Thirst

"You two are my benefactors. I heard you're pilgrims — will you be staying here for a while?"

"That's the plan."

"I have a few acquaintances. Would it be all right if I told them about you, sir?"

"By all means."

Having wrapped up a warm conversation with today's client, Mrs. Welina, they returned to the mansion. Even after the sun had set, the moon was bright enough that the ride home on horseback was not particularly difficult.

The moment they arrived, a faintly tense air settled between the two of them as they gathered in Cream's room.

Having shed her black robe for her usual white dress, Cream stared at Andy's hand with a deadly serious expression. On the desk lay a single sheet of paper, ruled into a grid of empty boxes. Before it, Andy — in his usual formal attire — leisurely pressed a stamp into the ink pad.

A dry swallow from Cream seemed to echo through the room.

At last, the stamp descended toward the paper.

Thump!

"Woooah…!"

The girl darted past her teacher and snatched the paper away. A twelve-year-old brat, utterly unable to contain her excitement over the praise stamp filling that long-awaited first box.

A vivid red stamp. She held the paper up to the magic-stone lamp on the ceiling and scrutinized it from every angle, her soft pink eyes brighter than they had ever been.

Then, sensing her teacher's gaze beside her, she forced her expression into something haughty and aloof.

"Hmph. So this is all it is."

"You seem quite pleased."

"I'm not particularly happy. Cough."

Swallowing a dry cough, Cream picked up the stamp board and flopped onto the bed. The mattress bobbed ever so slightly beneath her light frame.

"Your throat has seemed off for a while now. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. My throat's just a little dry, that's all."

Ahem, ahem. Cream cleared her throat and waved him off.

"You can go now. I've been stuck with you all day — I'm exhausted."

"You worked hard today."

"Hard? There was nothing hard about it."

"It was rewarding, wasn't it?"

"It was fun."

"Fun?"

"Yeah. In the end, we tricked the client. We did something bad."

As she spoke, Cream flashed a mischievous little grin — the exact expression she wore whenever she was up to no good, whenever she believed she held the upper hand.

"Of course, I'm a bad kid, so I don't care. But you — a priest — did it anyway. How could watching that not be fun?"

"Even so, the client found peace. That result doesn't simply vanish."

"…"

"Even if something begins in falsehood, if the outcome overflows with good — isn't that enough?"

"Hmph."

Had that line of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reasoning ever worked on Andy? Somehow, it never seemed to.

"When you saw Mrs. Welina's peaceful smile, young lady — how did you feel?"

"I didn't feel anything."

"You were happy. Be honest."

"I was not."

"That smile was only possible because of your help."

"I said no!"

She could deny it all she liked — Andy knew better. He knew her sensitivity had risen and her stress had fallen because of today's work. He remembered the trembling voice with which she had given her false name.

When he needled her about it, Cream answered in a voice that shook with something close to indignation.

"I just… I just thought she was being stupid…! Cough."

"Why is that?"

"Getting scared over a painting of a dead person… If that's all it takes, then every place on this earth is tangled up with the dead. She'd be better off worrying about the ground collapsing under her feet."

Mrs. Welina, terrified of the deceased. Cream, by contrast, who saw no reason to fear them when the earth was already so full of corpses. As she said, countless people had died, and all of them lay buried beneath the ground.

"If you shift your gaze even slightly, other things come into view — is that what you mean?"

"Exactly. That client had far too narrow a field of vision. Because she thought of it that way, she decided it was that way — and ended up creating Corruption that wasn't even there to begin with—"

—Wait.

Cream cut herself off mid-sentence. Something about the conversation had snagged, and the sharp-witted girl stopped talking at once. She looked up at Andy in wary silence, and he slowly opened his mouth.

"I think the same. Shift your gaze, and other things come into view."

"…"

"You decided you were poison, young lady, simply because you thought of yourself as poison."

"Haah…"

"But I think of you as a gifted child — so I will decide that you are one."

"I knew this was coming."

"And I will also decide that my power does not exist simply to erase Corruption… or to defeat monsters."

"What kind of nonsense is that now? Today my blood was used as a purification device, Teacher. Why do you think the gods gave power to people like you? The reason priests exist is obviously to wipe the filthy things from this world—"

"I have no intention of defeating you."

The filthiest girl in the world snapped her mouth shut.

At the same time, Andy idly turned the praise stamp over in his fingers.

"I have no intention of hurting you, nor of purifying you. I simply… want to purify your heart, the way we did today."

"…"

"I believe that is what my power is for."

Like today's client, Cream doubted Andy without end. You're a priest, so you're the witch's enemy. But Andy did not want to believe his power existed solely to destroy Corruption. This was not such a rigid force — it was something softer, something that could reach a person's heart. They did not have to stand opposed. He wanted to show her with his own eyes what his power truly was, and how he himself regarded it. That was why he had taken on such an unusual commission. Accepting a genuine purification request from the start would only have deepened her resistance; approaching from this angle had seemed wiser. To help her find her own worth, and to show her what he believed.

"…I'm not going to think that way."

But the girl ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was stubborn.

"I told you before. I will never change my mind."

"I won't force you. I simply hope that if we keep going together, it will rub off on you naturally."

Yet the equally stubborn Andy had never expected to fill his stomach with the first spoonful. Both of them were obstinate — just in opposite directions.

"…So looking at this, you're planning to reform me rather than dispose of me? Your church must want to put me to use somehow. Isn't this grounds for reporting heresy?"

"Even if you reported me, I'm not an officially registered priest — I'd simply be detained. It would only bring you trouble as well, so I wouldn't recommend it."

"Ugh, seriously! Forget it. Anyway, this commission was the last one. We're not going anywhere together after this. Got it?"

"Then you won't be able to receive any more praise stamps."

"Nngh…!"

No matter how hard she tried to win the argument, he deflected her as lightly as water flowing around a stone. How was a child supposed to outmaneuver an adult ten years her senior? Still, Cream wanted to beat that man at least once. She lost in strength, lost in words, and every time she came to her senses she found herself swept along — her pride was taking hit after hit, and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Ah, speaking of praise — I haven't properly complimented you for today's work."

"H-huh?"

"Come here, young lady."

"Don't come near me. Just try it. I'll stab you."

"Heh heh heh."

"Aaagh! That's disgusting!"

And so, as usual, a small commotion was about to break out. Andy would scoop Cream up so she couldn't escape, then pour out warm, affectionate words. Cream would thrash and shriek as though her very soul were being purified. That familiar, almost fond scene was about to repeat itself when—

"—Cough! Ugh, wait, hack."

"Young lady?"

"Hah… haah. Hic… hah."

Andy approached Cream where she sat on the bed, and she recoiled in alarm — only for the girl to suddenly clutch her throat and begin coughing, gasping for breath. Whether the residual coughs from the client's house had finally erupted, or something else entirely was wrong—

"…Are you all right?"

"Hah… wait. Don't… don't come closer."

"Young lady."

"I said stay away!"

Smack—!

The laughter gone from his face, Andy reached out in earnest concern — and she slapped his hand away. This was nothing like the red-cheeked child shouting in playful protest. She was razor-edged now. Her face had gone pale in an instant, cold sweat beading on her skin, her white pupils sharpened into something almost feral. Her mouth hung slightly open from labored breathing, a thread of saliva threatening to spill.

Even so, when Andy drew closer, the sudden wash of human scent made Cream's eyes fly wide.

"Ugh…! I told you not to come near me!"

Clutching her throat and making a swallowing motion, she finally shoved herself up from her seat.

"Young lady."

"Don't follow me."

"I'm fine. If something is troubling you, you can tell me—"

"Stay right there — before I actually do something about you."

She snapped at him viciously, grabbed her puppy doll, and strode out of the room. From there she went down the stairs, found a quiet second-floor corridor window with no one around, and jumped. She landed lightly and headed straight for the rear of the mansion, taking advantage of the dark hour when all the servants had withdrawn indoors.

Past the familiar kitchen garden and into the mountain woods. Behind the Holybell Mansion stretched a dense forest. With the estate nestled at the foot of a hill, it might as well have been a mountain.

With every swallowing motion as she walked, the inside of her parched throat scraped raw. A terrible sensation — as if it were burning, as if it had withered to nothing, as if someone had poured sand down her gullet. A deprivation of an entirely different order from ordinary thirst for water.

The girl who had come out to resolve it drew a needle.

A beast that had come out to hunt under cover of night — and a girl who had come out to hunt it. To every living thing in this world, Cream's blood was a lethal poison. Even a light graze sent creatures thrashing in agony, so the hunt was never particularly difficult.

Hurry…!

She twisted the neck of the still-warm, freshly caught life for a swift end, then pressed her mouth to its hide.

She craved blood. She drank down the very source that had driven this creature. Liquid brimming with life force soaked her throat and seeped into her body, and only then did a sense of calm return. The thirst quieted; the irritation gradually subsided.

Cream Holybell could not live without drinking blood.

Her mother had loathed that fact with a special kind of horror. Having to drink blood periodically — what kind of monster was that?

If you shift your gaze, other things come into view.

What a joke.

There was no "other thing" here. Only the witches and monsters of old legends. Nothing else existed.

…There are things that can change and things that can't.

Red was red, and green was green. Shifting your gaze did not change the color.

Thud—

Having finished her meal, the witch-girl lay down on the ground and looked up at the sky. In one hand she held the withered animal carcass; in the other she cradled her puppy doll, staring blankly upward.

No one would come looking for Cream anyway. The servants never sought her out of their own accord — they simply provided what she requested, when she requested it. That made nighttime excursions alone rather convenient, which she considered a plus.

…The cycle's gotten shorter lately.

With the thirst quelled and her mind clear, she ran the numbers. The thirst had been coming more frequently of late, and when she thought about when it had started, it lined up roughly with the arrival of her home tutor.

Had he done something to her in secret with his divine power? Or was it simply that she had more things to worry about now?

Either way, she didn't like it.

Spouting plausible sophistry. Shoving his face in close and flooding her with human scent when she was already barely holding the thirst at bay.

The smell of people was nauseating. Beasts were better, and for that much, at least, she was grateful. She didn't even want her mouth near a human being.

Earlier, too, when that teacher had suddenly leaned in close — there had been a strange smell.

Oddly sweet, irritatingly so. A kind she had never encountered before, the kind that kept rising unbidden in her memory.

"…"

Cream immediately pressed her sleeve to her nose and reset her sense of smell. The mix of her own milky scent and the blood of the beast she had just consumed made her dizzy — but this was still better. Recalling that other smell did something strange to her. Embers of thirst flared up again, scraping at her throat. Her gums itched; saliva welled up.

Why is this happening…

Maybe thirst and irritation were closely linked. Lately, just looking at that teacher made irritation surge — perhaps her body was reacting, demanding she calm herself through blood-drinking.

From start to finish, a thoroughly disagreeable man.

…I don't want to think about this anymore.

She had been stuck with him the entire day. His praise, the way they had worked in sync, the lady's words of gratitude—

"Thank you, Assistant Limi. I'll never forget that name."

It hadn't been entirely unpleasant. Even so — still — she didn't want to think about today's events any longer. The more she thought about them, the more something ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fluttered strangely in her chest. And when she turned her eyes away from that, the thirst came rushing in and her throat burned.

"The stamps…"

Cream muttered, squeezing her eyes shut.

Wishing him out of the mansion entirely might be too much — but a wish that he stay dozens of meters away, or stop acting so familiar, ought to be possible. Anything to put distance between herself and that man who, even after being told not to follow, was currently ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lurking behind a tree over there, watching her carefully.

She blanketed her mind with a single thought: she needed to collect those stamps, and quickly.