Niente più tosto si secca che lacrime.

Nothing dries sooner than tears.   

"I could bear every punishment you had planned for me, if only I knew that by the end, you could forgive me."

Leonore's quivering writing was a testament of regret, but how could I ever bring myself remotely closer to clemency? There was no such privilege, it could not have been.

I crumbled the piece of paper in my already trembling hand, gazing at the Rosenthal vase elegantly displayed near my window – well, her former window.

It would always be a deluge of fascination, her passion for cyclamen. She would refuse to even look upon another flower, as if that bundle of bright pink petals was the very definition of herself. And perchance it was; after all, cyclamen meant resignation. She would never leave the ground her petite legs stood on, just to feed some cheap mockery. No, she would endure. She would bow down, but that would be the only extent of her humility.

Leonore changed that. Leonore made my beautiful Aida cower her head for eternity. What was the point of giving my baby-sister such a birth name, if she could never return? If she could never resurrect and tell me with that goofy smile, to stop the madness of staring at a bunch of flowers on a scraped window frame?

What was the point of it all?

Her sun-kissed locks would never hop as she ran towards me, legs gibberish and chest rising with exhaustion. Her dimples would never cave tiny hollows on each side of strawberry-tainted lips. Her questions would never entice me with unabashed sincerity.

Perhaps I was wrong the entire time. Perhaps she was miserable, and I had done nothing to notice her state, let alone change it for the merrier.

The second I stepped inside this very room, anxious to see whether or not she liked her birthday present, my vision blurred. It was not the kind of blur that on-the-verge tears would bring – not even the slightest bit. It was the type that smothered me with the most tenebrous rupture of limbs. My physical collapse was only natural, but my heart...

Do you know the moment when a forensic tears open a body's chest before examination, and you can hear a loud, teeth-drilling crack? That would be an indisputable understatement to how I imagined my slandered heart.

I could not even force myself to remove the rope off her neck. The burden of Aida's locks fell on her visage, head tilting aside, arms resting loose, feet dragging their weight down. I had to descend her, I had to, but the droplets of salty water were making this task implausibly difficult.

She cried herself to death, all because of that scoundrel Leonore.

Despite my affection towards her intellect and the shared points of interest, I have learned to hate Leonore instantly.

It was not something to be learned, honestly. Mix relentless wrath, unfathomable contempt and bitter hostility, and there you have it! Permanent hatred at the drop of a hat.

Years have passed, but my bearing a grudge against her was thick as a brick. Forgiveness? Damn those biblical references, there was no such thing as closure!

"Go to fucking hell, you cunt!" I screamed myself hoarse, shattering the vase as my fists collided with the window frame.

I stared at the broken pieces for a few seconds, taking in every contour of fissured porcelain. Aida's last object laid still on the moist carpet, the cyclamens settled in a random pattern. It was her vase, damn, and I broke it... I lowered myself to the floor, brought the flowers to my chest, and for the last time, smelled the same scent Aida fell in love with every autumn.

An hour or so later, after taking a shower to abate my laboured nerves, I heard an ambulance siren fading off right under my balcony. It was bizarre, to say the least. I had the healthiest neighbours in the whole town, despite their progressive age.

Glancing just a little in between the curtains, I noticed a woman straightening her back after picking her lighter off the ground. I was unable to see her face, but it did not bother me that much. What startled me, however, was the way she removed the ash from her cigarette. Only one person from my circles made a quick pause in between the first and the second taps.

Leonore.

Why didn't she leave?

I wanted to believe that the part of me who would let that question linger was far more influential than my curiosity, but it was not. Before I could chide my lack of willpower, I stormed down the stairs and approached her in no time.

"Why on Earth are you still here? Why did I hear an ambulance?" Maybe my high-pitched tone matched a chipmunk, but I was beyond confused.

"Only two why's? I would have expected more." Leonore ridiculed my inquiry.

"Just answer me."

"I fainted, no biggie."

My eyebrows would have reached heaven if it wasn't for my self-control.

"So, a call was made, the paramedics came, gave you a slap or two, and left?"

"More or less." She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat, reluctant to gaze at me.

"Why did you faint?"

I sensed her discomfort with my never-ending series of questions, but I felt a sudden urge to make myself present in her life – in a non-destructive manner. I could not deal with the cause of my swift change just yet, but what harm was to be done?

"I-I... too many flashbacks, I guess." Her stuttering made my stomach constrict in knots I could never predict.

I hurt her, didn't I? By always freshening her past and not allowing injurious memories to dissolve.

Such a bloody tosser I am.

"Come inside." I motioned her to follow me, using a tone that was far more demanding than it should have been. She flinched a little, but responded faithfully.

While climbing the stairs, I could not help but shiver as her jittery breath fanned across the back of my head. The mathematician in me would have combated against my reaction, for my reasonings were solely made of variables and algorithms. De facto, the broken man I truly was longed for a bond.

A bond with the woman who killed your baby-sister? That would be ludicrous! Apparently, my conscience was already sharpening its fangs.

"Why is the carpet wet?" Leonore asked the moment she stepped inside my office.

I heaved, unsure of what to answer. I could not socialize with her, for I was supposed to despise her with every breathing limb of my body!

"None of your business." My tone was harsh as the chills of a polar night.

Leonore nodded half-way, retreating in her familiar shell. She blinked rapidly a couple of times, sniffling as she gazed at the soaked patch of carpet.

Realization then swirled inside my skull like ravenous eagles hovering above a dismembered animal.

How many times have I made her cry over the past years? How many times have I been the cause of her insomnia, or flashbacks, or break-downs, or even suicidal thoughts?

Here I was, blaming her for being a moral culprit, yet I have been honouring the same title ever since Aida's death. How was I any better than Leonore?

"I... I am s-sorry." I mumbled in a far-off whisper, partially hoping it to be entirely inaudible.

"P-pardon me?" Leonore turned on her heels, facing me in all her wretched glory.

There was no backing-away from my apology. I tightened my jaw, inhaled deeply and stepped closer. She held in her breath, long eyelashes towering over pleading orbs.

"I should have been more tolerant. You have suffered equally." I really meant those words, but my tone refused to obey me, ergo I sounded a tad false.

Perhaps the midget smile dancing on her lips was only a product of my imagination, but it rested long enough for me to register its existence.

She smiled, indeed.

Why, why did my heart throb so joyfully at the sight of a common lip-curve? It was just a smile, a goddamn muscle contraction!

It is not a bare smile, but one absolute proof that you catalyzed Leonore's healing.

For a conscience that was almost constantly pestering me to give in my hatred, it sounded more bipolar with each passing second.

"Thank you." She murmured. "It was her vase that you broke, wasn't it?"

I quirked my eyebrows before she explained herself. "I could not see it on the window frame anymore. Such a shame, that is. Cyclamen was her beloved flower." Her vocal inflexions sweetened, leaving me in a state of utter confusion.

Were they confidents or something similar?

"Yes, it was." I gulped down heavily, seeing a vision of Aida's golden locks as she leaned over the vase to water the cyclamens. That was her last watering.

I shook my head, eager to renounce the grief that memory inflicted, and stared at Leonore incredulously. She was rummaging in the dust-bin.

"Let's glue them, shall we?" She spoke, raising a piece of porcelain near her heart.

I almost dug holes in the floor while approaching Leonore. I snatched the dust-bin from her hand, alongside the crippled shard.

"Maybe you should head to the dorms." I steeled the modulations of my voice.

"Maybe not." She uncoiled her back, closed the gap between us, and placed both hands on my pulsating chest. "I know the vase can never be the same again, but shouldn't we at least try? For Aida."

I gritted my molars, freeing my hands in order to capture Leonore in my grip. "You are not entitled to pronounce her name." She winced in the cage of my arms, but persevered even so.

"Fine. She would desire closure for both of us, Emmanuel. Her heart is that golden." She smiled again, a different emotion surfacing – hope.

"Don't you think I know of her kindness? You talk as if she ever confided in you." I narrowed my eyes, still adamant and unshaken.

Leonore escaped my grip, reached the shard, and put it in between the few inches separating us.

"This one time, let go of your hatred. Please." She implored, her tears dry on her cheeks.

"Alright." I said, taking her hand in the cradle of my palms.