Archive of Our Own ^beta

“When I was a child, I always believed that my future was already mapped out before my eyes. I thought that no matter what happened, I would be able to get back up on my own, like a true Cavendish . I grew up in dreams of grandeur, surrounded by the sumptuous parties that my family held. I grew up alongside Mother, nurtured by her unconditional and unquestionable love. She who never doubted me, who only loved me despite my passion, which everyone described as immature and ridiculous . She did everything to take me to Japan to see the show that inspired my dreams, to see Shiny Chariot . 

   If only I had known that it would give me more than that. If only I had known, I would never have repressed my love for her as I grew up. If only I had known where it would lead me, I would never have said the things I used to say about her. 

   But Mother is gone. 

   Shortly after my sixth birthday, illness took her. She battled lung disease for years, always putting others before herself. She used to heal the world rather than herself. Fatigue eventually took its toll. And on July 5, 2007, Mother passed away. 

   Almost twenty years later, I still remember her laughter; I still recall the way her smile lit up the rooms, how her arms carried me when I was afraid of the storm, the way her hands ran through my hair. I remember how she told me that nothing in the world would stop her from loving me, that I was special, that I was her little princess. She told me, before I fell asleep, that she would always be there for me, by my side. I was the most precious thing she had, even more precious than the Manor, even more precious than her own name. 

   When she left, I felt betrayed. 

   Everything she had told me had been lies, because if I had really been so precious, why had she left? Why hadn’t she stayed with me? Why had she promised me eternity if she wasn’t capable of staying? Why had she lulled me with illusions if, in the end, she was going to disappear? Why abandon me like this? 

   To the eyes of a six-year-old, all of this is a lot. Way too much. I still remember the pit in my stomach for weeks after her funeral. I remember opening my bedroom door and rushing to hers, hallucinating her laughter as if it had all been a nightmare. I remember imagining her scent in the halls of the Manor; I still remember catching glimpses of her out of the corner of my eye when I turned a corner. Sometimes I even felt like I only had to reach out to touch her, to reach her and be able to hide against her heart and hold her tight, hoping to stay on Earth. I hoped that all of this was just a trick of my mind imagining the worst while Mother was alive and well, working in her office as usual with an ABBA or Queen vinyl to lull the silence. That she would have taken me on her lap while I nibbled on something, humming the music that filled the room before dancing with me.”

   But I couldn't wake up. I was stuck in a reality that was far too terrifying for a six-year-old.  

   Daryl took charge of my education. More than a duty, it was a mission, an obsession. I was educated at the Manor with the finest teachers in Scotland, following the same curriculum as Maryl and Meryll, even though I was three years younger than they were. My cousins excelled naturally, while I struggled to keep up. Work tirelessly, catch up, never complain. That was the rule.  

   Mother's last wish had been to enrol me in a good school in Wedinburgh to give me a normal childhood. But Daryl had decided otherwise. She had my enrolment cancelled, telling me it was “ for my own good .” When I dared to ask why I couldn't go to school like the other children, she always answered me the same thing, in a dry, impatient tone: “ Because you have to be up to it to give me every chance .” I understood little by little that I was for her no more than a pawn in the great line of Cavendish. I was no longer a niece, that I was no longer Diana , but just the next Head of the Family, despite my young age.  

   Losing my magic after the Chariot show had only added to the pressure that was already weighing on me. Mother used to reassure me, whispering that it was just fatigue, that it would come back in time. But Daryl saw me as nothing but a failure. Her gaze was a wall: cold, smooth, and impassable. Every time her eyes fell on me, I felt my chest tighten, as if the air was becoming too heavy, too dense. Everything about her seemed aggressive: her sharp voice, the rhythm of her overly ordered steps, the smell of her perfume that made me nauseous. I tried to focus on something else—a symmetry in the room, a pattern on the tablecloth, something that could anchor me.  

   But she spoke. Always. “ How do you expect to make Beatrix proud if you can't even cast a simple spell? ” The words pierced me like thorns, but I mustn't react. Not move. Not blink. Stay straight. I had learned it was easier that way. “ Come out of your childhood dreams, Diana. You must do. Not feel. ” 

   Feel. As if it were a mistake. As if simply existing in any way outside her rules was an affront. So I kept quiet. I froze my face in a neutral expression, like a well-trained doll. Maybe if I became exactly what she wanted, she would eventually see me. Me . 

   Could the first slap she gave me at age eight be called a form of recognition? Maybe. Maybe, for a split second, I finally existed in her eyes. But who I was only made her angry. 

   Even though I had recovered my magic, even though I had reached the same intellectual level as my cousins, even though I had tried to mould myself according to her expectations. Some things don’t disappear simply because you try to hide them. 

   The slap had cracked through the air before the pain reached my cheek. I felt the burn before I even realized what had happened. My ears were ringing. The noise froze me more than the pain. 

   “ You are weak, Diana .” 

   Her voice was quiet, almost disappointed, as if I were a defective thing she would rather return to sender. She had sent me to my room without another word. 

   All this for what? Because I had sorted my food. Because seeing the food touching on my plate made my stomach turn. Because I was taking, according to her, “ too long ” to eat. 

   Anna had watched the scene, her hands clenched on her apron, her lips sealed in anger, her eyes flashing with lightning, yet silent. Say nothing. Don’t intervene . I knew she had no right. I knew it was dangerous for her. 

   So I didn’t say anything either. I kept quiet. 

   I quickly learned that hunger wasn’t a problem. It was a lesson. If I didn’t get a meal, it was because I hadn’t worked hard enough. If Daryl hit me, it was because she wanted to help me become a better person. If she didn’t say anything, it was because, for once, I was doing the right thing. 

At ten, you weren't allowed to be a child any more. That's what I was taught. 

   Fairy tales became encyclopedias of spells and politics. Princess stories were replaced by lessons in strategy and discipline. Games were useless. Daydreams were a waste of time. 

   So we put my toys away. “ You don't need them any more .” 

   So my trays of tea and biscuits were removed. “ You have to concentrate on the essentials .” 

   So my schedule was tightened. “ A future Head of Household does not waste her time .” 

   I learned to behave, to answer quickly and without hesitation, to smile when necessary, even if it burned my cheeks. To nod when someone expected an answer from me. To stifle what was beyond my control. To swallow my frustration with a glass of warm water instead of a meal, to get up before dawn and go to bed without a word. There was no time for my preferences, my needs, my desires. I had to be efficient. Straightforward. Flawless. 

   Even though I was only ten years old, I was expected to think, speak, and live like an adult. 

   I was expected to be a Cavendish . 

During my teenage years, things worsened. Daryl, the temporary Head of the Family, was dragging the Cavendish into misery, not knowing how to manage economic, territorial, or political affairs. I had tried to help her, to start taking charge of my future role, but Daryl had responded by simply slamming a steel ruler firmly on the hand that tried to touch the documents. “ Don’t even think about it ,” she had said. The blood had slowly flowed onto the floor, a bright red bead on the white marble. I watched the scene as if it belonged to someone else. The contrast of the red on my too-pale skin. My too-thin wrist. The irony of one wound that would disappear while others, invisible, accumulated in silence. 

   That day, something broke. Maybe for the best in the end. 

   I had come to the meal with a very specific idea. A clear goal. If I stayed at the Manor, I would lose myself. I would die . 

   My palms rested against the wood of the table, a gesture calculated to give an impression of calm. But my heart was beating too hard, my head spinning. If I faltered for even a second, Daryl would see. She would see everything. 

   I spoke. Every word was carefully weighed, every intonation controlled. And then her face fell, and I will always cherish that memory. 

   I had spoken of my wish to study at Luna Nova, and Daryl had blanched, as if I had just insulted the Cavendish name. Then, almost immediately, her horror had turned to rage. She pointed her knife at me, as if I were something abject. 

   “ No Cavendish should ever set foot in this commoners school! ” 

   Her voice had cracked through the air, momentarily covering the clinking of cutlery and the embarrassed murmuring of the guests. I had predicted her reaction. I had predicted everything. 

   “ But it was Woodward herself who built this school ,” I said. I saw her stiffen. Her fingers tightened around her glass, and I knew she wanted to break it in her hands. Her fist was shaking, but she couldn't raise her hand to me. Not here. Not in front of them. 

   That’s why I’d waited for this particular evening. A dinner with special guests. A moment when she couldn’t explode without consequences. I’d learned to play by her rules.

   Finally, she gave in. Her tone was curt, and her look promised retaliation. She would accept, but she would make me pay. Too bad, because the part of me that had been subconsciously hiding against Daryl's education had just fought for the first time.

   The day I left, she demanded to see me alone. 

   I had been preparing for this for weeks. I had rehearsed every answer, every move. I had spent hours in front of the mirror sculpting my face, erasing every trace of doubt, every superfluous emotion. Neutral. Cold. Aristocratic. Proud. 

   When she spoke, her voice was hard, sharp as broken glass. “ This is all just a child's whim. You're going to ruin our reputation. Aren't you ashamed? ” 

   The words should have hurt. I knew they were meant to provoke something inside me, but all I felt was an icy distance between us—an invisible wall. 

   So she raised her hand. 

   I didn't move. 

   My shoulders remained straight. My eyelids didn't twitch. My lips didn't purse. My fingers didn't betray my anxiety as they fumbled with the fabric of my outfit. 

   There was no child before her any more. No little girl to break. Only the heiress she had forged. 

   Her breath caught. Her hand shook. 

   Her expression changed. Something flashed across her face—a strange glint in her eyes. I tried to analyse it, break it down like a problem to be solved. I watched the tension in her jaw, the tiny movement of her fingers, the way her shoulders tensed. But none of it made sense. 

   I couldn't put a word to it, and that lack of logic troubled me more than the threat of her raised hand. I wanted to understand. I wanted to comprehend. But emotions are too blurry, too messy, too chaotic. 

   So I gave up. 

   But I knew I had won. 

   Because instead of hitting, she turned on her heel. Instead of spitting out her anger, she merely stared out the bay window, arms crossed, jaw tense. 

   Anna had hugged me one last time, an embrace full of tenderness rather than professionalism. She was the one who had calmed my fears, the anchor that kept the last part of me from shattering. 

   “ Follow your dreams, Diana ,” she had told me with a faint smile. “ Don’t worry about anything here; we’ll make sure everything goes well. So please, live your dream. This is your chance .” 

   And with her words, I left—eh—don’t cry; I promise you, it gets better afterward! You know that, right?! A-Akko!! 

When I went to Luna Nova, I remember smiling for the first time. Despite an obvious advantage thanks to my last name, I knew this was the closest I would get to a 'normal' life. Even if people whispered behind me, even if the teachers expected a lot from me, at least I was out of the Manor. 

   Then you arrived.

   Oh Akko, you came, and by the Nines, you were so annoying – don't look at me like that; everyone would have told you back then. N-no, it wasn't endearing, and let me speak by Beatrix! Stop laughing, urgh, how do I love you sometimes… – No, I'm not blushing!  

   You had only just arrived, and yet you were the first to really look at me.  

   Not like a Cavendish.  

   Not like a name in the history books.  

   Just like Diana .  

   You didn't even know who the Cavendish were—and honestly, I don't think you cared at all. To you, I wasn't a lineage to honour, not a walking fortune, not a title. I was just a student, a rival, a stuck-up asshole who took magic too seriously.  

   You found me unbearable, didn't you? Me, the “perfect noble” — it wasn't me who said it, but you – the humorless prodigy who spent her time correcting others and criticizing Shiny Chariot.  

   You came from a family without magic; you discovered this world with stars in your eyes, and I was the one trying to extinguish those stars.  

   You constantly challenged me. You fought to prove that magic was not just a tool, a legacy, that it could be a dream, a firework, a promise.  

   You saw me.  

   You jumped in front of my Murowa without even knowing what effects my spell could have on you. You didn't hesitate to defy the heavens with Shooting Star to stand up to me during the relay.  

   And I started looking at you too.  

   While the teachers and other students were counting on me for projects that were way too big – like negotiating with Fafnir or managing Andrew's arrival at the academy — you were messing up my life.  

   It was as if you had come with a crane to blow apart one of the first walls Daryl had carefully built around me. And the stars I was trying to extinguish, you handed them to me without hesitation, as if they had always been mine too.  

   Despite the constant problems, the hours spent watching you in detention, the disasters to fix, you returned the adrenaline of magic to me. The one I had forgotten, the one that only existed in formulas and strict rules.  

   With you, magic became unpredictable. You forced me to think differently, to find solutions in the chaos you sowed everywhere you went. And even I, sometimes, was not enough to fix your stupidity.  

   And yet, despite all this…  

   I couldn't bring myself to hate you.  

   I thought it was irritation, though. After all, you were everything I wasn't: a noisy, impulsive whirlwind that never sat still, whereas I was rigid and methodical. You rushed first, then thought—if you thought at all—whereas I analysed everything before making a single move. You were incapable of concentrating for more than a few minutes, whereas I could spend hours studying the smallest detail of a subject.  

   Everything about you annoyed me.  

   So why was I always looking for you? Was it to keep an eye on you and ensure you didn't destroy everything? 

   Why did your laughter cover the ambient noise so easily? Was it simply fearing that this laughter was a sign of disaster? 

   Why did the slightest hint of your smiles seem to do something to my heart? Honestly, I would have preferred to swallow ten of Sucy's potions rather than admit what was obvious to me. And no, the Love Bee had nothing to do with it; by the Nines, what a humiliating moment indeed… No, don’t be proud of yourself, and no, let’s not talk about it. 

The Samhain festival came soon after that, and I discovered a new side of you. 

   You weren’t just an idiot. 

   You were an impulsive idiot who didn’t care about traditions, who didn't care about rules, unconscious, selfish, stubborn, and what’s more, you imitated me very poorly . Honestly, Akko, you were unbelievable and it was horribly embarrassing. 

   But despite all that… 

   I discovered your genius . 

   You ordered me to look at you, and that’s exactly what I did. 

   And I didn’t take my eyes off you . 

   That day, I saw something I had never really taken the time to observe. A raw determination , a fire that never wavered, a consuming passion for magic that I had not seen in anyone else. Where I weighed each incantation, where every gesture had to be precise, you improvised , you lived the magic without trying to tame it, without trying to bend it to your will. You danced with it as if it had been born within you . 

   It fascinated me as much as it terrified me.

   And I found that… unfair. 

   Me, who had been forced into alignment with magic; me, who had been moulded into a predefined shape, ignoring my cries and complaints ; me, who had been broken to shape myself in the image of the Cavendish… You continued to discover your own abilities. You had also lost your magic, and yet you loved it even more than I ever could . 

   Your love for magic was not a duty, not a burden, not an obligation passed down through blood. It was a passion, a dream, a light. 

   And I understood that this was your strength . 

   That day, I couldn’t stop looking at you. And when I was crowned Moonlight Witch while you were there, your eyes shining, crying loudly, and your breath short after giving everything you had… 

    That was my biggest regret . 

   Because that title was yours. Completely. Entirely. It should have been yours—and don't you dare say otherwise; I know exactly what you're thinking right now, Akko. 

Oh, Akko… The more weeks passed, the more foolish you showed yourself, while I watched, helpless, as my defences fell one by one. I'm not going to lie: I was terrified. Terrified by my own smiles, by my own laughter, by my own loss of control. Terrified by what you made happen within me. Me, who had never been taught about different emotions, never explained the subtleties of feelings. Me, who had been taught duty and heritage, but never all the ways a heart could beat. You terrified me as much as you made me feel alive. And was never your gaze towards me an excess of misplaced respect, never did you look at me as if I were just an heiress, a name, a destiny written in stone. No, you always saw me. As a rival. As a potential friend. As… someone normal. — Don’t start with that smirk, let me finish! — And you never let go of what you felt, always wanting to be better, always wanting to prove your worth… when in reality, you already were a thousand times over.

   You proved it to me again when I tried to leave Luna Nova after Anna's letter. If I had known that not even a year after leaving, my abuse and trauma would come back so suddenly… I thought Luna Nova had offered me a parenthesis, a bubble where I could breathe. I believed that for four years, I would at least be entitled to this fragile peace, this illusion of freedom… But Daryl proved me wrong. As you know, while I was studying, Daryl used her power and led us to the brink of bankruptcy. Even today, seven years later, we are still on fragile foundations, but at the time, it was worse. The castle I had left had lost even more of its shine under my aunt's dictatorship. If only you could have seen it in Mother's time, so beautiful and alive… If I didn't assume my role as Head of the Family soon, there was a good chance I would return after graduation, only to find it in ruins or even burned. And once again, you broke the rules. You came with your legendary stubbornness and your clenched fists, screaming at me, yelling that I had no right to give up and that you refused to give up on your rival. 

   Selfishly, I wish that word “rival” were something else – No shut up, Akko, stop laughing! I swear by the Nine that if you keep going like this, I’m going back and leaving you alone in this tower! No, I, ugh yes, I already loved you! Sometimes I really hate your stupid face, idiot!

   … 

   Yes, I love you too; can I continue now? 

   When I saw Daryl again that night, I thought I was going to die. Literally. Just seeing her in front of me was enough to create a visceral fear I hadn’t felt in years. All the hatred she had stored up during those months of absence was written all over her face. So clearly, so terribly, that it seemed to me she wanted me to pay for every breath I had taken in her absence.

   I could almost feel the dull violence emanating from her, ready to explode at any moment. Her gaze seemed to desire my destruction. With one gesture, she would have grabbed the nearest belt or any object to break me repeatedly . I wouldn't have even had time to react.  

   But… by some miracle , I managed to maintain an icy calm. My body shook in every limb; my hands were white with tension, and bile rose in my throat, causing painful nausea. It was as if every fibre of my being was ready to collapse under the pressure, but I held on. I fought. Not for myself, but for my family, for what was left of me.  

   Then the next day, you were there.  

   You stood in the hall, and I would have given anything to pull you by the collar and throw you out before you could see what I was trying to hide: the real me. The 'me' broken by years of abuse, frozen by my own fears. If you stayed, if you saw… what if the way you looked at me changed? What if you decided I wasn’t good enough?  

   Daryl immediately put on her mask of a caring aunt, weaving sweet words and feigned smiles, playing the perfect hostess. But I saw behind her pretence; I felt my walls crumble one after the other, unable to contain this reality I wanted to hide from you at all costs. You shouldn't be here. You couldn't be here.  

   So I tried to push you away. Again. Again. A thousand times, I told you to stay out of this, that it wasn’t your business, that it wasn’t your problem. But you… you stayed. As always. Stubborn. Incorrigible. Refusing to give up, even when everything in me screamed that you should run. Daryl must have seen that. She must have seen the cracks in the shell she’d carved out of me, the crumbs of the shadow she’d shaped into a docile, broken being. Because her tone changed. Because I saw, in her calculating eyes, the contempt double as her gaze fell on you. As if she just understood.  

   And her expression twisted into a smirk of disgust when you announced that you came from a non-magical family.  

   Then her web tightened.  

   “ Are you a fan of Diana, perhaps? ”  

   The mocking tone cracked against the walls of the hall, hissing like a whip. A sneer dripping with innuendo, as if she were accusing you of being nothing more than an insignificant parasite at my feet, a stray dog following its mistress without thinking. But I knew. I knew it wasn’t you she was attacking. It was me.  

   It was a reminder. A warning.  

   A reminder that I was never enough in her eyes.  

   How could the pathetic little puppet she had broken, eroded, and shaped with humiliation and silence be worth looking at? Worth admiring? Impossible. Impossible for Daryl. Impossible for the Cavendish.  

   Who would have wanted little Diana Cavendish, after all? 

   Normally, I would have accepted it. I would have stayed there, frozen in my own body, staring blankly, dissociated, waiting for it to pass, for Hurricane Daryl to ravage everything and then go away. 

   But this time… this time something cracked. 

   No, something caught fire. 

   Before I could even think about it, my body had moved. In just a few steps, I was in front of you, standing between you and her, shoulders straight, brows furrowed. My heart was beating too hard, my breathing too fast; the panic attack was there, on the verge of exploding. But despite that, my eyes were fixed on Daryl's—determined, defiant. 

   Never. 

   I would never let her get to you. 

   I would never let her sink her fangs into you like she did with me. 

   It was absurd. You were a living tornado; you had never needed me to survive. But the very idea that she could even touch your brilliance made me sick. 

   As if, without even realizing it, something inside me understood. 

   That I didn't just want to protect you. 

   I wanted to watch over you. 

   Maybe it was the habit of fixing your messes, or perhaps it was more than that. But this fire, this new blaze, burned differently. 

   And at that moment, I, Diana Cavendish, the broken child and the broken puppet, stood tall and proud before my aunt, with the inestimable proof that maybe I could make it through this, with you. 

   I hadn't even given Daryl time to speak before I was dragging you into my childhood bedroom, and I'll always remember the red mark on your wrist after I slammed the door. All the panic, all the fear, had come flooding back, crushing my chest like an oil slick. I wanted you gone. I wanted you back at Luna Nova, away from all of this, away from me. 

   Because if I were to lose control, if my walls were to completely collapse, I didn’t want you here to witness it. 

   But you already saw everything. 

   You saw things I didn’t even understand yet. 

   You saw how, during the meal, my hands were shaking slightly around the cutlery, how I had barely touched my plate. How I absent-mindedly moved the food from one side to the other without ever actually bringing a bite to my mouth. You had seen it—this gesture that was not insignificant, this same pattern that you had already noticed at Luna Nova, without ever being totally sure. But that evening, it was impossible to ignore. 

   And then the argument broke out. 

   I don’t know what impulse came over me, what surge of courage arose within me that evening, but before I could even think about it, I had raised my voice. 

   In front of Andrew. 

   In front of his father. 

   In front of Daryl. 

   I shouted at my aunt that what she was doing was unfair.

   The silence after my words had been deafening. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst through my ribs. I could sense the cold breath of error hovering over me, choking me with regret before Daryl could even respond. My chest burned with a mix of anger and fear, but it wasn't until I met your gaze that I understood. 

   You were watching me, Akko, with a blend of worry and certainty, as if, at that precise moment, all the pieces of the puzzle you had gathered until then were finally coming together. As if you had just realized something that I myself had been avoiding. 

   The whole ritual had been a disaster, a nightmare, and to be honest, I still have flashbacks of it as I approach the doors of the sanctuary. My breath catches, my hands shake, and I feel again that icy chill that had invaded me that night. The snakes encircling me, their suffocating grip, the piercing pain, the anguish… Then her gaze. Daryl’s. Cold, sharp, unwavering. That gaze reminded me at every moment how insignificant I was in her eyes. The screams. The smell of blood. The oppressive air of the sanctuary. 

   And you. 

   You, collapsed on the ground. 

   That's where it all stopped. 

   The world around me ceased to exist. The whispers, the movements, the pain… Everything became distant. There was only you, lying on that hard, dusty ground. You didn’t move any more. You didn’t respond any more. And I, frozen, unable to accept what I saw. 

   It was unbearable. Inconceivable. 

   Why… Why now? 

   Why, when I was beginning to understand? 

   Why, then, for the first time, was I no longer trying to extinguish these emotions within me? 

   I had spent my entire life repressing what I felt. Refusing to get attached, believing that feelings were just another burden, a weakness to be exploited. I had grown up with that mindset, raised to never let anyone break my mask. Yet, with you… 

   With you, everything fell apart. 

   You had sparked something new, terrifying, and incomprehensible within me. A burning, insistent, uncontrollable fire. Something I no longer wanted to repress. For the first time, I was willing to feel. 

   And it was torn from me. 

   Like Mother before you. 

   I thought I was going to lose you, Akko. I thought I would have to surface carrying your inert body, with this unbearable weight in my chest, this abyss that was swallowing me, this pain screaming at me that I had just, once again, lost someone invaluable. — No, I'm not crying, I… Yes, well… I'm crying. But please, let me finish… It's important… 

   When you woke up, I could have screamed and cried and held you in my arms. I could have cupped your face in my hands, unsure whether to slap you for being there or kiss you for being there . 

Then I realized at that moment that I loved you.

That night, you stopped me from making a huge mistake; that night, you made me face Daryl; that night, you opened my eyes. And then the days went by again, and I found myself in the middle of the ruins of the person Daryl had broken. It was as if your hands had plunged into my very soul and pulled out the person Mother had loved for you to love in return. And exactly seven years ago, you saved everyone. With your determination, your kindness, and your heart, you saved the world . 

   But you persisted in saving one last person. I will always remember the look on your face when the last piece of the puzzle you had been working on since January fell into place. You saw how, during the meal, I played more with my food than anything else. How, while the others ate without hesitation, I was content to cut my piece of meat into tiny fragments, putting off each mouthful until later. How I sometimes brought my fork to my lips without ever taking the plunge, as if swallowing were an insurmountable ordeal. You saw how my plate always seemed just as full at the end of the meal. 

   I thought no one noticed and that, with enough practice, I could make my appetite disappear along with my emotions. But you… you were watching. 

   You’ve always been watching. 

   You were there to put an arm around my waist when the colour drained from my face. You had noticed these things long before that dinner. You had seen how, some mornings, I would barely catch myself on the back of a chair when I got up too quickly. You had seen how my fingers were always cold and how, even under my coat, I seemed to be shaking. But that night, maybe that was when you really understood. Maybe that night, it all came together in your mind. Maybe you remembered those meals when I always found an excuse not to touch my tray. Those days when you surprised me by drinking tea for dinner. Those times when you pretended not to notice, probably thinking it was just a habit.

   Your eyes widened, and that’s when I understood. 

    You knew . 

   A sharp heat spread through my body, followed by an icy chill. The air seemed too thin. My hands shook, my fingers clutching at my skirt in an attempt to maintain a grip on reality. But it was too late. 

   My throat tightened, and my stomach knotted in almost unbearable pain. I felt the nausea rise suddenly, brutal, violent, like a wave that would sweep everything away in its path. 

   The surrounding noises had grown louder, echoing in my skull like an incessant buzzing. The clinking of cutlery, indistinct conversations, the sound of chewing… My world was becoming blurry, unstable, and all I had left was your gaze fixed on mine.

   My breathing had quickened. Too fast. Too short. Air was coming in but not going out. I was suffocating. I wanted to speak, but no sound came out. 

   I couldn't. 

   Not here. 

   Not in front of everyone. 

   Not in front of you . 

   I needed to escape. I needed everything to stop, for this cacophony to cease, for the look you were giving me to fade, for the truth you had just understood disappearing. 

   But I couldn't move any more. All I wanted to do was cry and hide the shame, the trauma, my body, my skin… I wanted to disappear. 

   By some miracle, you grabbed a bucket at just the right moment before holding me back as the stars danced before my eyes and tears flowed. I felt broken and ashamed. And yet you looked at me, never taking your eyes off me as your fingers gently pushed the hair that had stuck to my forehead. You held me close as everyone watched me throw up, my head in the bucket, my legs ready to collapse. You held me so tightly that you became the anchor of my life, and I still remember your words as you guided me to the infirmary. 

   That night, you promised yourself you would save the broken person I was. 

When I got out a week later from the psychologist appointment you forced me to attend, you were there. You waited for me the whole time, half-asleep in the seat, your mind wandering. You got up to help me put on my cape, doing everything to ensure I wouldn't be cold this September. You took care to drive the broom slowly, letting me fall asleep on your shoulder.

   All the while the label “ Anorexia ” stuck to my back like a shame, you were there. You talked. A lot. About everything and nothing, having two-on-one card fights with the Chariot cards I was learning to love again, showing me books you thought I would like — yes, you know me well; honestly, it’s even terrifying sometimes how you know me better than I know myself — introducing me to the world of your culture, teaching me words in Japanese. 

   All this during meals. 

   My mind slowly drifted away from the plate to focus on you, who were so dear to my heart and who never let me go, abandoned me, or made me feel inadequate. 

   You removed brick after brick from the last wall I had left every day while you made me laugh. You listened to me talk more and more; you held me the whole time, responding to my every need, like the time around 3 PM when I craved something fatty and salty. You looked at me with surprise and pride before taking me for fast food, even if it meant skipping class. And do you remember what you said to me? “ Do you want some? Then let’s go. ” You didn’t judge me for that desire, for the time, for all that. You made me laugh the complete time I was ordering, stopping me from thinking. I was able to take what I wanted while you sang the silly song that was playing, making me spin around while I tried to pay— all that to pay discreetly.

   All this was to make me feel good.  

   During the entire meal, you made no remarks about the amount I was eating. When my gaze fell to my tray, you took my face in your hands again before changing the subject to something even more dynamic than before. When the guilt of not finishing what you had offered me started to set in, you quickly finished the burger in just a few bites before exclaiming about dessert, knowing full well my weakness for sweet things.  

   And the quantity of what I had consumed was never addressed.  

   Eating alone had always been a challenge, but you had given me a phone so I could call you if needed. I, who hated the phone, found myself carrying around video calls in hand. Even when you were in Japan, and I was staying at Luna Nova, you were there. You answered the phone with your parents next door, during your own meal, showing me your house, making me smile and talk. When at 7 p.m. I had to go eat, you set your alarm for 4 a.m. to be there.  

   You never left me alone.  

   I never left the therapist alone.  

   I never received any comments about what I could eat.  

   When someone remarked that my plate was unfinished while anxiety rose, you puffed out your cheeks before finishing my plate and slipping your hand into mine, intertwining our fingers.  

   When I didn’t have the strength to eat basic meals, you would arrive at my dorm after curfew with pies and scones the fairies had given you, spending your night with me while I tried to eat.  

   When the traumas resurfaced, you held me in your arms, my face hidden in your shoulder as you slowly rocked me.  

   As the days passed, your gentle gestures, your constant attention, and your unwavering love began to take effect. Every smile, every laugh you offered me, every meal shared without pressure helped to lessen the invisible chains that Daryl had forged around me. Even if, at times, I still doubted myself, you were there, steadfast. The healing didn’t happen overnight, but with you by my side, it came slowly, quietly, like a promise.

   I never saw the walls the same way again. Daryl, her cruel words, her manipulations… all of it had become as distant as the shadow of a bad dream. The fear I had felt, the terror of a loss I thought inevitable, had disappeared in the flood of your love, your patience, and your perseverance. Little by little, I learned to see the light where before there had only been shadows. And now, I could breathe without feeling like my lungs were going to tear apart.

   There was no more room for her, for her voices, her judgments. The demons she had left behind had dissipated in your soothing gaze. Now, when I look at myself, I see only the echo of my own newfound strength, thanks to you. You had swept away everything that was dark and uncertain, and with each passing day, I felt more complete. More alive, alive by your side. Wanting more, discovering more, living more. The memory of that moment is like a spark in my mind, shining with a thousand colours, but also with a gentle warmth that soothes the cold of the past years. We were always glued to each other, as if the universe had decided that we were destined to be together. The other students already considered us a couple, too close, too close not to be. But for me, it was not yet official. It was obvious, but I was missing that word, that statement, that little spark to tell me that everything I had felt since the beginning, everything I had kept in my heart, was not just an illusion.

   The world around us was a blur; every lost glance in your eyes was a silent promise. And yet, that day, my heart beat faster. I felt nervous, a nervousness that was new to me, strange but familiar, almost like an awkward dance of my emotions. Everything seemed more intense, more vivid, as if this simple gesture could change everything. I knew you felt the same way, that everything between us, this whole invisible connection, was not a misunderstanding, but a truth that it was finally time to speak out loud.

   I still remember it: the warmth of the autumn air, the way my hands shook slightly when I came to you. You had that quiet smile, as if you already knew what I wanted to say, but you were waiting for me to say it myself. And I, in that strange nervousness, couldn't help but launch myself. That moment, at once so simple and so full of meaning, seemed so natural to me, despite the fear dancing in my veins. But in you, I found the certainty that everything would be okay.

   It was the first time I wasn't afraid of my feelings because, with you, everything seemed possible. And that question, that simple question of whether we could make our bond more than just friendship, seemed almost futile to ask. But I wanted to ask it; I wanted it to be official, for the whole world to know that you and I were together, and that nothing and no one could ever separate us.

   There was never any doubt in my mind because, with you, I had the certainty that we were ready to move forward together. In an instant, the future became as clear as that smile you gave me, your gaze filled with a tenderness that reassured me more than anything else. 

   After that, you offered me nothing but love and joy. You became my beacon. In the darkness of my thoughts, where I had been lost for so long, you showed me the light. Thanks to you, I emerged from this depression that had weighed on me like a lead weight since adolescence. You were there, always present, guiding and supporting me in each step of my healing. Through your gestures, your patience, and your unconditional love, I began to find pieces of myself that I thought were lost forever.

   You helped me become myself again. Not the image I thought I should be, not the one Daryl or the whole world expected, but me, in my truth. You demonstrated that I could be more than I had believed, that my silences and gestures were valid, and that I could finally accept my own limits without shame. With you, I learned to live fully, to understand my own existence without judging myself, to accept myself.

   You allowed me to rebuild my relationship with food, to rediscover what it could be like to nourish my body without fear or guilt. Little by little, each bite became easier to swallow, and the anger I felt toward myself began to dissipate. I found myself appreciating the small pleasures, the ones I had ignored for so long, hidden under layers of shame and fear.

   And you never walked away. When Daryl came back, and I had to face my worst demons, you gave me the strength to confront them, to stand tall, and to push her away. It wasn't just a victory over her, but over every chain that had ever bound me.

   You made me live again, Akko—darling, don’t cry, or I’ll cry too… You gave me the opportunity to love myself again and to believe that I deserve to be loved, with all my being, even in my most fragile moments. Thanks to you, I found my own place, my own breath, my own hope. Today, even in the moments when I still feel the scars of old battles, I know that I am strong because you are there. Because you saved me—simply you, with your love, your sweetness, and your light.”

   My eyes slowly lifted from the notebook I was holding as my voice trailed off, carried away by the beauty of the moment. The snow was falling softly, a silvery veil covering the surrounding landscape, the trees frozen in winter, their branches covered in a thin layer of frost. The crisp air still carried the scent of the earth, the sweet, pure fragrance of February. The surrounding silence seemed even heavier, as if the world itself was waiting, suspended in this very instant.  

   Akko stood there in front of me, her eyes shining with tears. Her lips were trembling, an almost inaudible sound escaping from her—a faint gasp of pain and emotion, like an echo of everything we had been through. Her hands were shaking too, and she unsuccessfully wiped away her tears, as if they kept coming back. She was crying softly, but her heart seemed to overflow, her eyes searching at mine with a depth I couldn’t ignore. I wanted to take her in my arms to reassure her, but I knew that this moment was much greater than what we could have experienced in a simple embrace. This was the moment we had waited for years, the one we had sought in the chaos of our lives.  

   “Akko,” I said, my voice almost fading with the emotion rising within me. “Seven years ago, you saved the world from the Black Missile. So thank you for saving us, thank you for saving me along the way…”  

   The words escaped my lips like a promise I was making to her, like a wish I had made in the secrecy of my heart. Akko, in tears, stared at me intensely, as if she were trying to understand everything those words meant. The snow continued to fall around us, and the entire universe seemed suspended in a breath. The light wind swept my hair, but all I felt was the warmth of her eyes that never left me, piercing me through and through.

   I took a deep breath and, with a clumsy but determined gesture, slipped my hand into my pocket. My fingers quivered. The cold air pinched my skin, but it could do nothing against the trembling of my hands. I had kept the ring a secret, tucked in my coat, for months. This small piece of metal was the promise of a future, a hope that would never have existed without it. My heart was beating so hard I could almost hear it above the peaceful silence enveloping us. I slowly pulled the ring out, the faint light of day reflecting off the shiny metal, and handed it to Akko, trembling.  

   It was the moment when everything became clear, when the silence surrounding us was not a void but a whole world between us. I was no longer afraid. I would never be afraid again, because Akko, you had already saved me.  

   At that moment, I felt like time had stopped, as if everything else in the world had disappeared. Akko, her eyes full of tears, stared at the ring as if she couldn't believe it. Her breath caught for a moment. I could almost feel the warmth of her heart mixing with the coldness of the surrounding air.  

   “So for all that, Akko, will you marry me?”