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Columbina brushes out Sandrone’s hair gently as her song echoes around them. She has Sandrone’s head resting in her lap, so Columbina sings softly, but her voice still carries in the empty space. The Kuuhenki drift around them dreamily and the flowers sway slightly, even though there is no breeze. Aside from Columbina’s soft singing, Silvermoon Hall is silent. She has lost track of how much time has passed.
At Columbina’s request, Arlecchino had directed some of her men to bring Sandrone’s body here. The Knave had asked no questions, she’d simply said, “I shall leave someone posted outside, send for me when you need me.”
Columbina was grateful for her assistance, but also for Arlecchino’s willingness to give her time with Sandrone. Gratefulness was such a strange feeling. She’d slowly been getting used to it as she’d been feeling it quite often over the past few months, but even so.
And all the stranger was the emotion she was feeling now. Grief. Grief for those who had perished from Dottore’s twisted experiments. Grief for Tholindis, who, despite her faults, had been consigned to a fate far crueler than she deserved. Grief for her sisters, who had done all they could and still been punished unjustly. Even grief for Rerir, who despite all his terrible deeds was once just a man in love.
And most of all, grief for Sandrone. When Columbina had promised Canon she would uncover her eyes once she returned home, her first thought had been of finally seeing Sandrone smile. To instead have her first glimpse of her dearest friend be Sandrone lying lifeless at her feet is nearly too cruel a reality to bear.
But Columbina knows Sandrone would be furious if she wasted her sacrifice in mourning. She could almost hear her friend’s scornful voice saying, “Honestly, Columbina, after all that, you’re still going to cover your eyes? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.”
Columbina is doing her best to tidy up Sandrone after the fight, knowing how much she detested being unkempt in any way. At Columbina’s request, a freshly pressed dress and bonnet for Sandrone were brought. Arlecchino had helped her replace Sandrone’s tattered clothing before she left, and the new bonnet lies on a bed of flowers nearby. Shoes Columbina had polished herself sit next to the headpiece.
Never wavering in her song, Columbina slowly begins to braid Sandrone’s hair back into its usual style. Her fingers are a bit clumsy and unpracticed, but she thinks she manages well enough. She’s unwilling to share this task with another, after all. Not even the Traveler and he most certainly knows how to braid hair.
Once Sandrone’s hair is done to her liking, Columbina finally stops singing to say softly, “I imagine you would hate this. Me fussing over you. Well, anyone fussing over you, but perhaps me in particular more so than others?”
It breaks her heart, a bit, knowing she won’t get an answer, but she continues, “Well, at any rate, I wanted to do this for you. It felt like the least I could do.”
Columbina pauses, biting her lip as tears suddenly trickle silently down her face. She’d left her eyes uncovered, needing to see as much of Sandrone as possible before they parted. Luonnotar flutters up to her and grips her arm gently, laying her head on Columbina’s shoulder for comfort. Crying feels so strange, but she can’t help herself. It’s as though all she’s feeling must somehow escape, and her tears are the result.
“Sandrone, I…” Columbina’s voice wavers and she takes a deep breath, “I never had the chance to thank you for all you did for me. I think perhaps you would claim it was not for me, but we’d both know you were lying. Not just the heroics you performed to see me home, either. You were my first true friend. You might claim otherwise, but it was you who taught me how it feels to have a companion. Not a colleague, not a disciple, not a subject, not a master. Just a friend.
“I can’t quite imagine a world without you in it. This feels like a terrible dream. But I know that you would not tolerate me grieving for long, were you here. You’ve always been so strong, so I shall do my best to follow your example.”
She falls silent again, carefully tying the ribbon into Sandrone’s hair. The bonnet comes next, tucked in meticulously with hidden pins.
Columbina leans back to appraise her efforts. Sandrone lies in her lap, still as stone. But with her hair fixed and her bonnet replaced, it is almost as if she could simply be sleeping.
Columbina gently brushes some of Sandrone’s bangs from her forehead and leans down to press a soft kiss there.
“I truly cannot imagine saying goodbye to you, my dearest Sandrone, and so instead I will simply say this:
I shall see you again, someday. And I look forward to seeing your smile.”