Part I - Summer (Late) - "I didn't know what to say."

… You clearly don't even know the first thing about my sister.

You don't even know what they did to her.

After a long time, Cameron spoke. "How come you never told me …?"

Miyu looked away. "I wanted to avoid … this. Whatever we're doing now."

"Whenever I brought up our future—you should've said something."

What, like he wasn't at fault, either? How comfortable had he been, all this time? He never 'brought up' the future so much as 'hint at it vaguely'. Avoiding conversations he knew they should be having. Settling for her silence as tacit agreements for a future together.

"That's not right," he said, "what they did to you."

"It's part of my duty as a priestess," she said. "… But I know you don't believe in that stuff."

Her duty as a priestess. The incarnation of Lazumere's tutelary deity. Princess Aerya of the Lillium.

Even without the crystalbrew and the coma forcing all of this to the surface, they would've needed to talk about all this at some point. Might as well do it now.

Because here you had, on one side, an elf girl who was going to spend the rest of her life carrying out Princess Aerya's will, after she was done with school. And for that she would need to remain in Lazumere.

On the other, you had a human boy, who didn't believe in any of their elfen faiths. He had plans to work in the City, building crystal machines. If he chose love over whatever career was waiting for him, that meant giving up all of it.

… How could any of this have possibly worked? This relationship never stood a chance, from the very first step. Maybe that's why they were still acting like high school kids who couldn't keep their hands off each other. Because if they moved beyond that, it would immediately fall apart. … Something both of them must have known, on some level.

"Miyu. Just tell me—Was any of it real? You wanted to honor Archie's memory, and the things he wanted to do. Fine. But tell me that it was at least real, on some level. Tell me … you really loved me. … Tell me you still do."

Cameron said this, in the hopes that there might still be something to be salvaged at the end of all this. That they might grow together, as stronger people, as a stronger couple when this day was over.

Because everything up until now—Archie's last wishes, Miyu's constructed facade—even the fact that Cameron would have to re-evaluate his daydream of what his family would look like now, the one where they walked home together as the sun set … they could adopt, after all … Archie was adopted, too …—all of these could be overcome, worked through … So long as she had truly loved him.

And if, within that brief, infinitesimal moment before she answered, some faint possibility of a future together still existed, what she said next would vanquish it entirely.

Miyu closed her eyes. "You're right, Cameron." She spoke flatly, without the slightest hint of emotion. "You're right about everything. I was just using you to fulfill Archie's wishes. You never even knew the real me. I never let you in. I didn't want to."

Cameron opened his mouth. And then closed it again.

"Because I don't love you. You're right. You were just there. Anybody would have done."

She turned away from him. He stared at her back, his head swimming.

She said all this without hesitation, without emotion. Without so much as a tremble in her voice. So coldly, she might as well have been reading off one of his crystal textbooks.

"But the act is over now. I have no more use for the fake Miyu I invented, now. I can go back to being a priestess. And Archie can find rest now. … So thank you, Cameron. I have you to thank for it."

Then she rose, slowly. And without looking at him, she walked to the door.

"… Thank you."

She slid open the door, and left the room.

He sat there for a long time.

When he finally got up, he began gathering his things.

*

He had paid the cartwright for a ride back to the train station. He didn't know who else to ask.

He had stormed out of the house, after gathering his things, without saying a word to anyone. Stuck in his own mind. Miyu's words on repeat.

And now he was sitting in the back of a cart, his belongings next to him, ready to depart. He slumped down into the seat, exhausted.

His arms, legs—they were still weak, and the entire ordeal of packing, and then carrying his things to the cart had taken every last bit of his strength.

He was about to tell the cartwright to leave, when he heard footsteps running up to him. He turned his head.

It was Heinrich.

"Cam … What are you doing? Come back to the house. What's wrong? Let's go back and talk about it."

"No. No, I … I have to leave. I have to leave now."

"… Everything good?"

Bitterly: "Why don't you go ask her about it."

Heinrich stood there for a bit. Then, scratching the back of his head: "Look … I don't really know what's going on between you two. But—I mean, I don't know if I should be the one telling you this, but … Observance ended while you were out."

"… Okay?"

"She stayed by your side the entire time, man."

Cameron stared back. He wasn't following.

Heinrich had no choice but to spell it out for him. "The last few days of Observance, the main priestess is the one who's supposed to officially end it. It's like, a whole day thing. But she couldn't. She was next to you, the whole time."

Cameron didn't say anything.

"She chose you, Cameron. The Elders are in an uproar. Neglecting Observance like that. She's disgraced herself, in their eyes, as a priestess."

Cameron stared at Heinrich for a long time. Then he looked back, toward the Nocturne estate, a little down the path.

He sat there for a very long time.

Eventually, Cameron looked at the cartwright, and gestured for him to start the journey to the train station.

That same platform where this entire summer had started.

For some reason, it seemed like forever ago …

*

Cameron looked back one last time, as he approached the village gates of Lazumere.

Heinrich wasn't there anymore, having gone back to the house.

And even with all that Miyu had said, even with the painful confirmation of all that he'd suspected—even with his mind firmly made up that he never wanted to so much as hear the name Miyu Nocturne again for as long as he lived—he still found himself hoping against hope that he would suddenly hear her footsteps on that dirt road, that he would suddenly see her there, chasing after the cart.

He didn't even care that none of it was real. He didn't care that she never truly loved him.

Because even though she didn't love him, he loved her. He still did.

And if he saw her there, he knew he would jump out of the cart at that moment, and any last trace of the rage and resentment and spite that he felt now would vanish instantly. He would even get on his knees and start apologizing, even if he had no idea what for. The awful things he said to her, sure. But also for not trying to understand her, way before that. For not treating her faith the way he should've.

And despite the flurry of emotions swirling around in his head—some caustic mixture of despair and indignation and misery and regret and who knows what else—despite all the anger he was holding on to—he still wanted to see her there. He wanted her to stop him from leaving.

Just a glimpse of her. The sight of her hair blowing in the wind. He'd settle, even, just for her head peeking out of the front door of the Nocturne house.

But she wasn't there.

In the end, she never came.