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The Frances soldiers, who had been gathered together and discussing for a while, finally began to move. Without a word, they herded the prisoners to a corner far from the door.
“This way, this way!”
The terrified crowd followed the order. Annette carried her injured comrade to safety.
The prisoners were herded right next to the pulpit. Next to the pulpit stood an old piano used for hymns.
Annette carefully laid the soldier down near the piano.
"Ugh..."
The soldier groaned softly. Annette, out of habit, tried to say it would be okay, but then clenched her jaw shut.
The people gathered in one place began to murmur anxiously.
“Why all of a sudden...”
“What’s going on?”
Annette took medical supplies from her pack and silently began to treat her allies. His face, wiping the blood from his body, was a gruesome sight.
“I wonder if... they’re going to let us go?”
Someone cautiously speculated. People weren't quick to agree, but they seemed to harbor a faint hope that something had changed.
Annette's hands trembled faintly as she disinfected and applied the ointment. She clenched and unclenched her fists, but the shaking persisted.
Judging from what they had said earlier, it seemed like the Frances Army was planning to take care of this place before tomorrow morning.
And there was no need to think long about what kind of treatment it would be.
“...I will live.”
Annette closed her eyes tightly.
“I told you I would live.”
She was afraid of dying. In fact, she never been without fear of death. The reason she tried to take her life wasn't that she wasn't afraid of death itself.
It's just that living was more frightening than dying.
But strangely, at that moment, rather than the fear of death, the thought of not having kept her promise to him came to mind first.
Now, she is finally beginning to glimpse his past. The fragments and rhythms of words he uttered as if they were his last breath, yet so easily passed by... She's only now beginning to vaguely grasp them.
I should have asked properly once.
I should have listened properly once.
It wasn't just because she was the daughter of Margrave Dietrich. It wasn't just because of the bitter, bitter relationship they had.
Just as her longtime lover, and as a couple who lived together, she should have had a proper conversation with him at least once.
That became a regret.
The sun has set beyond the horizon.
The Frances soldiers didn't do anything of note. They simply paced around outside, keeping watch over the prisoners.
Annette tried to see Elliot, but he wouldn't even show his face. She watched for an opportunity to get Ira out of there, but she was powerless against the armed soldiers.
'It's hard...'
Annette was completely exhausted, both mentally and physically. Sitting on the cold floor for so long made her body achy.
She got up, pulled out a long piano stool, and sat down. Rubbing her stiff shoulders, she took a moment to catch her breath, and then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small shoe.
Annette looked up. The child was standing there hesitantly. She smiled gently and asked.
“Do you need anything?”
The child shook his head. He just stood there, his eyes downcast.
Annette couldn't figure out what the child wanted. She hesitated for a moment, then extended her arms.
“Want to come here?”
The child approached her obediently and hugged her. Only then did Annette realize that his small body was trembling like an aspen leaf.
“Are you cold?”
The child shook his head repeatedly. Annette picked him up and placed him on a chair. The child remained in her arms, his face buried in her embrace.
Then, perhaps bored, he started fiddling with various things. He fiddled with Annette's nurse's uniform buttons and hair, and even opened and closed the piano lid.
When she saw that childlike appearance, something welled up in her chest.
It was heartbreaking that such a young child had to be sacrificed to the greed and selfishness of adults. This child had done nothing wrong.
There is nothing wrong with...
Heiner's image was superimposed on the child's face. Back in the training camp, he, too, was just a boy.
That fact came to her anew.
The child tried various keys on the piano. Disjointed notes sounded out randomly. Annette stared at them for a moment, then asked.
“Have you ever played the piano?”
The child shook his head. Annette grabbed the child's index finger and began to move it with her. The child's index finger pressed a key on the keyboard.
The notes connected one after another, creating a single melody. It was one of her favorite songs from childhood.
The child's breathing became slightly ragged, perhaps because of the excitement. Annette laughed silently at his honest reaction. They played the piano together for a while.
Outside, armored vehicles rolled by, creating a heavy noise. The sound of soldiers' boots trampling the city was also heard.
Annette looked at the back of the child's small head. The body in her arms was small and warm. She, too, had a time like that.
There were times when she just wanted to be comforted, even by the smallest of sorrows.
Annette let go of the child's index finger and placed both hands on the piano. The keys slid gently under her thumbs. She began to move her hands slowly.
Like approaching a very agile animal to put a leash on it.
When her father was shot and killed, Annette was playing the piano in a competition. To win. To push herself to her limits.
But now Annette wasn't playing the piano for a competition. There were no well-dressed audiences, no lavish bouquets of flowers, no flashing camera shutters.
Still, she pressed the keys.
The latter part of the song they had previously played continued through her fingertips. A beautiful, yet mournful melody blossomed like a flower.
To comfort someone.
For all the sick and lonely things in the world.
The eyes of those seated were fixed on Annette. As if they had made a promise, they held their breath without saying a word.
The soldiers guarding the prisoners and the people busily passing by stopped one by one. They listened to her performance with faces as if they had received an invitation from the border between the living and the dead.
The performance, which started very slowly and a little awkwardly, gradually picked up speed.
In the distance, shells still exploded. Somewhere, a wounded man prayed, a child cried. Sparks left over from the city's destruction crackled everywhere.
A nameless corpse, without a dog tag, lay on the rubble of war, eyes still closed. His unfocused eyes reflected the cloudy sky.
A yellow butterfly fluttered into the center of her pitch-black vision. Hovering over the corpse, it turned and flew across the city.
Annette closed her eyes. Her fingertips continued to touch the keys. A sorrowful and tender melody caressed the ruins filled with blood and groans.
Despite the long hiatus, her playing was almost flawless. Annette pressed the keys as if she were simply breathing.
The performance, which had reached its climax, soon reached its conclusion. The melody gradually subsided. She sang the final note and glided away.
The surrounding was quiet.
Annette opened her closed eyes. Her body trembled slightly. She felt a tingling sensation in her chest.
The child, who had been staring blankly at her hand, suddenly turned his head. His eyes sparkled as he looked at Annette.
His large, moist eyes blinked rapidly, and his cheeks, still chubby, twitched repeatedly. Annette could sense the child's emotions.
She smiled and pressed her forehead against the child's. The warmth of a child's touch spread across her skin.
For some reason, her throat feels sore.
The night deepened. The church was filled with fatigue and tension. Some people were completely asleep.
Annette was leaning against the wall, her eyes closed. Suddenly, someone tapped her shoulder. She opened her eyes faintly.
Through the darkness, a familiar face appeared. A soldier with long hair. It was Nicolo.
Annette narrowed her eyes and looked at him quizzically. Nicolo pointed toward the door with his thumb, seemingly suggesting she follow him.
An ominous feeling crept up her spine. Annette shook her head, pressing herself against the wall as hard as she could.
Nicolo laughed, as if he found it ridiculous, then grabbed her arm and pulled her. The force of the pull forced her upper body up.
Annette tried to hold on, but the difference in strength was too great. The others, who had been slumbering, woke up one by one, realizing the situation.
But no one dared to step forward. They simply looked at her with fearful and worried faces.
Annette glanced down. Fortunately, the child was fast asleep. She couldn't let him see this.
Nicolo grabbed her tightly. Annette forced herself to swallow back a scream. Her mind went blank with fear.
At that moment, someone grabbed Nicolo's shoulder. It was another soldier who was guarding the prisoners. He spoke with a slight frown.
“Hey, stop it.”
“This way, this way!”
The terrified crowd followed the order. Annette carried her injured comrade to safety.
The prisoners were herded right next to the pulpit. Next to the pulpit stood an old piano used for hymns.
Annette carefully laid the soldier down near the piano.
"Ugh..."
The soldier groaned softly. Annette, out of habit, tried to say it would be okay, but then clenched her jaw shut.
The people gathered in one place began to murmur anxiously.
“Why all of a sudden...”
“What’s going on?”
Annette took medical supplies from her pack and silently began to treat her allies. His face, wiping the blood from his body, was a gruesome sight.
“I wonder if... they’re going to let us go?”
Someone cautiously speculated. People weren't quick to agree, but they seemed to harbor a faint hope that something had changed.
Annette's hands trembled faintly as she disinfected and applied the ointment. She clenched and unclenched her fists, but the shaking persisted.
Judging from what they had said earlier, it seemed like the Frances Army was planning to take care of this place before tomorrow morning.
And there was no need to think long about what kind of treatment it would be.
“...I will live.”
Annette closed her eyes tightly.
“I told you I would live.”
She was afraid of dying. In fact, she never been without fear of death. The reason she tried to take her life wasn't that she wasn't afraid of death itself.
It's just that living was more frightening than dying.
But strangely, at that moment, rather than the fear of death, the thought of not having kept her promise to him came to mind first.
Now, she is finally beginning to glimpse his past. The fragments and rhythms of words he uttered as if they were his last breath, yet so easily passed by... She's only now beginning to vaguely grasp them.
I should have asked properly once.
I should have listened properly once.
It wasn't just because she was the daughter of Margrave Dietrich. It wasn't just because of the bitter, bitter relationship they had.
Just as her longtime lover, and as a couple who lived together, she should have had a proper conversation with him at least once.
That became a regret.
***
The sun has set beyond the horizon.
The Frances soldiers didn't do anything of note. They simply paced around outside, keeping watch over the prisoners.
Annette tried to see Elliot, but he wouldn't even show his face. She watched for an opportunity to get Ira out of there, but she was powerless against the armed soldiers.
'It's hard...'
Annette was completely exhausted, both mentally and physically. Sitting on the cold floor for so long made her body achy.
She got up, pulled out a long piano stool, and sat down. Rubbing her stiff shoulders, she took a moment to catch her breath, and then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small shoe.
Annette looked up. The child was standing there hesitantly. She smiled gently and asked.
“Do you need anything?”
The child shook his head. He just stood there, his eyes downcast.
Annette couldn't figure out what the child wanted. She hesitated for a moment, then extended her arms.
“Want to come here?”
The child approached her obediently and hugged her. Only then did Annette realize that his small body was trembling like an aspen leaf.
“Are you cold?”
The child shook his head repeatedly. Annette picked him up and placed him on a chair. The child remained in her arms, his face buried in her embrace.
Then, perhaps bored, he started fiddling with various things. He fiddled with Annette's nurse's uniform buttons and hair, and even opened and closed the piano lid.
When she saw that childlike appearance, something welled up in her chest.
It was heartbreaking that such a young child had to be sacrificed to the greed and selfishness of adults. This child had done nothing wrong.
There is nothing wrong with...
Heiner's image was superimposed on the child's face. Back in the training camp, he, too, was just a boy.
That fact came to her anew.
The child tried various keys on the piano. Disjointed notes sounded out randomly. Annette stared at them for a moment, then asked.
“Have you ever played the piano?”
The child shook his head. Annette grabbed the child's index finger and began to move it with her. The child's index finger pressed a key on the keyboard.
The notes connected one after another, creating a single melody. It was one of her favorite songs from childhood.
The child's breathing became slightly ragged, perhaps because of the excitement. Annette laughed silently at his honest reaction. They played the piano together for a while.
Outside, armored vehicles rolled by, creating a heavy noise. The sound of soldiers' boots trampling the city was also heard.
Annette looked at the back of the child's small head. The body in her arms was small and warm. She, too, had a time like that.
There were times when she just wanted to be comforted, even by the smallest of sorrows.
Annette let go of the child's index finger and placed both hands on the piano. The keys slid gently under her thumbs. She began to move her hands slowly.
Like approaching a very agile animal to put a leash on it.
When her father was shot and killed, Annette was playing the piano in a competition. To win. To push herself to her limits.
But now Annette wasn't playing the piano for a competition. There were no well-dressed audiences, no lavish bouquets of flowers, no flashing camera shutters.
Still, she pressed the keys.
The latter part of the song they had previously played continued through her fingertips. A beautiful, yet mournful melody blossomed like a flower.
To comfort someone.
For all the sick and lonely things in the world.
The eyes of those seated were fixed on Annette. As if they had made a promise, they held their breath without saying a word.
The soldiers guarding the prisoners and the people busily passing by stopped one by one. They listened to her performance with faces as if they had received an invitation from the border between the living and the dead.
The performance, which started very slowly and a little awkwardly, gradually picked up speed.
In the distance, shells still exploded. Somewhere, a wounded man prayed, a child cried. Sparks left over from the city's destruction crackled everywhere.
A nameless corpse, without a dog tag, lay on the rubble of war, eyes still closed. His unfocused eyes reflected the cloudy sky.
A yellow butterfly fluttered into the center of her pitch-black vision. Hovering over the corpse, it turned and flew across the city.
Annette closed her eyes. Her fingertips continued to touch the keys. A sorrowful and tender melody caressed the ruins filled with blood and groans.
Despite the long hiatus, her playing was almost flawless. Annette pressed the keys as if she were simply breathing.
The performance, which had reached its climax, soon reached its conclusion. The melody gradually subsided. She sang the final note and glided away.
The surrounding was quiet.
Annette opened her closed eyes. Her body trembled slightly. She felt a tingling sensation in her chest.
The child, who had been staring blankly at her hand, suddenly turned his head. His eyes sparkled as he looked at Annette.
His large, moist eyes blinked rapidly, and his cheeks, still chubby, twitched repeatedly. Annette could sense the child's emotions.
She smiled and pressed her forehead against the child's. The warmth of a child's touch spread across her skin.
For some reason, her throat feels sore.
***
The night deepened. The church was filled with fatigue and tension. Some people were completely asleep.
Annette was leaning against the wall, her eyes closed. Suddenly, someone tapped her shoulder. She opened her eyes faintly.
Through the darkness, a familiar face appeared. A soldier with long hair. It was Nicolo.
Annette narrowed her eyes and looked at him quizzically. Nicolo pointed toward the door with his thumb, seemingly suggesting she follow him.
An ominous feeling crept up her spine. Annette shook her head, pressing herself against the wall as hard as she could.
Nicolo laughed, as if he found it ridiculous, then grabbed her arm and pulled her. The force of the pull forced her upper body up.
Annette tried to hold on, but the difference in strength was too great. The others, who had been slumbering, woke up one by one, realizing the situation.
But no one dared to step forward. They simply looked at her with fearful and worried faces.
Annette glanced down. Fortunately, the child was fast asleep. She couldn't let him see this.
Nicolo grabbed her tightly. Annette forced herself to swallow back a scream. Her mind went blank with fear.
At that moment, someone grabbed Nicolo's shoulder. It was another soldier who was guarding the prisoners. He spoke with a slight frown.
“Hey, stop it.”
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