeling she could not voice even to the very person toward whom her heart was directed.
"Maybe, just maybe... I sometimes wonder what it would have been like if we had met Lady Yerina and Pavel before you died so pointlessly, Dad."
"I know it's impossible. For them to take an interest in me, you had to die first. But I still find myself dreaming about it."
It was a sort of daydream. How wonderful would it be if this futile dream were reality? Caught up in the moment, Delis turned and threw her arms around her father. She held him with all her might, as if bursting with all the emotions she had suppressed until now.
"Haaaa..."
Her father's scent washed over her. Unlike other times, the father she held in her arms now possessed an exceptionally warm body temperature. A sigh of relief escaped her like a groan, and she found it difficult to control her swelling emotions. It was her own dream world anyway, where no one was watching. It was her daydream, and hers alone. In that case, couldn't she take just one small step further—a step she had never dared to cross before? Yes, let's do it. No one would ever notice this deep affection, this distorted emotion that had likely been brewing since her childhood.
She dared to embrace the person she loved more than anyone, the person she had loved more than anyone, through these false sensations. Delis buried her head deep into her father's chest. Still savoring the touch stroking her hair, she took a deep breath, fully indulging in his scent. She imagined the gentle expression he must have worn while caressing her, and replayed over and over the casual "I love you" he used to toss her way.
The single remaining empty sensation would remain forever unknown. If only society, by majority consensus, hadn't branded her feelings as a 'taboo,' it was a sensation she might have known one day. Trying to fabricate it even in a lie felt utterly distasteful. Even if it was a daydream, these sensations strictly originated from her memories of her father. Rather than trying to force something unnecessary, it was better to properly enjoy what she had now.
"Dad..."
As she rubbed her cheek against him, utterly lost in nostalgia, she thought she heard a clattering sound from somewhere, followed by a voice calling her name. How ridiculous. There was no way a phantom conjured in this fake dreamscape, fueled only by her memories, could produce a voice.
"I am here to see Bloomfeld."
Pavel Nikolayevich Tsoy stood in front of the Information Chief's residence, explaining the purpose of his visit to an Information Department operative.
"Ah, Security Chief. Right this way, please."
His face was well-known to all members of the organization. Guided smoothly as always to the second floor where Delis's office was located, Pavel couldn't help but feel that something was off today. After all, Bloomfeld, who usually answered immediately when he knocked on her office door, was completely silent. Even after he asked the operative to try the intercom, there was no response, suggesting there was a reason she couldn't answer.
'Should I just go in...?'
Under normal circumstances, it was out of the question, but there was a chance Bloomfeld was in danger. Perhaps she had lost consciousness. Was it the work of the Ministry of Magic? No, there were no signs of an external intrusion, so if anything had happened, it must have occurred inside the Information Chief's office. Suddenly, his thoughts drifted to the fact that Bloomfeld was still practically a patient. She still required the aid of various medications to function normally, didn't she? The duties of the Security Department did not end with protecting Lady Bronska. While the young lady was indeed the absolute priority, the other four pillars of the Pentarchy were also under his protection. His hesitation was brief.
"Bloomfeld, are you in there?!"
He shouted loudly, but with still no reply, Pavel kicked the door open and rushed into the office. He warned the operative, who was peeking in to check the situation, to keep their distance just in case. His eyes swept the room and immediately spotted Bloomfeld. Her long, finely untamed ink-black hair was a target impossible to miss.
'Was it just a false alarm...?'
The sight that greeted him was Bloomfeld, fast asleep with her head buried on the desk at the far end of the office. It seemed she had succumbed to exhaustion, unable to bear the heavy workload in her recovering state. Seeing her sleeping so peacefully made it difficult to wake her. He couldn't even scold her. After all, if one traced back the cause, Pavel himself was partly responsible for putting her in this state. He had originally come because she mentioned there was a document she absolutely had to deliver to him in person tonight, but it seemed wiser to postpone it until tomorrow. Just as he was about to quietly slip out of the office, Pavel heard her mumble something behind him.
"Mmm... Dad..."
"..."
The sleeping Information Chief's murmurs carried a sorrowful longing for her deceased father. It was a sleep-talk that needlessly pricked his conscience. Although he had played no part in the death itself, hadn't he and Lady Yerina ultimately used it to draw Bloomfeld into the organization? Even though Bloomfeld herself had readily agreed, and in return, they had put a definitive end to her quest for revenge, the dead could never return to life, making his guilt inevitable. Perhaps this was the darkness he had glimpsed in Delis before. At the time, he had vaguely felt she resembled the young lady, but now he realized her darkness ran even deeper. Consequently, as if possessed, Pavel drew closer to Delis.
"Dad... I miss you..."
Stepping slowly behind the desk, Pavel knelt down to bring himself to her eye level. Bloomfeld couldn't see him, but at least the reverse was true. And in the next moment—
"Wait, Bloomfeld...?"
Whether it was a sleeping habit or something else, Bloomfeld suddenly threw her arms around him. He could easily break free if he wanted to, but his sheer bewilderment overrode any physical reaction. Hearing his flustered voice, Bloomfeld rubbed her cheek against him, letting out a nasal, sleepy murmur.
"No... by my name..."
'What on earth is this...?'
Their current posture was incredibly awkward, with Delis sitting in her chair while clinging tightly to him as he knelt beside her. Because of this, if he pulled away now, the Information Chief might lose her balance and tumble straight onto the floor. Thus, Pavel changed his strategy and decided to lay the clinging woman onto the sofa first. She wasn't heavy at all, so lifting her was easy, but he couldn't comprehend how things had escalated to this point. This felt entirely different from when he had carried a drunken Lady Bronska on his back in the back alleys of Londonderry. Back then, he had only offered his back, but now, they were completely face-to-face...!
Mistaking him entirely for her father, Bloomfeld clung tightly to his neck, her breath coming in soft, ragged pants. As he tried to ignore it, he couldn't help but become hyper-aware of the soft contours of her chest pressing against him. His face flushed red of its own accord. At this point, anyone walking in would completely misunderstand the situation. Pavel inwardly prayed that Bloomfeld would not wake up.
Shuffling awkwardly, he finally managed to lay her down on the soft... no, let's not think about the word 'soft.' Finally laying Bloomfeld down on the sofa, Pavel slowly unwrapped her arms from his neck and tried to pull away.
"...?"
Correction: he tried to pull away. Delis's eyes slowly fluttered open, her half-lidded amber gaze rolling around as she took in her surroundings. And naturally, her eyes locked onto him and stopped dead.
"No, Bloomfeld... This is, sigh..."
Pavel suddenly hated the world.