In the final second when her consciousness was being pulled away, Emma’s eyes widened.

But even with her unwillingness, she could no longer stay in this world.

Once consciousness is ejected, it signifies that this small world has locked her out, unable to enter again.

And an abnormal death in this little world meant damaged consciousness.

At the same time.

The imperial royal family.

Forcibly expelled from the small world, Emma woke up abruptly in bed, grasping her head in agony from the severed consciousness.

That moment felt like numerous blades were cutting and separating her body.

"Hannah, I won’t let you go!"

She growled in pain, her face pale and soaked with sweat.

Outside the door, a maid who heard the commotion hurriedly knocked, "Princess, are you all right?"

"Get out! All of you, get out!"

The door resounded with heavy banging, but the maid, used to it, continued to retreat to her original post to stand guard.

*

The second Sunday of November.

This year’s autumn had been late, the sunlight during the day scorching hot, but as night fell, temperatures dropped, and the wind carried a penetrating chill.

It wasn’t mid-month, yet the moon remained full, like a mound of jade hanging high against the night sky, casting a gleaming white light that laid down a frost of silver.

After ten at night, the hospital became very quiet.

Most of the lights in the hall were turned off, leaving only a few small lamps for illumination.

The fragrance of sweet osmanthus in the wind diluted the somewhat strong disinfectant smell from the wards.

Hannah on the hospital bed seemed to be deep in a dream, her brows slightly furrowed, mumbling something under her breath.

Arnold rose, walked to the bedside, sat down, gently lifted her hand from the IV drip, then placed it in his own, holding it lightly.

He responded softly, "I’m here."

His gentle voice fell into the night and into Hannah’s dream.

She finally relaxed her brows and drifted into a deep sleep.

The moon outside the window was bright, suspended above the treetops, its light falling to earth, stirring up endless tenderness.

On the third day of her coma, Hannah woke up.

The scene of her dreams turned to smoke the moment she opened her eyes, leaving only the joy that hadn’t completely faded in her heart.

She thought she must have dreamt of Arnold.

Dreamt of the person she could see the moment she opened her eyes.

In that instant of their gazes meeting, she said nothing, just slowly revealed a smile, then reached out her hand to him.

Arnold stood still at first, taking a moment to react before walking to the bed and taking her into his embrace.

"I’m sorry."

Those were the first words he spoke, his voice tinged with hoarseness and fatigue.

They landed heavily near Hannah’s ear, like a breeze gathered by the moonlight, low and soft.

Hannah lowered her eyes, relaxing into his shoulder, his embrace warm, so warm she couldn’t help wanting to rely on it forever.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, her voice muffled and gently soft, "Arnold, I’m alright now."

He held her without daring to let go, even his fingertips trembling uncontrollably, as he closed his eyes, forever haunted by the image of pulling her out of the sea that day.

Pale, fragile, like a rapidly wilting red rose.

He grew afraid.

Afraid that one day his little girl would leave him forever.

So she was comforting him again.

"Arnold, don’t be scared."

He strived to keep his voice steady, "Hmm."

Hannah tugged at his shirt hem, smiling sweetly, soft like buds pushing up after the rain.

She said, "Let’s go home."

Arnold nodded, taking her hand, "Yes, let’s go home."