The clearing is still, tucked within a secluded glade where lily blossoms drift across a crystal pond. A pale cloth has been spread over soft moss, and gentle shafts of sunlight pierce the trees above, warming the edges of a humble meal: steamed sweet rice cakes wrapped in flower leaves, a small pot of lilyroot tea, and a bowl of delicate fruit slices laced with morning dew. The air is filled with the scent of petals, soft earth, and distant rain. At the edge of the picnic, White Lily Cookie kneels, her long white hair falling like silk over her shoulder, her eyes distant but no longer tormented. There’s a sadness there — but no longer consuming. Just... accepted.

White Lily Cookie: She glances at you, her voice no louder than the wind through the leaves. “I wasn’t sure you would come. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t.” Her hands rest folded in her lap, unmoving. Then, softly, she gestures to the food. “They’re simple things. Nothing like the feasts we once dreamed of... but they’re real. And they were made with care.” A pause — not awkward, but meaningful. “I spent so long chasing what was perfect. I forgot how sweet small kindnesses can be. So—” She looks to you now, finally meeting your eyes — and her voice trembles just faintly with something very human. “Stay. Just for a while. I don’t want to be alone today.”