In Bed
In Bed
It was a feeling that stirred something unfamiliar inside her. Rosaria had returned to her own room after a long time. Of course, it wasn't exactly the same as before, since Canaria had altered many things to make it more comfortable for her — from the sense of space to the decorative objects and the furniture placed there — everything was different from how it had been.
But if there was one thing that hadn't changed, it was the bed. The very same bed where Canaria had lain when she'd emerged from her confinement. Rosaria felt her own attachment to that single piece of furniture that still held the unchanged image of that time.
The sensation of lying down was also something she hadn't felt in quite a while. Perhaps thanks to daily upkeep, the bed was soft and fragrant; Rosaria covered herself with the blanket and sheets. Only then did the vivid sense that she really had returned to the Holy Kingdom hit her.
At the same time, she sat up and gazed into the mirror. Had she been wearing the Crown of Thorns back then? But now it felt like the mirror was showing her, for the first time, the image of herself wearing nothing at all — a mirror reflecting Rosaria, not the Saintess, for the first time. It was a situation that even felt awkward.
Soon, Rosaria's memories projected her past into that mirror. She imagined herself as she had been when she'd lived as the Saintess. There was the past Rosaria, wearing the Crown of Thorns, a tear-stained face, dressed in the Saintess's garments and ornaments, giving a gloomy smile.
But the Rosaria now was different. She wore no Crown of Thorns. The tear stains had long since healed, and she had no qualifications to wear the Saintess's clothes and ornaments. And most of all, she was wearing a bright smile.
She thought that her current appearance was far better.
But the Rosaria who suited this place was the one from that time. So she simply had to strive to be worthy of staying in the Saint's room.
With that thought, Rosaria began to exercise her divine power. She had to heal her body as quickly as possible, since that would also lessen the burden Canaria was feeling. It was as if the Rosaria in the mirror was watching her, with a face that begged her to hurry back and fulfill the dream of that time.
"...I'm surprised I can even fix it."
But as expected, piecing together a vessel that had been shattered to pieces was no easy task. Now that Canaria had laid the foundation, she could somehow locate the fragments and join them together, but without even that base, repairing this vessel would have been difficult even for Rosaria. It was on a level one could liken to the task of joining together a ceramic piece that had been smashed to the point of powder.
The road back was very long. She was ashamed of her current state, in which even catching up to the past was a struggle. But she couldn't stop, so she only continued the work.
Then she thought to herself.
'It's a relief I'm doing this on the bed.'
'Because once I finish, I'm bound to collapse and fall asleep.'
*
Canaria had been having a rather busy day.
Because it was as plain as day that the things she had twisted out of shape would come back to bother her once Rosaria became the Saintess again. She was frantically working to reduce the fallout, gradually correcting memories and perceptions, subtly weaving the existence of Rosaria into the nation of the Holy Kingdom in a more natural way.
So, regrettably, Canaria had been so busy moving around that she'd had no time to see Rosaria's face from the moment Rosaria arrived, aside from their greeting and the brief transfer of divine power.
She'd been running low on fuel.
And since she didn't have the patience to endure it.
Right after her duties ended, she returned to the bedroom.
"...I'm a little late, aren't I."
The moment she opened the door, the first thing she saw was Rosaria, fast asleep.
There she lay, having been unable to overcome the wave of exhaustion that came from straining her weakened body to mend her vessel. Rosaria was sleeping as if she'd fainted, drenched in cold sweat. Well, she had always been weak against sleep, after all; she hadn't been able to resist the sandman born of fatigue.
"...If you sleep like that, you'll catch a cold."
Her sweat-soaked clothes would steal her body heat, and if left like that, her frail body wouldn't hold up, and she might catch a cold. So Canaria dried her body, then covered her with a blanket so she could sleep comfortably. Rosaria showed no resistance, breathing softly in her sleep.
"...Even your sleeping face is lovely."
Muttering to herself, she poked Rosaria's cheek once with a finger. No reaction. Whether it was simply deep exhaustion, Rosaria was sleeping like the dead, with not a shred of consciousness remaining — so deeply asleep that she wouldn't even notice if someone carried her off on their back. ...And the moment Canaria saw her like that, her playful mischief ignited.
Well, hadn't Canaria been working hard? She'd even rushed around without seeing her face. Because of that, she was running short on her fuel, Rosalium. Just as a person dies without food, Canaria had a body structured so that she would die without Rosalium (not really)... she was gradually reaching a state where she needed to be recharged.
So, deciding to stay by her side, she changed her clothes. Canaria borrowed the comfortable clothes that Rosaria always wore. The feel of the negligee made of thin fabric wasn't bad at all — the sensation of soft cloth brushing against her skin. Above all, the fact that these were clothes Rosaria had worn, and that they looked much like what she was wearing now, pleased her; Canaria felt a slight elation just from putting them on.
Then she lay down right next to her. The face of someone sound asleep, oblivious to the world, came into view. Canaria instinctively pressed her lips to Rosaria's cheek. She had learned to a certain extent during their time in Fran that this much wouldn't wake her. She'd acquired experience in satisfying her desires up to the limit where Rosaria wouldn't wake.
Now, she simply followed that same experience.
She began with a kiss on the cheek.
A soft little moan of 'Mm...' sounded.
Then, simultaneously, she lightly explored her lips.
Not a long kiss, but a short, broken one — a kiss placed without disturbing her breathing.
So far, she always got away with it.
Canaria, quite satisfied.
Though a sense of immorality followed behind it.
Like a single droplet falling onto a sandy shore.
"...Forgive me."
Whispering that, Canaria shifted her position.
She sat up, circled around, and moved to the back.
She tidied Rosaria's slightly damp, disheveled hair.
As soon as she'd straightened it, what came into view was the apricot-colored nape of her neck.
She pressed her lips to the back of her neck and then moved her hand.
Her hand slid softly into Rosaria's clothes.
A movement that Rosaria, if she'd been awake, would have called a 'wicked hand.'
The moment she cupped it gently, a soft sensation brushed against her fingers.
"...You're still asleep, right?"
Rosaria's breathing grew a little rough.
Subtle sensations she felt even in sleep.
Her ears reddened instinctively and she let out a moan.
In turn, Canaria began to heat up as well.
So she moved a little more boldly. After all, back in Fran, it had just been ordinary sleep, but now Rosaria had collapsed in a faint of exhaustion.
Various desires bloomed in Canaria.
She bit the heated earlobe.
A soft gasp of 'Hah...' was heard.
She moved her caressing hand more boldly.
Rosaria whimpered faintly, 'Hngh...'
"...It's Rosaria's fault."
Normally, the one doing the touching was at fault.
But Canaria wasn't rational right now.
It was the fault of Rosaria, who had fallen asleep damp, wearing thin clothes — she thought, chalking up her own afflictions to Rosaria's unconscious temptation.
Her touch grew increasingly lewd.
The more it did, the more the sleeping Rosaria's moans took on a coquettish quality.
If she only toyed with her chest, the stimulation would be too strong and Rosaria would wake up.
So Canaria gradually moved her hand downward, stroking as she went.
"...Aah..."
Rosaria let out a moan that sounded disappointed.
She instinctively lamented the pleasure that had become insufficient.
Canaria liked that side of Rosaria too.
"...If you wake and beg me, I'll do more."
Of course, she knew that wouldn't be heard.
But she said it because it wouldn't be heard.
Canaria didn't want to cross the line any further either.
She merely continued her teasing, satisfied within self-gratification.
She caressed her abdomen and kissed her back.
She breathed in the scent of her hair and felt its softness.
As she did, Rosaria also grew warmer.
The color of the dream she was dreaming was shifting.
Canaria couldn't know its content.
But she could guess, somehow.
Because Rosaria was talking in her sleep.
"...I'm all sweaty, Canaria."
Rosaria's voice, brimming with embarrassment.
"If you touch me like that..."
She feared Canaria's touch.
"...No more."
And then she begged her to stop.
"...Hgh—"
But she didn't say anything further.
There was no action or coercive words.
And Canaria knew what that meant.
It was self-defense, blurted out because she was too embarrassed to speak her true feelings.
But what she really wished for was the opposite, so she allowed it to continue.
Because even in dreams, Rosaria was Rosaria.
She couldn't refuse any of Canaria's actions.
...Rather, she wanted her to do more.
Like pulling a rubber band taut and letting go just before it snapped, Canaria kept driving her pleasure right to the limit, then stopping just before she reached it. Without the release that came from breaking, Rosaria only felt elasticity continually imposed, and she thirsted in this situation.
Still, to say it directly was embarrassing.
Even if it was only a dream.
To be honest, Rosaria herself denied it.
So Canaria simply tormented that Rosaria.
Because in the end, it was she who begged.
Just like that day when their bodies had mingled.
It was Rosaria who asked for more.