The knife felt like it belonged in her hands: sharp, practical, smooth. A weapon as much as a carving instrument. Elisabeth mulled over the offering before her eyes caught the name on
BARNABY FINCH's stone:
Martín del Mar. The very man whom she had last seen a Gracidea bloom for, back when the snowdrops were still in season.
Funny, that.
Her gaze then fell to her own stone, its alabaster surface asking her the same impertinent question:
TO WHOM ARE YOU THANKFUL?
"...What a joke." The florist let out a sharp, bitter laugh as she stared at her reflection in the blade. The joyful maiden that had dropped roses in the garden mere seconds ago had evaporated, the wearied woman staring back at her the one that was far closer to the one that
BARNABY FINCH knew from his Rocket missions.
What did Elisabeth have to be grateful for, in essence?
Her freedom. And who had helped her achieve that freedom?
No one.
It was a guarded answer -- the
safe answer -- and the one that prevented her from having any attachments that could limit her.
And at first, it seemed to be the only true one.
Freedom came from killing the husband that had controlled her life for almost a full decade -- a feat she had accomplished alone. False angels had appeared promising to safe her, but in the end they were just masked devils in her hell. Her so-called savior and once-bodyguard, Simon Langevin, had personally delivered his lover back at Lucifer's front door to face judgment. The reporter she had sacrificed everything to speak to ensured that the entirety of Kalos believed her pleas to be the insane ramblings of a deranged housewife.
Her mother-in-law was almost as cruel a tormentor as her husband. Was she to express gratitude to the Dowager Countess Bortiforte for teaching her the instruments of that cruelty? Or perhaps bow her head to her husband, to express her appreciation that he had finally fucking
died?
White knuckles tightened around the blade's handle, blue veins throbbing beneath pale skin.
"No," she murmured softly, the presence of the man behind her all too distant from her mind as she spoke her thoughts aloud.
"I am looking at this wrong. It isn't 'what,' it's 'whom.'"A pang of regret touched her heart at tender thoughts of her parents -- Francis and Georgiana Fiorelli -- before she swallowed them back. She didn't deserve to express her gratitude to them, not after what she had become.
The past was soundly buried. Better to look to the present, then.
What connections had she formed here, in Hoenn? To be sure,
Cillian Quinn,
Rowan Wrynn, and
Martín del Mar had all been guiding lights for her in Rocket. Without them, she would not have ascended to the station she enjoyed now, respected enough among her peers to feel secure in her rank. There was gratitude to be had for that, certainly.
Friendship with
Izydor Baranowski and
ana fell had proven to be a bright spot in the often darker corners of her life, so much so in the latter's case that Elisabeth had even invited her to work at her little flower shop. And it was here, too,
Felix Gallagher had made himself a bit of a constant presence; perhaps it had become constant enough she'd stopped minding him.
For a moment her eyes glanced over to the place where she had planted
FERNANDO SILPH's Gracidea, still a nascent bud, before her silent regard turned to other subjects.
There were others, of course. Many people she'd met, and though their interactions were fleeting, they left an impact. Too many to name, in truth.
... Such as the man across from her,
Bee. What to make of him? She tilted the knife over in her hands, so that instead, it was his figure shown in the glassy metal. Dark hair tousled in the wind, cobalt eyes stared back at her, waiting to see what she might do. What was it about him, exactly, that always seemed to find her in moments of unease?
Her first time undergoing a mission for Rocket in the Slateport slums, anxious that she might fail in her new vocation... only to torment a League cadet almost to the point of death. Their encounter with the Emboar in the Petalburg Woods, her nails clawing at Bee in panic as he dragged her to safety... and then the way she slowly, methodically killed the creature so that it could never haunt her again. And then, more recently, a secluded picnic by a riverside, where they had...
No. Abruptly, the thought shattered into a thousand pieces to be swept away, as if sliced apart by the very flash of the blade in her hands.
Further back, then, deeper and deeper into the recesses of memory. Those early days in Hoenn, alone in her new cottage with nothing but her Pokemon to keep her company. The intoxicating taste of her newfound freedom, the giddiness of being able to do what she wished, unseen, unjudged, unhindered.
What had Elisabeth first done to savor that joy?
Realization sparkled in her eyes as slowly, slowly it came back to her: a blissful reprieve at the heart of Petalburg Woods, Ledian and Ledyba glittering in their mating dance. How serene it had been, resting there alone, watching them. How long had it been since she had felt so at peace? Kalos was nothing but turmoil now.
And that was where... of course.
Of course. It was all so simple, wasn't it?
Elisabeth knelt before the immaculate stone as reverently as if it were a grave, taking the knife and carving a single name into its surface:
The one friend who had forgiven her for all that was wrong and believed in all that was good in her heart, without knowing the darkness of the sins that had been absolved.
The one name that came to mind when whispers drew her back to Camphrier Town in Kalos, the woman who had held Elisabeth as she sobbed for a child she no longer was.
The one person that Elisabeth wished she could be better for, if circumstances were different.