The lingering resonance of the final note completely dissipated, sinking into the eternal twilight of the Shores.
The ultimate resonance did not bring joy; instead, it brought an immense, soul-hollowing emptiness and sorrow.
The air was permeated with unspoken words, misaligned timelines, and a sense of destined separation so thick it could barely be breathed.
Phrolova stood there, staring at Rover. Under the impact of this intense emotion, her previously near-transparent, illusory body actually began to solidify before his very eyes.
The paleness faded, and a trace of genuine, blood-red color surfaced on her cheeks. Even her breathing became clearly audible.
It was as if that Canon had drained the power sustaining this illusory world, briefly and miraculously restoring her to a true, physical existence.
But this reality was solely for the purpose of enacting their final farewell.
Torrential emotions churned in her eyes—hundreds of years of waiting and solitude, the despair and release following the shattering of her obsession, and the complex, unspeakable affection and resentment toward the person before her...
Ultimately, everything transformed into an agonizing, bridge-burning resoluteness.
She took a step forward, approaching Rover. She looked up at him, her gaze no longer vacant or mad, but carrying a heartbreaking clarity and pleading, with an inextinguishable flame burning in its absolute depths.
"You ruined everything of mine..."
Her voice was very soft, carrying a slight tremble, as if afraid of disturbing this final moment.
"In this final moment, why not take a little more... and leave a little more for me..."
She said no more. Reaching out, her icy fingers gently caressed Rover's cheek. The gesture was clumsy yet carried an undeniable resoluteness.
The touch carried the fragrance of spider lilies and a trace of tearful dampness.
Rover's body stiffened slightly. He understood exactly what this meant.
This was a desperate ritual, an all-or-nothing confirmation, a moth darting into the flame, madly wanting to grasp a shred of proof of existence before everything completely annihilated.
He should have pushed her away.
But looking at her eyes, which condensed all her sorrow and pleading, and feeling the genuine, faintly trembling touch of her fingertips...
He thought of that Canon she instantly understood and perfectly responded to, and that heavy guilt of his that could never be repaid...
He found himself completely unable to move.
His silence became a wordless acquiescence.
Phrolova stood on her tiptoes. Her pale lips, carrying a trace of resolute warmth, pressed against his.
It was not a gentle kiss; rather, it was more like a branding, carrying weeping trembles and desperate, all-or-nothing taking.
It was as if, through this method, she wanted to thoroughly carve their existence, these hundreds of years of entanglement, and the agonizing understanding of this very moment into the absolute depths of their souls.
Rover closed his eyes, finally responding to the kiss.
His movements carried heavy pity and endless sorrow, feeling more like a sacrificial farewell.
He reached out and wrapped his arms around her solidified, slender waist. He felt her momentary stiffness, followed immediately by her pressing even closer to him.
Around them, those profusely blooming spider lilies seemed to sense this final, tragic wish, silently and violently swaying.
Petals fluttered down in droves, like a poignant rain of blood, enveloping the embracing couple.
The scenery of the illusory town began to blur further, the light twisting, as if this space was on the verge of collapsing from this final emotional eruption.
The falling petals touched their skin, bringing a sensation that was both icy cold yet seemingly carried the residual warmth of life.
Phrolova's fingertips remained on his cheek. Under the ironing heat of his body temperature, that initial icy coldness gradually became tinged with a trace of warmth.
However, her fingers were trembling minutely, betraying the inner turmoil that was far less resolute than her outward appearance.
Phrolova's breathing became rapid and scorching. It sprayed against his jawline, carrying the unique, faint fragrance of spider lilies and the salty astringency of a tear.
She tilted her head up and kissed him again. This time, it wasn't a simple touch, but carried an almost biting force, as if trying to confirm each other's existence through pain.
She wanted to pour hundreds of years of solitude, waiting, and resentment, along with the immense solace brought by the brief encounter with a soulmate and the subsequent deeper despair, entirely into this kiss.
Her teeth accidentally bumped against his lip, bringing a slight sting that was instantly swallowed by a deeper entanglement.
Rover's arms wrapped around her solidified waist. The touch was so real it made his heart palpitate.
He could clearly feel the lines of her thin back, and the equally rapid heartbeat transmitting from beneath.
One of his hands subconsciously buried into her grayish-green hair, feeling the cool, delicate strands.
His other hand firmly supported her back, as if simultaneously wanting to push her away from this destined tragic ending, yet unable to resist pressing her deeper against himself, melting her into his very flesh and blood to bear this heavy burden together.
The rustling of clothing sounded exceptionally clear in the silence.
Phrolova's fingers slid down from his cheek, carrying an unquestionable resoluteness yet appearing clumsy due to her trembling, fumbling to undo the buttons on his shirt.
Her icy fingertips occasionally brushed against the skin of his neck, provoking a faint shiver.
He did not stop her. He merely lowered his head deeper, burying his face into the crook of her neck.
An even richer fragrance of spider lilies lingered there, mixed with her own cold, desperate scent.
His kisses fell on her slender neck, feeling her pulse beating violently there. Like a trapped bird, every throb spoke of unwillingness and fear.
Those kisses were no longer responses; they were more like a silent mourning, carrying endless pity and the implication of atonement, branded onto her icy skin.
The surrounding scenery began to twist and fluctuate at an accelerated pace. The outlines of the town's houses grew blurry, like reflections in water being stirred up.
Only that piano and violin stubbornly maintained their forms amidst the fluttering rain of flowers, silently witnessing it all.
This was a process stripped of all language, leaving only the most primal interweaving of breath and intimate contact of skin, and the drumming roar of their hearts.
The distance between the two had never been so close, yet the distance between them had never been so estranged.
Every touch carried the implication of a final parting; every deepening felt as though it was accelerating their ultimate separation.
It was as if they were exhausting their very last shred of strength, futilely attempting to fight against eternal solitude, yet remaining fully aware that this was nothing more than a brief, violent convulsion in a long, endless life.
All pleasure was soaked in the underlying hue of sorrow; all intimacy carried a self-destructive resoluteness.
There were no words of love, only tears of unknown origin. There were no promises for the future, only the confirmation of the present and the ultimate loss.
It was two lonely, desperate souls, before the end of everything, for the last time—and the first time—coming so close, attempting to use the warmth of their bodies to dispel that bone-deep coldness and solitude.
Like a wedding held at a funeral, sorrowful yet sacred.
It was unknown how much time passed before everything quieted down.
The rain of petals gradually ceased.
The flame in Phrolova's eyes had extinguished, leaving only a deathly, still calm and profound exhaustion.
She pushed Rover away, turned her back to him, silently dressed herself, and straightened her utterly disheveled hem.
Her silhouette began to grow somewhat illusory once again, as if the solidification just now had exhausted her final reserves of strength.
"You should go."
She said softly. Her voice had returned to its initial ethereal state, yet carried an undeniable resoluteness, completely devoid of any reluctance to part.
Rover silently adjusted his own clothes, looking at her back.
A thousand words clogged his chest, yet he couldn't utter a single syllable.
Apologies, comfort, interrogations... in this moment, all of them were pale and ridiculous.
For the two of them, possessing long lives and immortal bodies, this parting would perhaps be an eternal farewell for a very, very long time.
The scale of time had lost its ordinary meaning for them. This heavy past and the wounds inflicted required long eons to settle, and perhaps could never truly heal.
He made no attempt at any futile retention or farewell. He simply took one final, deep look at her back, as if to carve this image into the deepest part of his memories.
Then, he turned and walked toward the door of the Shores, which was gradually fading away.
When he stepped out of the Shores and returned to the cold reality of the Proving Ground ruins, the door behind him completely shut.
Rover stood alone in this space blooming with spider lilies. After a long while, he took a deep breath of the air, which tasted of rust and dust.
The mission was complete, and a karmic bond had drawn to a close, but only a heavy emptiness remained in his heart.
...
It was unknown how much time had passed, far away across the ocean at the Black Shores.
Sitting quietly before the piano in the greenhouse, the Shorekeeper suddenly opened her eyes slightly.
Within the vast, star-sea-like Tethys monitoring system, deep within the seabed of an unknown location, she detected an incredibly faint, yet starkly different wavelength flash by.
That wavelength...
It was mixed with the familiar resonance of the sorrowful obsession belonging to the spider lily maiden, yet bizarrely intertwined with a strand of... a familiar, pure, yet youthful and tenaciously vital new frequency.
A trace of extremely subtle surprise flashed through the Shorekeeper's indifferent eyes. She murmured softly to herself, as if questioning the boundless starry sky:
"In a Sonora woven from tragic wishes... can such an... unexpected variable actually sprout...?"
Subsequently, she returned to silence, allowing that faint signal to merge into the endless torrent of data, as if it had never been discovered.
...
Within the Shores, Phrolova remained with her back turned to the empty sea of flowers. Her silhouette grew increasingly faint amidst the fluttering petals, ultimately completely merging with the eternal twilight, sinking into a long, endless slumber.
Only the piano and the violin beside it quietly remained there, telling the tale of a final movement that no one would ever play again.
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