11

'Take this, Grace,' said her mother weakly, placing something into her hand before lying back on the hospital bed, closing her eyes as she prepared for the long sleep they both knew she would never wake up from again. 'Take my cross; it's my favourite thing in the world, and it will remind you to never lose faith, no matter what.'

'What use is faith when it can't bring you back? I don't want it!' cried a young Grace, her tears falling on her mother's arms as she looked at her.

'No, sweetie, don't say that,' said her mother, leaning forward to embrace her as her breathing grew more strained. 'Faith is all you have left, and it's the most important thing. Sometimes, it seemed like all hope is gone, like God has forsaken us. But I promise you, my dear child, that He is always watching, and He always knows – and He always loves you. And those who don't lose hope despite their troubles, who keep faith when it seems pointless, those are the ones dearest to God. Promise me, Grace, that you will never lose faith; that you will never stop believing. Promise me!'

'I... I promise, Mom,' said Grace desperately, pressing the cross between her fingers and looking into her mother's eyes as life and death flickered alternatively in them. 'I'll never let go!'

Her mother smiled faintly; and that was the last thing she ever did.

'I promise, Mom, I promise,' wailed Grace, knowing her mother would never hear her again, but she said it anyway. 'I promise! I promise...'

*  *  *

Burning tears spilled out of her closed eyes as Grace leaned on the table and wept at the memory, as fresh and raw as though it were only yesterday that she had lost everything she knew and loved. She opened them with a start as she remembered something. Lifting her head, she glanced at the dull silver cross lying on the floor, just out of reach. She knelt on the ground and retrieved it. Soon, it was back on her neck as usual. As she put it on, it suddenly seemed to gleam brighter than usual; perhaps only a reflection of the light through the windows, but it somehow gladdened her heart.

She padded out of the library, and shut the door carefully behind her. As she walked down the hallway, she could hear the sound of something being thrown with a crash against the wall in an adjacent room, and she peered inside cautiously.

'Life sucks!' she heard Lucien say, as he threw yet another object against the wall – a book, and then a chair shortly afterwards, which fell down with a deafening noise that made her flinch. The demon had quite a temper, she observed.

After a cushion, a pen, and another chair had been thrown, she heard him sigh – frustration and sadness rolled into one sound – before he stomped out of the room and through another doorway Grace hadn't noticed.

'Gah! I need some space!' he announced to the walls. 'Don't talk to me today, Kuro, wherever you are! And tell the human not to disturb me either! I'm not in a good mood!'

'You'll snap out of it eventually,' said a low purring voice somewhere in the shadows. 'You always do.'

'Whatever!' said Lucien, and Grace could hear him thundering up the stairs until a loud slam and a crash on the floor above her told her he had shut himself in his room.

'There he goes again,' said Kuro in the shadows, walking slowly down the hallway, evidently talking to himself. 'But he's more hard-hit than usual this time... guess he had really gotten his hopes too high. I told him it wouldn't work... nothing ever does...'

Grace watched the cat disappear and looked thoughtfully in that direction even when he was gone. Had Lucien tried to get out of here before, too, to no avail? No wonder he felt so disheartened; he had hit upon yet another dead end; and if even this hadn't worked, what else would? If she had felt so dejected after one failure, he must feel far worse after his hopes had been dashed to pieces for the nth time.

She walked with determination to the staircase, meaning to say something comforting to him, but she stopped halfway up. She was certain the demon had punched one of the walls. Perhaps it really was better to leave him alone for now.

'Don't worry about him,' said Kuro, who had turned up mysteriously on the step ahead of her. 'He looks scary when he's angry, but he's all smoke and no fire, really.'

'For now, you're more scary than he is,' smiled Grace. 'What's with you being silently present everywhere at once?'

'That's my style,' said Kuro smugly. 'And like I said before, it's not my fault if you're all half-deaf—'

'All right, all right. So, you think it's better to let him settle for now?'

'Definitely,' nodded Kuro, accompanying her as she went back down the stairs. 'He's always like that. He gets all hyped up about something, and then, when it goes wrong, he gets all frustrated and—'

'GET AWAY FROM MY WINDOW, YOU STUPID BIRD!'

Grace nearly jumped, but Kuro only grinned.

'Like that,' he said. 'Irritable and surly, haha. It's only natural that if you're the kind of person who gets overexcited and happy over something good, you'd be the very opposite when things don't go well. But you'll see; he'll rage for a bit, then he'll grow silent and sad – he'll probably skip dinner tonight, too – and then tomorrow he'll be back to his usual self. He'll probably have a new escape plan by the end of week, and then there we go again.'

'That sounds... interesting,' said Grace.

'He's like that,' said Kuro. 'A strange demon who's oddly loveable, one could say. And he never loses hope no matter how many times he fails or I tell him (correctly so) that there's no point in going on with what he's doing. Oh well, that over optimism takes its toll sometimes...'

'I like him more now, somehow,' said Grace, more to herself, but the cat replied anyway.

'Then you're just as strange. Welcome to the house, I suppose!'

Grace turned around, but the cat had disappeared. She shook her head and smiled. Maybe she didn't quite hate Kuro as much as she had initially.

What could she do to help Lucien, she wondered. What could she do at all, for that matter? She stood there, thinking for a while, before she remembered something.

He'll probably skip dinner tonight, too.

As she thought back to the morning's 'unusually good' breakfast, she couldn't help but understand that sentiment, regardless of mood. But that wouldn't do at all. She walked towards the kitchen, thinking hard all the while, until she remembered the one and only recipe her father had learnt during his boyhood camping days, which he had passed on to her. 'Comfort Soup', he used to call it, and though he rarely made it, when he did, it made everyone feel as though they were wrapped in a tight, comforting hug. That was what she needed right now; that was what they all needed.

She entered the kitchen, trying hard not to remember that making that soup was the last thing she and her father had done together before the accident. That was why, in all these years, she had never cooked it again – not that her aunt ever deserved to eat it, anyway. But she still remembered how to; every loving step of it. And now, with trembling hands, she lifted a pot and set it on the stove. The time had come to rekindle that beautiful memory. She was going to make Comfort Soup.