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“Barbara, are you sure?”
The question had never sounded so daunting before. It was just a simple three-word sentence, but paired with a look of genuine concern and a frown from Sister Victoria, it felt like it had the weight of the world. Barbara had to keep her posture straight and pinch herself behind her back to keep her smile from faltering as the older woman scrutinized her. Before long, the nun nodded solemnly.
“We should postpone this.”
“No!” The hoarse rebuttal came out stronger than intended, followed by a couple of coughs, but Barbara continued. “I’ll be fine, Sister. I’ve trained for weeks for this. It’ll be fine.”
The heavy sigh that followed almost made her waver. “Barbara, you’re sick. It’s better to have you rest than perform today.”
There was merit in her words, completely reasonable, too. The charity event was a bi-monthly event held by the Church of Favonius so it was not as if she would not get the chance to perform again. But she had people who had been waiting for her performance, with enthusiasm comparable to when the Windblume was in full swing. The reason for that much enthusiasm was simple: today was the first time in a while since she last performed in public. All of that anticipation, and she just had to be sick now.
“But… But I can't let everyone down,” she refused to back down. “Everyone has been looking forward to this, Sister Victoria. And it's just a bit of flu. Singing a little bit won't make me feel any worse, I promise.”
Barbara had to bite her tongue for speaking such a lie, and inside the cathedral, no less. It would make her feel worse, and she could envision herself being absent from morning prayers for a couple of days ahead because of it. But it did not come from her ego or pride. The idea of disappointing everyone far outweighed the risk. The frown on their faces if they learned about this felt far worse than her fever.
“And… it's my fault too for getting sick,” she added quietly. With clasped hands, Barbara closed her eyes and pleaded, “Sister Victoria, please let me perform as planned!”
She could feel Sister Victoria’s gaze on her, contemplating, calculating, before a sigh cut the pregnant silence.
“Fine,” the older woman relented, “but only one song. After that, I expect you to rest. Is that understood?”
Barbara almost jumped. She smiled and nodded earnestly.
“Understood!”
It was better than nothing, Barbara concluded.
Although initially she had planned to sing three songs, getting permission to perform with her condition was a blessing already. And not just that, her schedule was moved from the opening to the second half of the day. Quite the jump, yes, but the reason was clear—to give her time to prepare. She had tried her best to keep the usual energy, to mask all the throbbing in her head and the lethargy, yet it seemed that nothing escaped Sister Victoria’s eyes. Barbara was in no condition to fully perform, and whose fault was that?
That would be her own.
Memory of a certain chili juice came to mind. That, and the way she stubbornly gathered wolfhook berries in the middle of the drizzling rain would be what caused her current predicament. In her defense, it had been a while since Miss Blanche stocked up jueyun chili, and knowing she probably would not be able to get it if she missed this one, she had gone and bought some. The thing was that the idea of turning it into her favorite chili juice wiped all warnings in her head. What's more, with her keeping herself busy hunting for wolfhook berries, everything was left forgotten.
“Stupid Barbara…”
Yes, aren’t you a stupid girl?
The festivities of the event brought loud noises of people talking, children running around with snacks in hands, and sisters walking back and forth with boxes of used but freshly washed clothes to be sold at low prices. The courtyard of Favonius Cathedral was filled with people and numerous stalls, never so alive since the last Windblume. There were lots of chances for her to help, yet here she was: sitting on a bench in the cathedral garden with an empty glass vial in her hand. A medicine said it could reduce her fever, and while it did wonder, the same could not be said with her itchy throat and throbbing head.
Humorless laughter ran past her lips. Everything was a mess. Not the event, no—she would never allow it to become a mess. It was…
Me. I’m a mess.
And she was supposed to be the entertainer, the healer, the one who turned frowns into smiles with her song and dance, the one who healed and eased all pain. Yet now, she was the one in pain, sick, and on the verge of letting people down with her half-baked performance.
What if I made mistakes?
Yes, what if her fever went up again? What if her cough worsened in the middle of her performance? What if people were disappointed?
Ringlets of curl brushed past her shoulders, covering nervous profile as she bowed her head, and eyes gazed at the hands that gripped the glass bottle tightly on her lap. Sweat formed, either from nerves or her running fever she had no idea. There was this urge to gnaw at her lips, but she held on because Sister Jilliana did not put the rouge for it to be wiped off by her bad habit.
“I’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.”
You’ll fail. People will laugh at you.
No, they would not. She would not let herself make a mistake.
You sure? With that kind of voice?
She was… not sure.
The chance for her voice to break in the middle of her singing was too high at this point. Even if she had consumed the medicine, even if her fever had been reduced because of it, the medicine did not really cure her cough. The itch was lingering, ever-present, and it felt so dry in her throat. If only she had given it more thought and was more mindful, things would not go this way and she could have performed as planned.
You ruined it yourself.
She did, and it was very foolish—
“Heya.”
A voice cut through the train of thought. Barbara looked up and found a familiar face—the one who occasionally stood in the middle of the church hall while it was empty, gazing at the organ as sunlight bathed him in a mosaic of stained glass colors. Emerald eyes glinting and lips curved like a crescent moon. He brought with him a scent of the prairie in the early morn.
“Mr. Bard…?” was the only thing she could say before the cough forced her to swallow the rest.
“Ah, it’s true,” she heard him speaking to no one in particular, putting a hand to the chin in thought. “They told me I could find you here.”
“Sister Victoria?”
“No,” he plopped down next to her, eyes crinkling as he smiled wider, “the wind.”
Barbara wondered if that was true; things like dandelion seeds flew to carry messages to land far away and spinning windwheel aster meant good omen coming your way were something of a child’s bedtime story, and Barbara was no child. Then again, maybe the bard did know something from the wind with his Anemo vision, or maybe it was mere jest.
“And here I am,” she decided to humor him, swallowing the ample lump growing in her throat. “What else did the wind say?”
The answer did not come immediately. The bard plucked a string on his lyre, forming a melody unfamiliar yet gentle to the soul. Barbara closed her eyes.
“They said that someone is in distress and that someone needs a helping hand,” Venti said along with the melody reverberating in the stillness falling around them. “I wonder if it’s true.”
A damsel in distress, though she disliked how it sounded so weak, the term fitted her current predicament.
“Unfortunately, yes,” she laughed dryly, then quickly added, “but it’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly so nobody is disappointed.”
Nobody should be disappointed. Everyone had to be happy and satisfied with her performance because that was what she was singing for. Healing and cheering up people and friends was her duty as the deaconess of the Church of Favonius.
The melody stopped, and the last tune diminished as Venti peered at her. “It’ll be fine. Everyone said you’ve been working so hard on your practice.”
“Working hard…” she echoed softly, because yes, she had been working so hard for this. That was a fact that all sisters could testify to. “But if… if even that doesn’t work… what then?”
Her fingers traced the smooth surface of the glass vial. Determination and resilience were something she learned from numerous failures. It was weird how they failed to come and help her stay afloat this time. She was not one to give up easily, to succumb to the pit of woe, but this time…
A hand landed on her pale knuckle, warm against her skin, forcing her to look up and find herself looking at the most serene, reassuring gaze. A twin pool of emerald, mesmerizing and lush like leaf, vibrant spring contained within the sway of its gleam.
“People make mistakes. It shows how we progress every day. Mistakes are good, so long we learn from them,” he said. “Nothing is perfect—human, archons. They’re bound to make mistakes at some point, and that’s okay.”
The wind picked up and blew toward them, a little cold to her feverish body, but hand warm. Barbara mulled over his words but said nothing. Mistakes were okay, people’s disappointment was okay so long as she worked harder to make up for it. Barbara had it in her, the power to heal people, the power to never give in, the determination to help those around her.
“It’s just… I’d feel bad for not doing my job properly,” she confessed. “To cheer everyone, to heal everyone…”
“I know, you’ve been healing a lot of people. Heal, and heal, and heal,” she felt his hand squeezing hers lightly, thumb brushing the back of her hand, “but then, who heals you?”
Who–
Yes, who?
Who would heal her? Sister Victoria? Sister Edna? Big sister?
Then, a snap of fingers, and, again, it cut through her train of thought. All vanished like those bubbles blown by the kids playing around the courtyard. From a distance, she saw Sister Victoria walking quickly toward them, seemingly relieved to see her, and mouthed something—time? Yet before Barbara could fully discern it, Venti tugged on her hand, turning her attention to him.
“That’s for you to think later. Now, follow me. Deep breath, hold,” he motioned, taking one big gulp of air, holding it, then continued, “and release it slowly. Fyuuuh—”
“Fyuuuh—” she echoed, earning a hearty laugh from the bard. It tickled her, like a wandering seed of dandelion brushed past her cheek.
“Feels good, right?” Venti grinned, leaning back with a retracted hand brought to shield his face from the sun. He looked up to the sky and drew emerald eyes close. “Breathing is good whenever you're nervous.”
Twin cerulean orbs blinked. He was right; those voices noisy in her head no longer poured jeers, no longer noisy and bringing her down to the dark pit. Everything was calm now. Everything…
“And if it’s still not enough, two is always better than one,” Venti pushed himself to stand and bowed in front of her. “An aria is always better with some accompaniment, don’t you agree?”
He offered a hand, the same hand that shared with her the warmth and courage she needed, the same hand that brought so much reassurance. “So, shall we?”
Barbara took his hand and smiled.
Together. She would not be alone on the stage.
“Yes, let us.”
Everything would be fine.