A Night With Corrin

Chapter XXIII (Truth)

You open your eyes and yawn gently, blinking your blurry vision into focus. The absence of another's warmth is the first thing you notice in your freshly awakened state.

A quick leftward glance reveals an empty space where Flora laid earlier in the comfortable queen-sized bed.

"She must be downstairs or something," you surmise before a second, deeper yawn.

"Flora?" you call out to the maid, casting your eyes toward the open bedroom door.

You're met with silence.

"Yes, she must be downstairs," you conclude. Shaking sleep's weight away, you throw back the quilts. Cool evening air sends a shiver through you. "I'd better get dressed." Throwing your legs over the side of the bed, you rise to your feet. A quick glance toward the bedroom window reveals that (true to Flora's words) the sun is still setting. "Good, we've still time."

Your clothes lay in a messy heap just beyond the bedside table. You shift your gaze toward the magically-infused candle atop the bedside table, taken in by its precious flame.

Mental images of yourself and Flora passionately entwined swirl within your mental sea. Smiling fondly, you clutch a palm to your chest.

"Try as I might, I cherish them both," you admit at a whisper, recalling your recent loving embrace with Felicia. Sighing, you shake your head and lower your arm to the side. "Whatever the case, I'll figure all of this out once we're done here. Our coming to this cold corner of the world will all be for naught if we don't drive the Nohrians out."

Nodding resolutely, you walk over to your discarded clothes. Kneeling, you gather up the sinfully removed articles.

Undergarments. Socks. Trousers. Undershirt. Shoes. Everything is here.

You dress as quickly as you can. Once finished, you step out onto the landing and close the bedroom door behind you.

The house is all too quiet, save for what sounds like sobbing emanating from somewhere downstairs. You focus on the sound for an instant longer – they're Flora's tears.

A concerned twinge grips your chest. Naturally wanting to help, you head to the bottom of the stairs. Your sheathed katana leans against the wall by the staircase's bottom rung. Beside it is your swordsman's overcoat. You tie the weapon around your waist first, partly distracted by Flora's woes. Once the weapon is fastened, you slip on your coat.

Fully prepared, you cast your sights toward the direction of Flora's tearful chorus - an open door beyond the living room you occupied earlier.

Nodding, you traverse the narrow hall and step through the doorway. You find yourself inside a kitchen thereafter.

A fair sized circular wooden table sits at the room's centre with five chairs pushed in underneath. Flora sits at one of the chairs. Head held in her hands; she weeps. A piece of parchment, a quill and inkpot occupy the space in front of her. A food preparation counter is off to the left of the crying girl. A chopping board sits atop the counter's middle, with several worn iron cooking pots piled up to the right-hand side of it. Overhead, braids of garlic and other such herbs for seasoning hang from rack suspended by a chain from the ceiling.

"Flora, is everything alright?" you ask somewhat worriedly, taking a further couple of steps into the room.

The maid raises her head from her hands. Her eyes and puffy and red from crying, and tears stain her cheeks. "I won't do this anymore, I just won't," she utters in a tiny voice, sniffling.

"Do what, exactly?" You pull out a chair from beneath the table and sit. Reaching across to Flora, you cup her tear-stained right cheek. "What is it?"

The girl draws back from you. Her eyes are glassy, and her expression is full to the brim with fear. She picks up the piece of parchment and places it into your hand. "...Read it, then you'll know..."