Erased Story (2)
Erased Story (2)
A deranged Canaria was there.
Canaria, laughing madly and blaming herself.
The hollow laughter of a lunatic filled the room.
"...What a boring hallucination."
So said Canaria, wiping away the tears that had fallen.
Then, slowly, she approached Isabella.
Every step was unsteady. Her staggering gait, her trembling legs, even the twisted smile on her lips.
She was a being merely existing.
Canaria, whose heart had already died.
She walked toward her with empty eyes.
Isabella could not open her mouth at the sight.
Of course, she had not come with a light heart.
But she had not imagined it would be this bad.
Because Canaria looked like a dying flame, so much so that it was painful even to watch.
'...Canaria.'
What on earth had happened to change you so much?
And why, unlike yourself, did you fall apart like this?
You were always dignified, always full of confidence, weren't you?
Because you were good at everything, Canaria.
And where had Rosaria gone?
The two of you were attached at the hip every day.
...Thoughts like that swirled in her head.
And at that moment, Isabella remembered the hand she had seen in the coffin.
No, it couldn't be, it shouldn't be, it mustn't be.
She tried to think so, but her intuition had already accepted it as the truth.
At the same time, tears began to fall from Isabella's eyes.
When too many emotions suddenly began to churn.
Canaria opened her mouth with great difficulty.
"...See, there's no way Isabella would be crying."
Because the Isabella she knew never cried.
She was always dignified, always full of confidence.
Because she had realized her exceptional talent at a very young age, Isabella was always imposing and full of confidence. Therefore, Isabella was a fool who never shed tears and simply smiled.
So Canaria thought there was no way Isabella would be crying.
"...A crude illusion, Erika. If you were going to imitate the dead Isabella, you shouldn't have made such a trivial mistake."
Yet still, Canaria walked toward that presence.
Even if it was a fake,
it was because she wanted to see her.
She simply surrendered her body to that pull.
Soon, Canaria embraced Isabella.
'...She's warm.'
If this were a corpse, it would be cold.
If this were an illusion, there would be no sensation.
This warmth was simply strange.
But since she lacked the reason to question it.
Canaria sobbed and held Isabella.
"...I'm sorry, Isabella."
And then she apologized to her.
Because it was what she had wanted to say ever since that day.
"...I'm sorry I couldn't protect you that day."
Even with the Demon King's power, she had been unable to do anything.
Because she could not fend off the assassins sent for Isabella.
Every single day, she blamed herself, thinking her own incompetence had killed her.
"...I'm sorry I couldn't stop Rosaria that day."
She had failed to stop Rosaria just the same.
She had only stood by and watched her take her own life.
If Isabella hadn't been in danger, perhaps Rosaria would have made a different choice.
Canaria resented her own powerlessness.
Why had she been so helpless then?
Why had she been unable to do anything?
Now that she possessed immense power, that question stung even more painfully.
"...And I'm sorry that I alone survived that day."
Even though they had promised to be together forever.
She was also sorry for cowardly surviving alone.
If only she had died that day, then at least in the world beyond death, they might have continued to be together.
She was so sorry for breaking the promise of that day.
"...Canaria?"
But Isabella's mind could not keep up with the situation.
Canaria's gaunt, emaciated body felt too light. Yet every word she uttered was heavy and cold.
Accepting all those facts was difficult for Isabella.
"...The voice is similar, too."
Canaria laughed softly, continuing to sob.
Wasn't it a cruelly perfect resemblance?
The illusion before her eyes was so elaborate that it almost tricked her into thinking Isabella was alive, and Canaria was tormented by it.
"...Please, snap out of it, Canaria."
And Isabella was in just as much pain.
It was agonizing to watch.
Her heart ached at this worst possible reunion.
And the heavy lead of misfortune filling her friend's body seemed so weighty it would make her collapse.
At the same time, past days flashed through Isabella's mind.
They were happy days.
Unlike Canaria,
Isabella had lived very happily.
She had enjoyed living each day.
She was happy with her skills improving day by day,
she lived eating delicious food every day,
and during every vacation, she happily traveled here and there.
'...Why on earth?'
Why had she been happy alone?
Why had she rejoiced alone,
and why had she been the only one happy?
Thinking of that, she found herself utterly revolting.
Isabella barely suppressed the rising nausea.
Then Canaria whispered softly.
"...No. If I snap out of it, the illusion will disappear, won't it?"
Her voice was terribly plaintive.
She seemed to wish to enjoy even this hallucinatory reunion.
"...So I'll stay crazy."
In order to keep seeing this matchstick flame of an illusion,
Canaria intended to keep burning herself.
Because, in its own way, a cinder burns long without going out.
"...I'm sorry. It's why I wanted to see you."
Canaria's reason had still not returned.
"...What happened to Rosaria, Canaria?"
Still, Isabella wanted to ask.
"...And how on earth have you been living, Canaria?"
During all those days without her.
"...Erika."
And then, Canaria's expression changed.
"...I think this is enough."
It was not visible to Isabella's eyes, but the subtle shift in the atmosphere allowed her to read Canaria's expression.
"...I'll tolerate your mischief only up to here."
That it must be twisted with an indescribable coldness.
Then, having ended the embrace, Canaria smiled faintly.
At the same time, she began to move her steps back toward the coffin.
But then Erika opened her mouth.
"...I have never once been playing a prank, from the very start."
Erika said that all of this was real.
At those words, Canaria's steps halted.
A very slight flinch was visible.
"...Is it permissible for a former Saint to lie?"
"...How could I ever dare to lie to you?"
Erika was composed.
Because every word she said was the truth.
And reading that composure, Canaria was considerably taken aback.
"...There's no way that's possible."
Then she looked at Isabella again.
Her silver eyes flickered eerily.
At the same time, having confirmed something, Canaria collapsed to the ground.
"...Isabella?"
With the face of someone who had seen something worse than a ghost, Canaria began to exhibit extreme panic symptoms—sweating coldly like mad, breathing rough and irregular gasps.
At the same time, she shed tears and opened her mouth with difficulty.
"...How can this be?"
Canaria realized that the Isabella before her eyes was not an illusion. Simultaneously, her shattered mind began to turn to powder.
As a result, Canaria's eyes rolled back, and she was driven to the very brink of fainting.
But she barely managed to regain consciousness by biting her tongue.
A trickle of red blood running down her dry lips was visible.
Thanks to that, Canaria did not faint.
"...You were alive."
At the same time, color returned to Canaria's face, and she stood back up to embrace Isabella again.
"...You were alive."
Canaria rejoiced, trembling all over.
"......Thank you, Isabella."
And then, for the first time, she thanked Isabella.
For not dying, and staying alive.
"...Canaria."
Isabella could do nothing but say her name. Because a loathing for herself had begun to take root. She had no confidence to do anything right now except suppress her nausea.
Isabella's hands, which had embraced Canaria, trembled violently.
At the same time, her eyes, gazing at the coffin, also began to tremble.
"...I'm sorry, Canaria."
Tears flowed from her trembling eyes.
It was agonizing to see a friend so broken.
"...I'm sorry, Rosaria."
At the same time, it was hard to look at a friend who had already left this world.
At that moment, Isabella began to break.
Guilt and self-hatred, the memories of the past which returned like arrows, began to tear Isabella apart madly.
The more Canaria smiled, the more Isabella simply wept.
Because she was ashamed even to breathe.
*
It was only after a long time had passed since their reunion that Isabella barely managed to calm herself.
Because she could not stand before Rosaria while retching, unable to conquer her churning stomach. She had spent a very long time whipping herself before she could finally stand there.
Facing her, Rosaria looked as if she were simply asleep.
After all, they had said they had restored her body, at least.
Her skin had regained its color, her breath came in soft repetitions, and even her heartbeat could be felt, faint as it was.
She simply looked like a person sleeping quietly.
"...Rosaria, it's been a while."
And so, she took her hand for the first time in a long while.
It was warm.
She truly seemed alive.
But no light could be seen.
It must be counter-evidence of her death.
Hot tears flowed from Isabella's eyes again.
"...I'm so sorry, Rosaria."
Starting with that apology that could not reach her, she began to tell the sleeping Rosaria about what she herself had gone through during that time.
"...Why did I live happily, when you two ended up like this?"