Chapter 361: "I" Have No Past, but I Have the Present · A One-Year Chronicle, Part 2

After that, we passed by the shooting booth.

It was a small stall squeezed between two larger attractions, hung with gaudy, multicolored bunting. The wooden backboard was studded with balloons. The booth owner was a heavyset man with a handlebar mustache, dressed in suspenders, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He greeted us with a broad grin.

“Care to test your luck? Hit every target and win a prize!”

His finger pointed toward the top of the booth, where an enormous plush teddy bear hung. Its brown fur gleamed with a soft luster under the lights.

I took one look at that bear, and I fell in love with it.

Pandora must have noticed. She picked up the air rifle without a word.

The motion was casual—so casual it barely qualified as a proper stance. But—

Pop.

A balloon burst.

Pop.

Another one.

Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop—

All of them, shattered in one breath. The sound of popping balloons rolled out in rapid succession, crisp and dense.

The booth owner’s cigarette nearly fell from his mouth.

He stared, slack-jawed, at the bare wooden board. It took him a long moment to recover his wits. Then, in a fluster, he scrambled to unhook the giant bear from its perch.

I clapped my hands and jumped. Pandora handed the little bear to me.

“Thank you, Pandora!”

All the way back, I kept sniffing it. It smelled like they’d stuffed it with lavender.

A faint, delicate fragrance—quiet and soothing—like sun-warmed grass.

I loved it so much.

Oh, and I discovered something else today.

Pandora loves ice cream.

While we were waiting in line at the ice cream stand, she bought a chocolate cone.

The deep brown scoop sat atop a crisp wafer cone, glistening temptingly under the lights.

She took a bite.

Then another.

I rarely see her eat anything so quickly.

Normally, Pandora’s manner is always unhurried and contained. Even when she eats, she chews slowly and deliberately.

But the speed at which she bit into that ice cream was noticeably faster than usual.

She looked… satisfied.

Her brow relaxed, the corners of her mouth curving upward ever so slightly.

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I love ice cream, too. I bought one for myself—strawberry flavor, though.

The pink scoop was sweet and tart, cool and silky on my tongue.

Elsa, though—she didn’t really want any ice cream. But she seemed to love those little trinkets they sell at the small stalls. The ones that are new and pretty.

There were colored glass beads, glittering with prismatic light. Woven bracelets with tiny bells strung along red cord, chiming clear and bright with the slightest shake. Little shell earrings, too—milky white shells carved into crescent moons, their edges glowing with a pearlescent sheen.

Every time we passed one of those stalls, she would linger, just a moment longer.

Her gaze resting on those tiny things a beat more than it rested anywhere else.

Even though she didn’t end up buying anything.

I liked those little trinkets, too.

I secretly memorized the kind Elsa looked at most. I plan to save up my pocket money and buy it for her on the sly.

Every time I behave, I get pocket money. I’m sure I can save up enough!

Oh, goodness… so much happened today!

We spent the whole night out.

By the time we got back, the sky was almost bright.

My eyelids were so heavy I could barely lift them, but my heart didn’t want to sleep at all.

I was truly so happy today.

I truly, truly loved today.

Even though I still don’t know how I came to exist in this world.

I still can’t remember my past. I can’t recall who I was before, where I came from, what I did.

Those memories—to me, they’re like a blank sheet of paper. Nothing there.

Dr. Brenner, I’m so sorry!

But I’m so grateful. So grateful that I met Pandora.

I don’t remember my past.

But I have the present.

And that is enough.

……

Elsa stepped into Pandora’s bedroom. Phoebe was sprawled over the desk, writing furiously.

The soft desk lamp cast a warm orange glow across Phoebe’s profile, illuminating a trace of weariness—but also a profound contentment.

Her grip on the pen wasn’t quite standard, but she was meticulous. Every stroke was deliberate and earnest.

“Phoebe, why aren’t you asleep yet? Come on. Time for bed.”

Elsa’s voice was gentle, but carried a hint of sternness.

“Almost done. I’ll sleep as soon as I finish my diary entry.”

Phoebe didn’t even lift her head. The nib of her pen scratched steadily across the paper.

A diary, then… Fair enough.

Elsa thought to herself.

She walked over and drew the curtains, shutting out the hazy dawn light. The room dimmed for a moment, then softened again under the lamp’s glow.

A sleepless night at the amusement park meant nothing to her or Pandora.

But for Phoebe, it was still somewhat unhealthy.

After all, she was just an ordinary human girl.

No transcendent power, no modified constitution. She needed far more sleep than they did.

Elsa’s gaze inadvertently swept across Phoebe’s diary. It wasn’t intentional prying, but the line that read “Day 365” made her pause for a fleeting instant.

Three hundred sixty-five days.

A year.

Without realizing it, a whole year had passed.

That timid little girl who once could barely stammer out a complete sentence—now she could keep a diary.

The journaling had been proposed by the psychoanalyst, Dr. Elias M. Brenner. ℴℴ𝘮

Given Phoebe Douglas’s unique circumstances—at an age when she ought to be in school, yet unable to attend like a normal child—Pandora had insisted on doing everything possible to help Phoebe develop a well-rounded personhood.

Because, in a certain sense, that child’s essence was fundamentally human.

Unlike those anomalies without selves, driven only by instinct, Phoebe possessed complete emotions and cognition. She possessed the capacity to perceive and respond to the world.

She deserved to be treated as a person.

And so, Dr. Brenner had offered several recommendations.

Quite a few of them had been adopted.

Like keeping a diary—having Phoebe record her daily life, even if it was only a handful of words.

Or regular psychoanalysis sessions, to assess her mental health and promptly identify and address any emerging issues.

And purchasing textbooks and books so Phoebe could study on her own.

At first, they’d worried the self-study approach might yield poor results.

Without a teacher to supervise, relying solely on a child’s self-discipline—who could say how long it would last?

But Phoebe was far more obedient than they had imagined.

Even studying—something that gave so many people headaches—was something she quietly persevered at.

She seemed to treasure all of this, from the bottom of her heart.

Beyond that, in daily life, Elsa also took on a portion of Phoebe’s education.

Though there was no formal tutor, Elsa had become an unofficial one.

Reading, arithmetic, general knowledge, etiquette…

All these fundamentals, Elsa had taught Phoebe, bit by bit.

As the former head maid, education was, in some sense, part of her original duties.

It was just that she and Pandora were close in age, and Pandora—for reasons unknown—had always possessed an unnaturally mature disposition. This particular function of Elsa’s had never really been put to use.

Not until Phoebe came along.