The one who moved first was the woman.

She slowly reached out and placed her hand on top of Alisa’s head.

“Hello, my sweet little lark. My daughter, Alisa.”

“Oh, oh……”

“Mum missed you so, so much.”

The woman — no, Roxia — opened her arms wide.

Alisa stepped forward and touched the woman’s hand with her fingertips.

She didn’t disappear.

With trembling arms, she opened them in return and carefully pulled her close.

Still, Mum didn’t disappear. She didn’t dissolve into foam the way she had in countless dreams, didn’t vanish and leave only her clothes behind.

“Ah……”

It really is Mum.

The moment that truth settled in, Alisa threw herself into the woman’s arms. The soft laugh, the hand gently stroking her back — all of it was warmer than she had ever imagined.

“Alisa, my darling girl.”

“Oh, Mum. Why, why did you leave me? I, I waited so long for you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

The tears that burst out of her made it hard to breathe.

Everything she had kept inside came pouring out. That she had waited so long. That she had listened to the radio every day. That she had been angry sometimes. But that it all ended in the same place — she had just missed her, so terribly much.

With Eden and his knight watching, she knew she should stop crying by now, but her body wouldn’t listen.

Alisa wrapped her arms around her mother’s back. She held her breath, trying to swallow the sobs. Hic, hic — she even started hiccupping.

Roxia sat Alisa on her lap, grown as she was, and patted her like a child.

“There, there. My good girl. You’ve grown up so beautifully. It breaks Mum’s heart to have missed every day of it.”

“Hh, hh-ugh, Mum…… I, I really, really missed you so much. Sometimes, when I thought maybe you left because you were tired of me and Dad, it hurt so much I couldn’t bear it……”

“How could that ever be true. Meeting your father and having you was the best thing Mum ever did.”

Roxia’s voice was soft as she whispered, and her own eyes had grown wet. She took the handkerchief Sir Roben hesitantly held out and wiped Alisa’s cheeks.

“Alisa.”

Roxia called her name in a voice that was gentle and firm at once.

“Would you like to hear Mum’s story? Mum went on a very long and wonderful journey with your prince.”

“…… A journey? With Eden?”

Alisa drew in a small breath and turned to look at Eden. His face said he had absolutely no idea what was happening.

Questions she had buried beneath the joy of reunion began to creep back out.

Alisa held onto Roxia’s sleeve and looked up at her quietly.

Her mother’s face hadn’t aged a day from the one in her memory. The two of them looked less like mother and daughter and more like sisters.

That wasn’t the only strange thing.

Why had Mum gone to the past. How had she known what was coming. Why had she left eight years ago of all times.

And above all. Why had she appeared here, now.

“Mum……”

Roxia smiled with sad eyes and stroked her cheek.

She looked around and suggested gently.

“This will be a long story, so let’s all sit down. With time stopped like this, no one can disturb us anyway.”

Sir Roben sat down beside Roxia first. Eden glanced at Alisa, then quietly took a seat beside her.

Roxia drew in a long breath.

“I should say this first.”

Her voice dropped low.

“I am going to die soon.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

So there was a story like this.

There was a woman who had lived a very long time.

She had been a dancer, a queen, a beggar, and sometimes a merchant. After living one life, she would return to the past and live another.

Like that, dozens of times, hundreds of times. Living lives beyond counting, until……

At some point, she made up her mind never to cross through time again.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Roxia Ludendorff was dying.

It wasn’t that she was in terrible pain anywhere. The change was just one thing. The stretches of time she spent sleeping, still as death, had begun to grow longer.

Those around her said it was simply exhaustion. Rest for a while, recover, and she would be fine soon enough.

But she knew herself. The time left to her was running out.

She was barely past forty in age, but the years she had actually lived were many times that. It was possible because the body didn’t age in a time it didn’t belong to.

She had never thought those days would go on forever. She had always known there would be an end.

But when that end began to show itself right in front of her, Roxia understood that all of it had been her own arrogance.

It wasn’t how long she had lived that mattered. It was what she would have to leave behind. Alisa. Alisa. How could she leave her.

She felt wronged. Furious. Why now, of all times.

Through all those long years of loneliness, the end had shown no sign of coming — so why had it arrived now.

She raged at the sky. She shut herself in her room and wept for days. But nothing changed.

She was going to leave behind a young daughter. And not long from now.

When a situation is already given, the only thing left to change is what you do.

Accepting her death, Roxia began quietly putting her affairs in order. She reached out to the people she had been close to, suggesting they meet one last time. She took her young daughter somewhere new every day, hoping the child would carry as many memories as possible.

It was around that time that a strange letter arrived in the postbox.

[To Mrs. Roxia Ludendorff,]

Her name was written on the envelope in elegant handwriting. But the intended recipient was not Roxia herself.

[To Eden, who I miss so much,

Hello, Prince!

Today makes eight months and twenty-three days since we last saw each other.

Yesterday I missed you so badly that I stuck my head in the fish tank and wished to be sent to you. Of course, instead of seeing you, I only exchanged glances with three goldfish and had to wash my face about fifteen extra times for the rest of the day.

Are you staying healthy and well?

If any knights are being unkind to you, write down all their names! I’ll give them a good scolding when I meet them!

From the attic, Alisa]

Roxia stared for a long time at her daughter’s name written in the sender’s spot.

Her daughter could barely manage uneven, wobbly letters yet. And she certainly didn’t know how to keep them this small and even.

‘And Eden.’

Who on earth was that.

Alisa’s world was still small. Roxia was certain there was no friend by that name among the children in her daughter’s life.

Even so, something about it felt too unsettling to dismiss as a prank, so she tucked the letter deep in a drawer. She was too busy sorting out her own affairs to dwell on it.

But the letters didn’t stop there.

The next day, the day after, and the day after that, new letters kept arriving in the postbox.

[Eden, I miss Mum. Dad said I have to be good and brave so Mum won’t be sad. But what do I do when I miss her so much?]

[I’m already fifteen, can you believe it? How long are you going to go without seeing me? I know you’re incredibly busy, but couldn’t you at least send a letter?]

[Are you doing well? It’s snowing here now, Eden. I wonder if it’s gotten very cold where you are. I’m curious what the scenery looks like there.]

Time passed inside the letters. Between the words, Alisa grieved, then brightened, then carried on as steadily as ever. The way Roxia herself had started smiling again after accepting her death.

Strange letters, written by Alisa in a future where Roxia herself was already dead and gone.

At some point, she understood.

These letters were from the past and, at the same time, from a future not yet written.

Alisa had surely written them years from now. But the sender who had been delivering them to Roxia must have been holding onto them for a long time already.

The age-worn paper made that plain enough.

From the day she realized it, Roxia began preparing for a visitor.

After Alisa, worn out from a full day of play, had fallen asleep, she swept and cleaned the house.

The apple of my eye. What kind of man had caught her daughter’s heart.

He had to be kind. Tall, and upright, she hoped.

Of course Alisa would have found her own way, but a mother’s eye was different, and she couldn’t help but worry.

One day, two days, three, four……

When the letters arriving each day had passed thirty, he came.

A black suit and a black top hat. An outfit so stiff and old-fashioned it looked like he was returning from a funeral.

The moment Roxia saw the man, she knew.

He was the one who had been sending the letters all along.