Her tone, filled with palpable nervousness, hits me like a punch. Did I say something wrong? I feel a knot of anxiety forming in my stomach. Her gaze, marked by fear, strikes me like a dagger. Why is she afraid? And of what? A sudden unease grips me.

Melody runs away, and without thinking, I jump up from my chair to stop her.

Me: "Melody!"

Angel: "Wait Al... I'll go..."

Angel goes after her, leaving me alone in the dining room, facing my troubled thoughts.

What happened? Melody seemed scared, but not of me. It was as if something had suddenly terrified her. But what? Who could inspire such fear in her?

I collapse back into my chair, overwhelmed by these unanswered questions. Why does Melody occupy my thoughts so much? Why do I feel so bad about her leaving?

After a few minutes of solitude, my shadow awakens me by tapping my shoulder, reminding me of my resolution to apologize for my clumsiness yesterday. But how should I go about it? I'm not used to offering sincere apologies, it's been decades...

I think for a moment. I could give her something, a symbolic gesture to express my regrets. But what?

Suddenly, I see her, crouching in front of the rose bushes, a radiant smile lighting up her face. A rose... Yes, a rose! I could offer her a rose as an apology!

I snap my fingers, clearing the table and tidying up the room before rushing into the garden to pick a rose... Which instantly withers at my touch.

Nifty: "Mr. Alastor! You know you can't touch the flowers in this garden. Miss Charlie and Miss Vaggie forbade you..."

Me: "I forgot, Miss Nifty."

I can't even pick a simple rose for Melody... Frustration grips me.

Nifty: "Mr. Alastor, why do you..."

Me: "I wanted to offer them to Miss Melody to apologize and thank her..."

I feel a warmth spreading in my cheeks, embarrassed by this confession.

Me: "Yes... I discovered that she likes flowers... And I saw her in front of her roses... So..."

Nifty: "Oh! Melody likes flowers? Great!"

Without further ado, Nifty grabs several flowers to form an impressive bouquet. But why is she intervening like this? It's my task to give her flowers...

Nifty: "I'll put them in her room... She's going to love it!"

I feel a pang of anger rising within me, but I hold it back. I mustn't let my emotions show, especially those I don't understand...

Me: "Miss Nifty, could you help me with this rose?"

Nifty: "Uh... Yes, Mr. Alastor, but I'd like you to help me in return... I also want to thank Melody, and since she's just arrived at the hotel, I don't think there's much in her room... I've already gathered a few things from the others and the attic... I'd like to give them to her by putting them in her room..."

Me: "Tell me what you want, Nifty."

Nifty: "Can you help me put all her things in her room?"

The idea of entering her room makes me nervous. The mere thought of seeing her sleeping face again makes my heart race. But I want this rose...

Me: "Alright, Miss Nifty, I'll help you with your project."

Why did I agree? Why does this rose matter so much to me?

Nifty: "Thank you, Mr. Alastor."

She picks a beautiful rose and sets it aside, then we head to Melody's room.

The room is empty. Just seeing it like this makes my heart ache. I thought Melody had nothing, but there's a bag. Her bag.

This bag piques my curiosity. While Nifty starts placing the flowers and goes to fetch some decorations, I discreetly rummage through it. Clothes... Toiletries... And a photo?

The photo shows a young woman with long, golden-brown hair, shining in the sunlight. She is sitting in a large red armchair, seeming lost in a book, in a library. She is wearing a light red sweater, black pants, and shoes... Black Converse. On her nose, round golden glasses accentuate the golden brown of her eyes. This girl seems to shine brightly.

Is this girl Melody, from when she was alive? My eyes suddenly fall on the pendant around her neck... The same one! It's Melody! It's the same pendant!

Melody was truly beautiful... Well, now that I think about it... My heart starts racing again... Melody is still just as beautiful.

My cheeks flush... Beautiful? This is the first time I've found someone beautiful... What's happening to me, for goodness' sake?

Nifty: "Mr. Alastor!"

I tense up and hastily slip the photo into my pocket.

Me: "Yes, Miss Nifty?"

Nifty: "What are you doing?"

Me: "Nothing... Nothing... (I clear my throat) So, what do you want me to do, Miss Nifty?"

Nifty: "I found an old sewing machine and dress forms in the attic. Can you bring them down and put them here?"

Me: "Yes, Miss Nifty."

I leave the room without revealing anything to Nifty about my state... I'm pathetic... I climb up to the attic where I finally collapse...

Why did I rummage through that bag? This warmth flooding my body is truly uncontrollable...

I settle on the attic floor, carefully placing Melody's photo on my knees. The filtered light through the windows creates a peaceful atmosphere, perfect for reflection.

I take the photo between my fingers, examining every detail with particular attention. The golden hues of her hair, the warm glow of her eyes, the way she is captivated by her reading... It's as if she is here, in front of me, alive.

Why does this photo draw me in so much? Why do I feel the need to keep it close? Questions swirl in my mind, but I can't find clear answers.

After a moment, I carefully place the photo back in my pocket, determined to keep it safe. Then, I rise with caution, taking the sewing machine and the dress forms that Nifty asked me to bring down.

As I descend the stairs, I feel as if I am transported into a bubble of reflection. I think back to the past few hours, to the tension that marked our interaction with Melody, to this strange sensation that took hold of me in her presence.

Once in Melody's room, I am struck by the transformation Nifty has wrought. The room now exudes warmth and welcome, but my unease persists.

I place the sewing machine on the desk, observing the objects around it. Then, my eyes land on the rose that Nifty placed on the bedside table. A fleeting smile crosses my lips. It's a simple gesture but laden with meaning.

Nifty: "Mr. Alastor, I put your rose on the bedside table."

Me: "Oh, thank you, Miss Nifty."

I stand there for a moment, contemplating the rose, losing myself in its delicate petals. Then, I feel an irrepressible need to contribute to this newly welcoming atmosphere.

I snap my fingers to make a few books from my private collection appear, selecting those I think Melody would enjoy. The authors' words resonate in my mind, like an offering of comfort to someone who needs so much kindness.

As I place the books on a shelf, I find myself smiling.

Me: "Miss Nifty, do you still need me?"

Nifty: "No, Mr. Alastor. But... you owe Melody a note."

Nifty hands me some writing materials, and I take the paper and pen with gratitude. As I prepare to write a few words, hesitation fills me.

My thoughts are muddled, but I focus on expressing what I truly feel. I want this message to be sincere, to testify to my desire to restore some harmony between us.

I scribble a few sentences, repeating each word in my head to ensure they reflect my deepest feelings.

Once the note is finished, I place it in a prominent spot next to the rose. It's my way of saying that I am sorry, that I am grateful for her presence, and that I am ready to take a step towards her.

Then, with one last look at Melody's room, I leave, my heart lighter but my mind still troubled by the conflicting emotions that overwhelm me.