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The tortured groan of unyielding hinges, long since abandoned to rust, screeched its protest as I leaned heavily against it, out of breath and nerves rattled.
The old greenhouse. Once upon a time, we had lessons here, the glass dome refracting light from overhead as we giggled and sneezed over the flora and fauna.
Once, there were more of us. Girlish voices raised high in peals of laughter, tossing handfuls of dirt at each other when the prefects weren't looking. Lily too, I remember, had taken part in the mudslinging. She had never been good at horticulture, given how she had the exact opposite of a green thumb. If we had competitions for raising mold she would win though, alas.
As our numbers dwindled over the slow march of centuries, eventually even this place had been sealed off, deemed unnecessary for upkeep. Not that we actually missed much. Encouraged not to miss it really, with the way our memories got tampered with whenever it suited that person.
Not that it would stop some of the more adventurous from exploring, but this place was derelict, overgrown with moss and weed, snarled vines creeping up exposed struts and porous stone. The glass dome overhead was cracked and let rain through with every gust, which explained the continued survival of the plants despite our abandonment. There was nothing here but wet and muck and bugs, which deterred even the most curious.
I came here rarely myself, except when I needed a moment to myself, away from the rest. The Clan was big enough, old enough, with numerous nooks and crannies for someone needing privacy to hide out for a while. There was little need to come here, except when I had no other choice.
I had to hide. Let it pass, let it blow ever, let everything be set back to before it all went wrong...
Except all of it was wrong to begin with, but less wrong, perhaps. I don't know. I'm not sure I know anything anymore.
"Lily..."
The words spilled unbidden from my lips. The name that had been so familiar, now passing strange from disuse. I clung to the faint wisps of memory, even as I claimed to disdain making new ones. I was afraid, really. Afraid of overwriting what precious little I had been able to gather; what made me, me. Are we not the sum of our experiences?
Yet, here we are. We forget and continue to forget. Like windup dolls we grow tired and fall asleep, until he picks us up and winds us back up, day after day, as if without end.
I was tired, so very exhausted. I wanted to close my eyes and never wake again, but fear held me back: fear of the unknown, fear of leaving all that I had ever known. I was weak, and wanted to hold on to what little I had left...
Which was why, against all sense, I had approached Lily. I should have stayed away. Should have kept to the promise I made to myself. Stayed aloof, apart, safe from them and from my weak self.
But I was weak, and she was there: my best friend, or the stranger wearing my best friend's face. And I was just so tired, I wanted to see her, hear her voice once more, craving something more substantial than the mere echoes of memory to sustain my own failing recall.
Yet, the mere act of speaking to her had hurt more than I had ever imagined. The polite distance she maintained cut deeper than a knife to the heart, the wary caution in her eyes no different from lashes to my pale skin. I had been defensive, trying to shield my own fragile self, while feebly trying to warn her off. To keep her safe, my dearest friend, one whom I had been close enough to to call ‘sister’, once upon a time.
I should have known better. Lily had always been stubborn and determined, far more strong-willed than I. She had defied him once, so many centuries ago, when she had discovered the truth for herself. Ever since then, he had always kept a close eye on her, subtly ensuring that she never got to discover the truth for herself with well timed deflections and misdirections. The wilful, lively spirit that had been the Lily I knew eventually became subsumed under this pale reflection of herself, written and rewritten over and over by the resets, and it wounded me to see her so. I so wanted to reach out to her, to see the sparkle in her eyes when she met my gaze, to hold and be held, to hear her carefree laughter in my ears.
But she was a stranger to me, and I grieved that more than anything else I had to lose. Thus, that spark of flickering hope that burned when she asked me about Sylvatica… the same Sylvatica I had stirred myself out of self-imposed isolation to aid, only if because Lily was involved. I never could stay away from her, not for long. It was my primary weakness, among many.
I was torn, in truth. I wanted Lily to stay safe, innocent, and above all, happy. The truth would not set us free; it only shattered the fragile illusion of Utopia that had been created for us. Already I could barely stand to bear the weight of my memories, knowing that I still had forever stretching ahead, so long as TRUMP would deign to share his gift with us. I feared and loved him in equal terms; needing his gift but fearing his madness -- for he was mad, the handsome boy who held the strings of this farce of a marionette play. We were all at his mercy, and that terrified me...but not more than how I feared death. The lesser of two evils. Or so I thought.
I was not so certain anymore. How could anyone live like this? Perhaps...perhaps if Lily knew...if she could be by my side, then I would not be so afraid. I needed her strength of will, her life burning bright with conviction. I needed her support, but it was the one thing I could never ask for, because she would seek death first, rather than live a cursed eternity. How could she ever stand for this? How would she look at me, for having submitted in my fear? Would she still love me? Would she ever forgive me my weakness? I didn't know, didn't dare ask, and trembled in uncertainty, hidden behind the folds of my book.
Lily... My soul yearned towards her, stretching metaphorical fingers through the dark distance that separated us. If the sound left my lips, it was lost in the tolling of the bells, each echo a mournful dirge of lost moments and dashed dreams.
I missed her so much. I missed everyone, but her above all. It only made me bitter, because she couldn't remember, because it wasn't her fault, and it hurt when she came to me, begging my help to find Sylvatica. That was Lily through and through; she never left anyone behind, always had a smile and a kind word for all, doing her best to be the kind of person she wanted to be. I could never match her spirit or her determination, and I never even tried. I had her; it was all I needed.
But then she forgot, and I'm alone, and nothing made sense anymore. How could you leave me behind! I wanted to shriek. I wanted to tell her, but she would never believe me. How could she? She would just see me to bed with a smile and a laugh, convinced that I had been reading too many fantasy stories. That was my Lily...
No, not my Lily anymore. My Lily would know my quirks, notice when I'm upset, and hold me while I cried. This Lily could barely look me in the eye, and something twisted inside me every time I saw it. It made me want to push her away, or pull her closer, I wasn’t sure which. Remember me! I wanted to scream, but fear stilled my lips, paralyzed my tongue.
I curled in on myself, barely sensible to the world, until the shambling sound of footsteps edged up behind me.
"Snow..."
That achingly familiar voice, tired, as if waking from a dream. Was I dreaming? Would if I were! Fearfully, I turned...
Lily was there. Dishevelled, shaky, face drawn with dark circles under her eyes. It was like looking into a familiar old mirror, and when our eyes met...
"Lily..."
She stumbled towards me, reaching towards me, that hauntingly familiar plea in her eyes. The eyes she used to turn on me when sneaking into my room after a nightmare, seeking comfort and company. That lost, vulnerable side of her she rarely showed to anyone else, and it was a look I could never turn away. My arms opened automatically, and she fell jerkily into them, burying her face in my shoulder with ease from an old familiarity.
"I feel like I'm going crazy..."
Her voice was distressed, heartbreakingly so. She wormed her way into my embrace the same way she wormed into my heart -- unrelentingly and completely. I felt like I could weep, right now. This was the Lily I remembered. This was my Lily. She came back for me after all.
"It's going to be ok..."
I soothed, drawing strength from her presence, even though she was so very afraid. It was the same for me when my memories started coming back; first in bits and pieces, then in a rush when I see something, or hear a familiar tune. I don't pretend to remember everything, but I remembered enough. I could only hope Lily did too.
The others came, as if drawn by some unseen force. Poor, poor Camellia... Your Sylvatica would never return to you. I could offer nothing, having barely been able to hold on to what I did have. Lily... I tightened my grip on her. I was so afraid when I was alone, and I never want to lose her again.
But here she was. Even if she didn't remember, she still came. And deep within me, I found the resolve to do something I would never have dared to do alone. Lily...you would understand, right? You would do no less yourself. How could I not follow your example?
Dear Lily... I was never strong like you. Please forgive me. I...