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…

Suburbs of Kita, the capital city of Areneán

On a small stove that looked more like an old cast-iron heater, a lid rattled atop a blue, chipped pot. Several bundles of dried flowers hung from the walls of the tiny wooden-lined kitchen, absorbing the rising moisture. No one came in to the rhythm of the dancing metal; the house was empty. Only at the back, on the veranda, a cradle rocked gently. Under its mesh slept a baby—little Sheena, born just a few months ago.

Down in the garden, a young woman kept an eye on her across a stone path. She was tending a garden bed under the slope, occasionally glancing upward. Through the thick crowns of the trees and the sun in her eyes, she was never entirely sure what she saw. Within minutes, nervousness overtook her and she rushed up the uneven pebble steps. She stepped onto the veranda cautiously, and though the beams creaked, little Sheena continued sleeping. The woman lifted the mesh and watched contentedly as her child exhaled into its slightly curled palm.

During that brief moment of maternal enchantment, she finally heard the hiss of lunch boiling over. She forgot all quietness at once and dashed inside, nearly smashing the glass in the door. She swept through the living room, tossing her garden gloves onto the couch, slipped past the wardrobes through the narrow doorframe, and ran straight into the kitchen.

As she hurried, she wondered—as she always had—who had built this house so cramped. But she answered herself, as always, that it did not truly matter. She had chosen it for the beautiful large garden and the preserved, ancient interior. It reminded her so much of her grandmother’s home. She had not thrown out anything since buying it. Most rooms remained empty, but the little kitchen stayed fully equipped, and the attic still held plenty of old clutter waiting to be sorted. From the outside, the house looked spacious, homely, and warm. The exterior walls were made of beams no one had painted for years, so their color was more naturally brown than green. When the sunlight hit them, as it did today, the scent of wood filled the interior and created an atmosphere that lasted all the way to winter.

She could not imagine anyone who would fail to forgive such beauty its lack of space in every room. With that thought, a smile crossed her face. But yes—she could imagine it. She lived here with him.

…

She had not always been this way, and this was not her dream life. Only four years earlier, then still as Mishi Fasenoa, she had lived with her boyfriend Rohn in a modern apartment in the center of the capital. They had been together since their studies and had both started working at the palace in the accounting department. Almost every evening, they spent time with friends in the loud streets of Kita, danced in clubs, and woke up with hangovers. She was managing a promising career and enjoyed the attention she drew with her gentle, pretty, red-haired face. Time passed unbelievably fast; she was soon to become the assistant to the department head, and after three years of harmony, she and Rohn were planning a wedding. Their perfect world was disrupted only by a trivial accident in which Mishi fell down the stairs and broke her leg, leading to a hospital stay.

The doctors were puzzled at how easily the bone had fractured, and she therefore underwent several complex examinations. It felt to her like she was spending eternity there for no reason. Unfortunately, she was wrong. Her bones had indeed thinned over the recent years, due to a blood disease called vouléza. Mishi had inherited this condition from birth, but as a healthy, lively child she had never needed such examinations. The disease can circulate silently in the body and remain undetected for any length of time. Once it activates, however, the blood gradually becomes unable to distribute nutrients, and the patient succumbs to exhaustion within a few years. For an average person of the Abián race, the illness was rare and treatable—but her Derit genes complicated everything. The Derits have a markedly different immune system, and at that time, no treatment for vouléza existed for the Derit race. She faced the worst possible prognosis.

…

Standing in the kitchen, Mishi recalled the moment she had stopped in shock on the sidewalk in front of the hospital, unable to return to herself or remember which way to go home. Her throat tightened at the memory. She checked the clock, grabbed a bag of pasta so hastily that it spilled across the counter, and a few pieces blackened from the heat of the stove. She exhaled angrily. She felt scatterbrained. At any moment now, she was expecting her husband.

…

She had not married her former fiancé Rohn. He had left her after discovering her severe illness. Of course, he had offered a mouthful of other reasons, but the cowardly look on his face had been enough for Mishi. Both of them knew very well that she had only a few healthy years left before becoming a weakening burden. Nothing they had planned would come true. She did not blame Rohn for running away—she herself could not bear such a thought. But reason did little to ease the pain, and overnight she quit her job so she would no longer meet him. For a time, she left the palace entirely. Without work, in a bare studio apartment, she spent weeks crying herself to sleep.