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The morning sun is too bright, and I lay still as I feel her get up out of bed. I blink my eyes and bring my hand up to my sore cheek. Everything hurts today. My eyes, from lack of sleep. My cheek, from a kitchen spatula. My heart, from Mireille. Mireille, who is getting dressed quietly in the corner of the room. I steal a glance her way, watching her strip off her nightshirt. She turns and looks at me, eyes narrowed, and I close my eyes.
“I’m going shopping.” she announces. “Then over to the range for some practice.”
I keep my eyes closed. I can’t look at her right now, it hurts.
“Why don’t you go to the park today? It’s beautiful out.” she suggests lightly, as if nothing had ever happened.
I keep my eyes closed and nod. I want to get away from here, from her. I hear her slip her shoes on, then it’s quiet. She gives a loud sigh.
“Kirika…I’m sorry I hit you.”
I open my eyes, but she’s gone.

The park is full of people, all enjoying the day. I lay on the hill, my tablet forming a tent over my face. I don’t feel like drawing. I keep seeing her from last night, how wild she looked, with her arm raised, suds trailing off her elbow onto the floor. How wild, and how beautiful. I sigh. I have no idea what to do.
“Still hiding in the darkness, on such a day as this?” a deep voice asks. I sit up in alarm, rubbing my eyes from the sudden intrusion of light. I squint from the sun as I try to figure out the identity of the speaker. It’s an older gentleman, in a suit. He has a refined but cordial air about him, and his hair is graying.
“I thought you were no longer Noir.” he smiles at me. For some reason I don’t feel threatened. I look at his elaborate cane, and suddenly remember him from the Manor. I can’t remember his name but I know he belongs to Soldats.
“I’m not. What do you want?” I am too tired to care, really. If he wants to kill me, fine. At least my misery will end.
“Just checking in on what the former Noir is doing with her time.”
“Nothing.” I get up and face him. I know we’ve been watched since the Manor, but no one has approached us. I see him frown as he looks at my swollen cheek.
“No assignments?”
I shake my head.
“Then what happened to your face?” he looks at me with a look that seems genuinely concerned.
“Mireille.”
“What!” he exclaims, his head jerking in surprise. “She…she hit you?”
“With a spatula.” I sheepishly confess. That’s right, the former Noir was taken by surprise with a spatula. Go ahead and laugh.
He snorts, then recomposes himself.
“May I ask why she would attack you with a spatula?”
I hang my head. Suddenly I notice that my tablet is open on the grass, with my sketch of Mireille, half-naked, exposed to the world. I hear his gentle laugh as I drop to my knees and hastily close the book.
“Ah….a lovers quarrel, perhaps?”
I stand back up, book under my arm. I have no idea what to say. My lover?
He gestures to a nearby bench. “My apologies, but my knees are weak and won’t permit me to sit on the grass. Perhaps you would care to talk over there?” he puts his hand on my shoulder. It feels strange, to be touched by someone who doesn’t want to hurt me. Somehow I feel calmer, and we walk to the bench together.

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