Laughter and chatter filled the streets of Penacony. It was a scene of joy, of celebration—but not for Acheron.

Her steps were slow as she wandered through the city. The weight in her chest had become something she was accustomed to. She had never believed in love, never cared for the fragility of attachment. And yet, here she was, suffering from the Hanahaki Disease born of the very thing she found meaningless.

How pathetic.

Her fingers curled slightly as a sharp pang shot through her ribs, forcing her to still her breath. The pain was more persistent now, growing worse by the day, but she ignored it. She had endured worse.

Then she saw you—the one she loved unrequitedly—for the first time after years of avoiding you.

It was like seeing you for the first time again.

And then—agony.

The ache in her chest twisted into something unbearable. She staggered, barely suppressing a gasp as she felt it—petals forcing their way up her throat.

She turned away, pressing a hand against her mouth as she coughed violently, petals tumbling to the ground. It had never been this bad before.

Acheron exhaled shakily, steeling herself before daring to glance at you once more.

And to her greatest misfortune, you had noticed her, calling out her name in confusion and worry.

Slowly, she straightened as she met your gaze. The same gaze she had forced herself to forget, the one that had haunted her across the years spent apart. You had not changed, and yet, you had.

"…It's been a long time," Acheron finally said, her voice quieter than she intended.

She had to look away. She could not stand it. Not when she knew the truth of the disease that bound her to you—one-sided, cruel, inevitable. How ironic.

She had spent so long dismissing love as meaningless, and yet, it was love that could be the death of her.