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Chapter 16
Ayla couldn’t sleep.
She tossed and turned in bed until, at last, she sat up.
The canopy above her—what Lady Poppy called a mosquito net, saying autumn mosquitos were the worst—was embroidered with elegant designs. A master weaver had stitched the net with colorful, intricate patterns, more like a piece of art than a mere curtain.
With one hand, Ayla drew the net aside and stepped out of bed.
“Am I afraid of Roland?”
That same question again.
“Why didn’t I think about it myself before Perotti asked?”
Whenever she faced Roland directly, her heart trembled and her breath caught in her throat.
She pressed a hand to her chest, inhaling slow and shallow, trying to steady herself.
“Because I remember that night. But… what about that night is haunting me so much?”
Death. Of course death was a trauma one could never forget.
“But even more than that, something else…”
Ayla moved to the balcony, drew the curtains open, and gazed outside.
The full moon hung radiant in the sky, so bright it almost hurt to look at. Turning her back to it, she leaned against the window, then sank down into a crouch. Her shadow stretched long across the floor.
Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared.
Shameful. Pathetic.
Myself.
Ayla squeezed her eyes shut and rested her forehead on her knees.
“Is this really how I’m supposed to change the future? Can I truly earn everyone’s trust, when I myself haven’t changed at all? Still pathetic. Still foolish.”
Just like that day—when everyone had despised her, hated her.
When no one had believed her.
When she had been left all alone.
“Why am I so useless?”
If only she were as clever as her sister Helen.
If only she had her sister’s golden hair and green eyes—wouldn’t everything have been easier?
“I’m ashamed of my very existence.”
Her chest tightened. Breath came hard.
She lifted her head. Tears pricked at her eyes. Maybe it would be better to just cry.
Jingle, jingle…
A clear, bell-like sound rang out.
Ayla blinked, raising her head.
[Ufufu…]
A soft laugh followed, and the sound of bells rang again.
It wasn’t frightening.
No, not frightening—something else entirely.
As though entranced, Ayla rose to her feet. Wiping her eyes, she followed the sound.
The hallway was utterly empty, strangely so. But she didn’t notice.
Her steps felt light, effortless, as if carried by something beyond her.
The sound led her into the parlor.
At the very center, a shimmering water scale gleamed.
Moonlight danced across its blue, glass-like surface, scattering ripples of silver light.
Almost without realizing, Ayla reached out her hand.
Just as her fingertip was about to brush the surface—
A hand shot out from the scale, seizing her wrist.
“Eh—?”
Before the sound fully left her lips, the hand yanked hard.
Her body lifted, weightless.
Splash!
Her ears rang. Her hair floated wildly.
Water closed around her.
Bubbles escaped her lips and tickled her face.
Instinctively, she squeezed her eyes shut and drew in a breath—
—and choked. Water filled her lungs.
Pain. Panic—
“…Wait. It doesn’t hurt?”
She inhaled again, cautiously. Water seeped in… yet it was fine.
She could breathe.
As though she had become a mermaid.
Slowly, Ayla cracked one eye open. Then the other.
“Oh my—!”
Her mouth dropped open. Water rushed inside, but still, she was unharmed. The sensation was utterly strange.
She was underwater.
Above, the surface shimmered, and beyond it loomed an impossibly large moon. Its light filled the lake below, pillars of silver descending to the sandy floor.
Golden sand stretched across the bottom. Shadows of ripples danced like living things.
A school of silver fish darted past, gleaming.
Ayla stared in awe—until someone tapped her on the shoulder.
She spun around.
A magnificent fish floated there. Sleek and graceful, with flowing fins that billowed like the skirts of a gown. Its tail and dorsal fins looked like layered silk drapes, translucent and fluttering.
The fish shimmered faintly with pale golden light.
It swirled, darted forward a little, then turned back to glance at her.
Then again, swam ahead… and returned.
Finally, it faced forward and flicked its fins, beckoning.
“It wants me to follow?”
Ayla flailed awkwardly, paddling after it. Satisfied, the golden fish glided ahead, fins rippling elegantly.
“How can it swim so fast with fins like that? Amazing… maybe it isn’t even a real fish.”
The water was cool, heavy against her limbs. Each stroke sent her drifting forward, her hair trailing behind like a living veil.
Sounds were muffled, echoing strangely. Only the occasional plink of a water droplet reached her.
“…A door?”
There, on the lakebed, stood a lone door.
Kicking harder, Ayla reached it.
The golden fish darted into the keyhole and vanished.
“Ah!”
She grabbed the knob—cold brass, solid beneath her hand—and twisted.
“?!”
The lake poured through, dragging her with it.
Clang.
Through the roar of water, the sound of the door closing rang oddly clear.
The current stilled.
Ayla collapsed onto the wet ground. Without buoyancy, her limbs felt crushingly heavy.
“Ugh…”
As she pushed herself upright, a laugh rang out.
Ayla lifted her head—then gasped.
A gigantic woman loomed above her.
Her lower body lay submerged in the pool, but even her exposed torso rose far taller than Ayla herself.
She leaned against the pond’s edge, like someone resting an arm on the rim of a bath.
Her hair shimmered with the colors of water, curling in waves. Her eyes were deep blue, yet flecked with golden shards, as though moonlight itself was trapped within.
Her very being radiated mystery and brilliance, her outline shifting like moonlight, at times crystalline, at times marble, and at moments startlingly human.
“…A spirit.”
The word slipped out unbidden.
The woman propped her chin on her hand and smiled.
[Greetings, Ayla.]
“Ah—hello. Do you know me?”
Flustered, Ayla scrambled to her feet and bowed politely. Only then did she realize, mortified, that she was still in her nightclothes.
[Of course. Solarlune, child of sun and moonlight.]
Her voice rang like a clear stream, bright and melodious.
Ayla clenched her fists nervously, searching for words—
[Solarlune! Ayla Solarlune!]
[Kyaa! It’s Ayla!]
[Such tragedy! Such sorrow!]
Tiny glowing orbs—no larger than baby fists—swarmed around her, babbling in a chorus.
“Wha—what?”
Ayla staggered back as they chattered. Then the largest light puffed itself up and declared:
[Everyone, don’t startle her! Step back!]
The smaller lights retreated a little, whispering amongst themselves.
[It really is Ayla.]
[To think we’d meet her face-to-face…]
At last, Ayla asked, baffled, “How… how do you know me?”
The largest light cleared its throat importantly.
[Ahem. We are all great fans of ‘Ayla’s Diary.’]
“…Excuse me?”
Ayla’s mind went blank. The light continued enthusiastically:
[Your girlish prose! The way your heart wavered between two men! The tension of their rivalry over you!]
Her face burned hotter with every word.
[And then—the secret revealed! The shame! The fury! The tragic death! The revenge!]
“Wh-what—?! H-how could you possibly have read my diary?!”
Scarlet with mortification, Ayla twisted her nightdress in her fists.
[Because we are spirits, of course.]
The glowing orb’s answer was so simple, so matter-of-fact, as if it explained everything.
Ayla could only gape, breathless.
So… all these spirits had read her diary?
