Even if the Dawn Abandons You - Chapter 36

Once again, Anais concealed her growing sense of melancholy and expressed her intention to go and see Celine and Rebecca. She needed to work before her thoughts became more complicated. During work, she wouldn’t have to think about anything else.

“Well then, I have some separate matters to attend to, so I’ll take my leave. Major Chatelier, Lieutenant Montgomery.”

“”Ah, Doctor. Monsieur Germain should be at the town hall. And Monsieur Ardinand… …well, if he’s rummaging around somewhere nearby, he’ll hear that you have come and show up on his own.”

“Thank you for letting me know, but today I came to examine the refugees at the camp.”

As Anais lifted her medical bag and spoke, Celine looked displeased. She had a worried expression.

“No, it hasn’t been long since you got injured, and you want to overexert yourself again…”

“I won’t overexert myself today, so don’t worry, Major.”

“Not only today but also on regular days, try to live moderately. If you keep thinking about others too much, you’ll eventually end up in trouble. And it’s not just Philippe Ardinand who stays awake with worries while Anais can’t wake up.”

Facing Celine Chatelier, who asked if she understood, Anais responded with a weak smile, pretending to accept her advice. Then, she turned away from Celine, who didn’t look satisfied, and began walking in the direction of the camp. It was quite some time before she noticed Andrew Layton, who was following her.

“Do you have any business, Mr. Layton?”

“You won’t speak Wisterian to me?”

“I already confirmed during the mealtime that Mr. Layton is proficient in Léans, so…”

Of course, she could converse with Andrew Layton in Wisterian as well, but she chose not to. Speaking in someone’s native language was a gesture of goodwill, and Anais didn’t want to extend that courtesy to Andrew Layton. At least not until she understood why he had published ‘that picture’ in La Gazette.

Anais hoped that Andrew Layton could read some kind of warning or refusal from her attitude. However, despite her indifferent demeanor, Andrew Layton didn’t seem to be affected much. Ashen hair and dark eyes. His seemingly lifeless and stoic demeanor made it difficult for others to read his emotions. Suddenly, Andrew asked with an expression that showed little interest in the topic of journalism.

“Could I interview you someday? I’m a fan.”

“When it comes to the story of ‘The Rider of the Dawn,’ I… … .”

“No.”

Andrew Layton’s characteristic Léans sentences, with no discernible rhythm or intonation, pierced Anais’s ears.

“I am a fan of Anais Belmontier.”

As if he had been chasing her all this way from the beginning to deliver that one word, after that, he turned around and started to walk away, leaving a greeting saying that he would see her again next time. Anais, left alone on the road, could only stare blankly at his retreating figure, captivated by an indescribable feeling.

? ? ?

Marie hardly ever left her bedroom.

If someone didn’t knock to call her for meals, she either came out to go to the bathroom or simply stayed in her room. Her words were not as abundant as before. At least, it was a relief that she opened her mouth more often than resorting to other expressions to convey her feelings. However, whenever loud noises were heard, she panicked, and when she saw Leonardo’s face, she bit her lip to hold back her tears. Sometimes, tears would stream down her cheeks without any warning.

And she never smiled.

As if she had forgotten even the faintest hint of how to smile.

Of course, the adults Mari had recently met – mainly Anais and Leonard, and occasionally Marang and Stephanie – were understanding enough to consider her situation. They never urged her to cheer up or told her that it was time to regain her strength. Instead, they felt sorry for her. They would look at her with pity, gently pat her head without saying a word, or hug her tightly. Mari was not too young to understand what those gestures meant.

Although she had lost her parents at a young age, the excessive care from her doting older brother had made her unaware of any lack or deprivation. But the attention and sympathy she received from others now made her uncomfortable. It was a very strange feeling.

Marie Blanc felt sad and miserable. The thought that she could no longer see her brother filled her with sorrow, and at night, when she tried to cover herself with a blanket to fall asleep, the suffocating feeling of being wrapped in a pile of blankets for two and a half days haunted her.

However, it was painful in another sense that her sadness or suffering was constantly being discovered by others. Sometimes, the compassionate gazes that allowed her to continue being sad also felt like pressure, telling her that she should not stop being sad.

So she didn’t want to run into people. she didn’t want to catch their gaze. Even meeting Anais or Leonard was difficult. It was painful to guess what the adults would think about the validity period of her grief, which she couldn’t decide for herself. So Marie gradually hid into her room.

Anais and Leonard, who were worried about Marie, were just frustrated and anxious, but there was no sharp way for them either. After all, there were only people living in this house who had lost all their blood and relatives. But right now, when they were in a situation where they didn’t feel a sense of kinship with each other over the matter, they grabbed Marie and said, ‘Since we lost our family members, we can sympathize with you. ‘ It was a funny thing to say.

So Anais seemed to have chosen to wait in silence for now, but in fact, Leonard had something he really wanted to say to Marie. A word that is not empathy, understanding, or sympathy. It might be something close to pure self-satisfaction. Maybe it would be something almost selfish, but it felt like something he had to say.

When Anais left and hadn’t returned by evening, Leonard, who was left alone in the house with Marie, sat on the living room sofa, his gaze fixed on Marie’s closed bedroom door, lost in thought. A profound silence enveloped the house, with only the sound of the clock ticking.

He closed his eyes for a moment. The space in front of him brightened, tinged with iridescent colors. The fuzzy edge of his memory was getting closer, and the sound of her lovely laughter came rolling like marbles. The sky turned blue, and the whole world was filled with the fragrance of flowers.

‘Uncle Leo, Uncle Leo! This is the floral wreath I made for you as a gift!’

‘Leo, can we make a crown with flowers?’

Even now, if he closes her eyes, it’s as vivid as ever. His niece, who held a precious crown made of beautiful flowers, and the neighbor girl who asked if he could make a crown with the wildflowers she picked. Leonard knew well that he had seen Marie overlapping with his niece Louise. Marie was a girl of the same age as Louise, full of energy like Louise. To deny their resemblance would be a complete deception.

He had indeed considered Marie as if she were a younger and pitiful version of her older brother Marcel. He was more tender towards Marie than he was to Marcel, who died so young.

Why did he believe in the revolutionaries, and did not risk his life to save Louise and François? As his remorse deepened, Marie transformed from a girl who reminded him of Louise to something like a living, breathing tool of atonement. Although he knew it was wrong, his instincts could not resist. There were times he almost called Marie by the names ‘Louise’ or ‘François’.

But after Marie lost Marcel, he found himself thinking more about another girl, not his young and pitiful niece Louise.

Yes. He remembered Anais. Anais, who lost her precious brother and was not even allowed to cry at his funeral. Anais, who he personally “allowed” to go and cry there. Anais, who mourned the loss of her father, her only blood relative, Anais, who was told not to cry… … .

In fact, his thoughts were always like this lately. When he stopped and thought about it, it felt like he was heading towards Anais all along, as if unable to postpone the unsaid words and unasked questions, as if paying the price for settling in the present.

Thinking that far, he slowly got up from the sofa and walked toward Marie’s bedroom. The house was small, and with his long strides, it only took a few steps to reach the room. Standing in front of the slightly ajar wooden door, Leornard cautiously tapped on it and then leaned against the door, sitting down. Inside the room, Marie did not answer. Instead, there was a rustling sound.

“If it’s hard to come out, you don’t have to. I’ll just talk to you from here.”

Then the rustling sound abruptly stopped. Instead, the sound of slippers approaching the door could be heard. The door didn’t open. Either way, it was the girl’s room, and he couldn’t just barge in. Even if Marie allowed him to come in, he didn’t have the courage to face her and have the conversation he intended to have.

In fact, he was not even sure if what he wanted to say was truly for Marie’s sake. If he couldn’t be sure of that, he also knew it would be best not to bring it up. But he couldn’t bear to stay silent. He felt a sense of duty as an adult to offer words of comfort that were not just clichéd platitudes. At the same time, it also felt like a form of confession for his own mistakes. With a calm voice, he called Marie.