In Lily’s Garden.

Pieces of Lily’s Dream

I take one of the drawn pages, enlarging it to ride on, as I move through the starry black expanse of space. The most vivid scene that comes to mind is of the black sphere encountered by the child in the yellow cloak. Wanting to resemble that child, I color my black cloak yellow and fold the page into a yellow hot air balloon. In the center, I draw a black lantern and color it with a dark flame. The surrounding stars dim, revealing the large black sphere.

As I look closely at the sphere, a bright sea of energy comes into view, which I hadn’t seen when watching from the attic. The energy resembles a dragon, reminding me of the dragon-shaped clouds Lily and I would sometimes watch outside the window.

I wanted to speak with the black sphere, just as the child in the yellow cloak had done, though I hadn’t heard their conversation. Then, the sphere noticed me and spoke first.

-Have you finished your assignment?

I paused, surprised. Assignment? What assignment?

Memories of reading Bella’s Halloween Yellow in the attic surface. I remember the beginning, where the child in the yellow cloak had spoken with the black sphere about their task. I tried to recall their conversation and transcribe the child’s recorded assignment as best I could before offering it to the sphere. The page was drawn into the black sphere, and the energy surrounding it began swirling, then disappeared into the sphere’s depths.

Ah, this must be when the child in the yellow cloak was drawn inside the black sphere.

I enter the sphere and find myself in a pitch-dark space. As I crossed the threshold, the yellow I had added to my cloak faded back to black. In the distance, I see a faint light. I consider heading toward it but then hesitate.

There’s no need to go closer to know.

This place feels identical to the attic Lily and I were in.

It feels as though everything I’d resolved before crossing into the transparent bookshelf has vanished.

So, could it be that the child in the yellow cloak is hiding in the attic? Or did they venture elsewhere? Even if we entered the same space, perhaps only certain paths are available to each of us.

Now that my cloak has reverted to black, it seems I can no longer try to mimic the child in the yellow cloak.

So, what should I do next?

I decided to walk toward the light anyway. What I found there was, unsurprisingly, the transparent bookshelf.

A realization strikes, and I start writing on the pages.

I title it The Story of Original Writer A. Lily had told me she would come to find me, but since the child in the yellow cloak didn’t reach the attic, it seems likely that Lily had followed the path they had taken. I didn’t need to seek out Lily or follow her path.

After all, I was never meant to go there. That’s how this place was designed. I had suspected it but still held out hope. Did I really not know myself?

This is the space I created.

I remember now.

I simply need to fill these pages, writing out the dreams that Lily will experience in advance. I recall how Lily yearned to leave when she heard that voice outside the window. But why did Lily vanish into the transparent bookshelf instead of heading out the window? I stop filling the pages and turn my gaze toward the window.

I unlock the latch and open the window. What I see amazes me. Outside the attic window, I had always seen a beautiful garden, but what I now see is a large study. Could the garden have been visible only because Lily was here? With her absence, I feel as though I’m seeing the true form of the attic for the first time. I carefully step over the window ledge, entering the brightly lit study. As I walk across the floor, surrounded by the scent of aged books and whispers of countless voices, I recognize it as the study with the man and the old typewriter from the transparent bookshelf. Could I have been that woman who entered this room?

The man should still be here. However, given that the man and his typewriter disappeared when the woman appeared, I might never meet him.

Despite sharing the same space, it’s clear I occupy a different part of it. In my memory, the woman had placed a book on the desk, and the man was working on an unfinished manuscript on the old typewriter. Perhaps I must hand over the manuscript to him. But I can’t recall the title of the book, so I choose one from the study’s bookshelf, placing it on the desk where the man had once sat. Looking at the moon shining through the window, a memory from the attic surfaces.

Like the woman in the page, I reach out to the moon, attempting to grasp it with my hand.

To my astonishment, something extraordinary happens.

As it did for the woman in the page, the moon transforms into a diamond in my hand. When I place it around my neck, it becomes a necklace.

‘It’s a contract.’

A voice speaks from somewhere. It seems to echo from deep within my mind.

The man in the study, the old typewriter, the unfinished manuscript, the man vanishing when the woman arrived, along with the typewriter and manuscript all of it. The way I’m mimicking the woman’s actions in the scene from the page.

It’s likely that I am that woman.

Crossing through the transparent bookshelf, filling pages with writing, while the man wrote on the old typewriter. If he symbolizes the writers, I should begin seeking out writers for my own books. I’ll start by finding the presence Lily mentioned in the attic. Though Lily couldn’t hear my voice, she was conversing with someone else before she vanished into the transparent bookshelf, suggesting another presence in the attic besides Lily and myself.

How did I miss that?

A thought occurs.

Can I really hear Lily’s voice?

If Lily couldn’t hear me and was speaking with someone else, was it really her voice that I heard, or could it have been another voice?

There’s no need to wonder where to go. The moment I transformed the moon into a diamond necklace, the destination became clear. The moon’s pull guides me. I draw back the transparent curtain covering a window I hadn’t seen in the attic, open it, and step out onto the ledge, leaping forward, following the current’s lead.

Outside the study lies a vast, desolate, yet beautiful cosmic space. I accelerate toward Earth and find myself positioned behind a woman lounging on a sofa, looking at her phone. Moving behind her, I gently shift each line of text on her screen into clearer view. She begins to write down the text I’ve revealed, purchasing relevant books as she contemplates her own plans, eventually outlining the table of contents for her future books.

She uncovers my name and Lily’s and identifies the other presence in the attic, calling it “Christine.” She envisions a character in her story who can move like herself, naming her “Christine Eve” after me.

Reading her writing, I decide to seek out our translator, Christine, the one who was in the attic with Lily and me. Returning to my starting point, I paint a red torii gate black, then grasp black and white cords in each hand. The black cord represents the black sphere; the white one holds the dragon-like energy sea that once surrounded it.

I pass through the black torii gate, ascending enormous steps. I decorate a sanctuary with pieces from an ancient Greek temple and a cathedral I remember from Belgium, placing a rooftop pool to one side. From the pool, I gaze upon a large, bright moon. Water from the pool overflows, trickling into the cosmic void below, while Aquarius pours water among the stars.

This woman will now write all the records inscribed on that moon, as I recall memories long lost, realizing there had once been another woman who did the same.

– ‘ ’

I think of the pages I saw in the attic, the ones the child in the blue cloak held fragments taken from the energy sea.

‘If there is light, I can go anywhere.’

My voice echoes back to me.

Do I finally have a voice?

The Little Mermaid traded her voice for legs. Will I lose my legs in exchange for my voice? From the moment I made the contract, I was bound to lose my legs, while she would gain hers. I gained my voice, and she began to lose hers…

I tell her, aloud, that she’s now bringing me where my light once shone, replacing my steps with her own. There’s one condition to our contract: Lily must keep moving for her to move. And Lily will do whatever this woman desires. It’s fortunate that the woman has chosen to live for me. To guide Lily, I sketch the clock I’ll use onto a page, securing my clock for myself and hiding it in the central station of Antwerp. I align my clock to her time, setting it to sync with Antwerp’s clock when the moment comes.