Psyche

From your first encounter, Psyche keenly sensed the unease and disquiet hidden behind your smile. It took you a while to understand that it wasn't due to any lack of "acting skill" on your part, nor was it because the girl was exceptionally sensitive. It's just that both of you had your own crosses to bear, yet chose to hide the scars.

Psyche is a lodger at the Hypnos' House and also works as a waitress there. However, since the door of this inn is hardly ever open to the public, few travellers in Icelake have had the chance to experience her hospitality. Yet, every morning, if you look up from the entrance of the inn, you can catch a glimpse of a slender figure shrouded behind branches and vines. That's Psyche busying herself: drawing back the thick drapes to let the flowers bathe in modest sunlight, gently misting the leaves, and meticulously pruning the wilted stems. Within the cold abode of the Hypnos' House, built from sombre grey stone bricks and pallid remnants of snow, it's only Psyche's flowers that bring a hint of warmth.

Psyche has a fondness for butterflies. These delicate creatures laboriously wriggle free from their diaphanous cocoons, their seemingly awkward bodies ultimately unfolding into airy wings that carry them to the skies. She admires such an amazing form of life that emerges anew after trials and tribulations. Perhaps the myriad butterfly adornments gracing her attire mirror a sliver of hope she harbours for herself.

"Psyche, time to get up."

Six-year-old Psyche sprung from her bed, she'd long awaited this moment. Just the day before, her parents had at last given in, consenting to show her the ropes of flower care. The excitement had her wide-eyed all night.

Clasping her father's hand on one side and her mother's on the other, Psyche stepped into the flower shop. It was a fleeting summer, bright sunlight slanting through the windows with butterfly decorations, laying delicate butterfly-shaped shadows upon the petals, as if real butterflies had alighted among the blooms. Having imitated her parents in watering the last pot, Psyche, who had been up all night, was finally a little tired.

Six-year-old Psyche nodded off on the balcony, lost in a cosy dream. In the dream, the gentle sun thawed Icelake's eternally frostbound earth, awakening a field of vibrant wildflowers. Amidst this floral tapestry, vivid butterflies flitted with grace. With arms outstretched, Psyche chased the beckoning sunlight and, alongside the butterflies, took to the whims of a mischievous breeze, gliding with abandon in the embrace of the sky.

"Psyche, time to get up."

Twelve-year-old Psyche climbed out of bed. It was still dark outside, but she knew it was time to help out in the shop.

Sleeves rolled up, she accompanied her father to the deep well a kilometre away to fetch water. Returning to the shop with the morning dew still fresh, just as the horizon began to brighten, her mother had already boiled the water. Without even a moment to soothe their sore arms, Psyche and her father mixed the hot and cold water to just the perfect temperature before filling the watering cans, Icelake's well water was too cold for the delicate flowers, so they had to make sure their roots weren't harmed by the chill. After tending to the last pot of flowers and placing it on the plant stand, Psyche watched her parents open the shop windows and start another day of business before she waved goodbye and set off for school.

At twelve, Psyche understood why her parents did not want to teach her about flowers when she was younger, it wasn't a hobby or pastime for them, but a means of livelihood. Still, she loved those flowers. The opening buds would always put a smile on her face despite the cold and tiredness.

"Psyche, time to get up."

Seventeen-year-old Psyche slowly sat up in bed. She tenderly stroked the worn blanket, hesitant to let go, it offered little warmth, and she wasn't really cold, yet parting with it felt unbearable. She knew it was her last night in this bed.

Her mother wore a simple black dress, with heavy dark circles under her eyes and trails of tears on her cheeks.

Seventeen-year-old Psyche extended a hand to neaten her mother's tousled hair. "I love you, Mommy," she whispered, kissing away another teardrop of hers.

Then, as always, she took her father's arm in one hand and her mother's in the other, heading towards the tall building in the north of the city.

Psyche frequently offers flowers to the lodgers, even when met with indifference. The flower Psyche gave you holds a special place in her heart, it bloomed quietly before she realised, much like your unexpected visit that day.

The plants Psyche nurtures at the Hypnos' House weren't from her family's flower shop. Though she held dear the flowers she grew at home, she knew her parents needed them more than she did.

The flowers were salvaged by Psyche from below the stairs of the Hypnos' House. At that time, a lodger girl was throwing pots of plants sent from her parents out of the window while crying her heart out. After comforting that distraught girl, Psyche came to the pile of mess below the window alone, pruned the damaged stems and roots, collected the shattered pots, and painstakingly glued them back together. Under Psyche's meticulous care, those once nearly doomed flowers survived, flourishing even more vigorously than before.

Psyche has never left Icelake; her idea of the world is simply divided into "Icelake" and the "world outside."

While many in Icelake share the same experience, Psyche still obstinately tries to piece together the "outside world" with excerpts from textbooks, trinkets sold by peddlers, minstrels' ballads, and, of course, your words.

"Stay away from her!"

Growing up, Psyche was all too familiar with this admonition, uttered by numerous adults to their children. Following such warnings, her newly made friends would be whisked away by them, never to appear again.

Yet, there was once an exception, a Sola girl her own age, whom Psyche chanced upon at the flower shop. That girl, brimming with curiosity about Psyche, would often ignore her servant's warnings and dash into the flower shop to find Psyche and play with her. She even invited Psyche to her grand mansion to play with her exquisite toy blocks together.

"See, this little one is me, and the one with horns, that's you..." she said with excitement while arranging the blocks, "and they're playing together..."

"Don't you find my horns scary?" Psyche asked timidly.

"Not at all, I think they are pretty!" the girl replied without hesitation, "Oh, right! Let's decorate your horns with some cute accessories!"

Springing to her feet, she ran to the accessory cabinet and started to carefully go through a variety of ribbons and hair accessories: "Hmm... this red one is cute, but it doesn't quite match your dress. What about this golden one...?"

As she stood, her dress billowed, knocking over the horned figurine. Psyche noticed this, and she gently righted it to stand beside its little friend, then smiled.

"Psyche, which one do you like?" the girl rushed back, thrusting a heap of colourful accessories into Psyche's arms, "You can take anything you like!"

"I..."

Psyche's words were interrupted by the creak of the door. The girl's mother, a well-dressed lady, entered the room, her face a mix of anger and disgust, as if she saw not a little girl in Psyche, but a dirty mongrel. What followed were the usual rebukes and curses that Psyche had grown accustomed to. As Psyche was driven out of the mansion, she heard the girl crying, "Psyche, I'm sorry...! I'll go to your place and we can play together again!"

But from that day on, the girl was grounded by her parents, even the windows of her room were locked and covered with opaque paper.

Psyche knew it would end up this way, but she still felt that she owed it to the girl's kindness to at least tell her "I would cherish anything you give me".

These words lingered in Psyche's heart for many years until one day, she accidentally bumped into a lavishly dressed Sola boy on the street. Before she could apologise, a girl, also in fine clothes, pulled the boy away, "How many times have I told you to stay away from those horned people! And you, you dirty Charon, are you blind? How dare you push my little broth..."

The scolding abruptly ceased. The girl's gaze fixed on Psyche's horns, and her accusing finger awkwardly froze mid-air. Psyche recognised the girl, it was her wealthy little friend from the past, whom she had always felt beholden to.

"Psyche...? You..." the girl was flustered, "I..."

"You've mistaken me for someone else, miss," Psyche offered an apologetic smile, "I'm terribly sorry, I was a bit dizzy just now and didn't see your little brother."

Psyche turned away and left. Those words she kept in her heart for years were ultimately discarded into the bin of time, just like those accessories and toy blocks she once touched.

You've noticed that Psyche's state of health is far from ideal. Her smile often bears traces of bewilderment, with sporadic episodes of dizziness leading to brief spells of blindness. Yet, when you express your concerns, Psyche always reassures you that all is well. She asserted that she'd committed your face to memory and would recognise you the second her sight was restored. With your unique white hair and lone red horn, you always stand out in her eyes.

Psyche's parents are master gardeners, running a florist's in Icelake. To outsiders, Psyche leaving home seemed quite odd, her parents were loving, and she had always been a good kid. Sure, they weren't rolling in riches, but it beat working at that spooky Hypnos' House. When pried, her mother remained silent and kept her composure, though her hands trimming the flowers trembled ever so slightly.

When Psyche was a child, she witnessed a harrowing episode of "Deterioration" a young girl transformed into a grotesque monster, losing all reason as she viciously attacked everything living around her. Eventually, the girl was mowed down in a hail of machine gun fire. The couple who had risked everything to hide her in their cellar for months were publicly executed for harbouring a Deteriorator. That day, a heavy snowfall quietly erased every trace of the tragedy, as if it had never happened.

However, the memories lingered for Psyche. For a long time, she was haunted by a recurring nightmare: a butterfly struggling to break free from its cocoon, only to collapse helplessly on the ground, unable to spread its wings. The falling snow then mercilessly buried it, obliterating all signs it had ever existed.

"See you tomorrow, Psyche!"

"Yeah, see you tomorrow!"

It was just another evening. Psyche waved goodbye to her new Phoxhunter friend, watching her leave Hypnos' House. It seemed like an ordinary farewell, but Psyche's gaze lingered on her friend's receding figure until she disappeared into the night. She stood in the doorway for a long time afterwards, hesitant to return to her room.

"See you tomorrow" a phrase so casually spoken at every parting, carried a different, more poignant meaning for Psyche. Every night, as she closed her eyes, she wondered if she would truly be there to see a "tomorrow."

Just before drifting off, she'd whisper a silent prayer, hoping against hope to wake safely once more.

As the long night faded and dawn touched the earth, Psyche awoke. She slowly sat up, touched her arms, and felt reassured by the solid warmth of her human body, grateful for another day not transformed into a monster.

"Thank goodness," she thought with relief. "I've kept my promise to her once again."

You can't help but imagine, if Psyche were to successfully awaken, the two of you could fight side by side as trusted companions.

She would flutter her wings and soar through the sky like a graceful butterfly. And when the battle was over, she would return, landing softly before you, as delicate as a butterfly resting on a petal.

In Hypnos' House, Psyche stood out starkly among the other lodgers, a group of people marked for death before they even had a chance to truly live. Stripped of any future or hope, they spent their final days waiting for Henrik to release them from their misery. But Psyche was different. She always greeted everyone with a smile, as if her future still held promise. Her radiant smile pierced through the gloom and despair of the house, letting in a sliver of sunlight. For those long accustomed to darkness, that light was so blinding it forced them to confront the painful reality of life.

Psyche had said farewells to two lodgers at Hypnos' House before. She had pled with Henrik to let her enter that forbidden room, not just to say goodbye to her friends one last time, but to face her own looming fate.

The light of the furnace fire flickered in her eyes, so bright and intense, as though it were fueled by the lives her friends never had the chance to live.

There's nothing to be afraid of, Psyche mused. It's just another preordained farewell. Everyone leaves eventually.

She thought she had learned to embrace farewells with calm acceptance. But she was wrong. Her final goodbye with you left her heart aching with an unexpected sorrow.

"I'll ask you one last time, Psyche. Are you sure this is what you want?"

Psyche nodded firmly. She heard Henrik let out a long, heavy sigh. By now, her vision had blurred completely. Unable to see his face, she pieced together his image from memory.

In Psyche's earliest recollections of Dr Henrik, he was always sombre and distant, carrying a burden that seemed far too heavy for a man of his age, as if an old soul resided in a body still in its prime. Only when he glanced at the photograph on his desk did a flicker of genuine emotion briefly surface. Psyche had her suspicions about who the girl in the picture might be, but she never asked, she didn't want to pry into the grief he might have been hiding. Instead, she quietly placed a fresh flower in the vase on his desk each day.

Henrik remained a man of few words, his life a steady repetition of simple, monotonous routines. Yet over time, Psyche noticed a subtle change, a spark seemed to grow in his eyes, like a sprout pushing through charred wood.

One day, Henrik unlocked an old bookcase. Years of dust billowed into the air, causing Psyche to shield her eyes. Peeking through her fingers, she saw Henrik coughing as he sifted through piles of old papers and notes, muttering words like "blockade response" and "Crystallo of Stella." Although the technical jargon was lost on her, she vividly remembered his final whispered words:

"Hayley, I want to try it again... Do you think it could be a different story this time?"

From that day, Henrik locked himself in his office, working around the clock with phials, petri dishes, and all manner of colourful liquids. Psyche didn't interfere; she had never seen him so passionately pursue anything. Before, he had seemed like a distant, benevolent deity, merely decreeing the merciful end to suffering at the appropriate moments. Now, he was more like a man grasping desperately at hope, or a child chasing after a long-lost treasure.

For the first time, Henrik seemed thoroughly human.

"Then drink this."

Henrik's voice snapped Psyche back to reality. Something cold was pressed into her hand. Tracing its shape, she felt the rough surface of a small phial. As she cradled it, feeling its slight weight, she understood the life-changing significance it carried. This phial was the culmination of Henrik's relentless work, the product of countless sleepless nights. If fortune smiled upon her, this phial could free her from a hopeless fate. And if not... well, at least she would have helped Henrik refine his research and contributed to saving more lives, wouldn't she?

She couldn't help but picture the liquid inside, crafted from Crystallo of Stella, it must shimmer with a faint, ethereal glow. The thought brought a smile to her lips.

"Vita and I retrieved that piece of Crystallo of Stella together. I trust it will bring me good luck," she mused, hopeful.

You built a modest cairn for Psyche. It stood there, plain and unadorned.

You considered placing fresh flowers, but they would only wither. You thought about adding a paper butterfly, but it too would decay.

In the end, you left it as it was. Your memories of her would last far longer than any physical tribute.

Standing before the simple cairn, you closed your eyes. In your daze, a green light flickered across your closed eyelids, swirling like a graceful butterfly, drifting further and further away into the distance.

The girl with the radiant smile was now nothing more than a cold, lifeless entry in an official report.

"...Large Filthoid, female. Believed to be a former Deteriorator. Specific identity still under investigation... Neutralised on the night of November 21st in the Lamenting Lake area. No casualties reported."

In her final moments, Psyche did not mourn the physical pain, nor did she waver in the face of her fate.

Instead, she rejoiced in having met you and in having lived a life that was truly hers.

It was unmistakably a dream, one vivid with detail.

Snow fell over Icelake, painting the town in shades of grey and white, just like every other day you remembered. You navigated the slippery, muddy alleys, the deserted plazas, and the air filled with the sharp scent of spirits from The Asphodel, all too familiar to you.

The locals bustled past, not sparing you a glance. They were but fleeting figures in your journey, just as you were in theirs.

Eventually, you found yourself standing before a house on a rise, a place long abandoned in your memory. Yet, against the biting white fog, warm yellow lights glowed invitingly.

As you knocked, the door swung open to reveal a girl with silver hair and dressed in green. Her smile was bright and welcoming. "Hello!" she greeted cheerfully, her eyebrows arching in a friendly manner. "This is Hypnos' House. Are you a traveller from afar?"

Something deep inside you stirred, as if a frozen expanse within had suddenly thawed, allowing seeds long buried in permafrost to vigorously sprout.

You opened your mouth, overwhelmed with words you wanted to say, but they froze in the cold air. In the end, all you managed was a soft utterance:

"...Psyche, look, it's snowing again in Icelake."

She tilted her head, puzzled.

"It snows every day here in Icelake. It's quite normal. You'll get used to it soon."

The snow intensified, gradually obliterating your view.