August 6th, 2025
South Carolina, USA - 6:43 PM
Ian sat slouched in the bus seat, the low hum of the vehicle's engine and the occasional thud of tires passing over bumps barely keeping him anchored to reality. The plane ride had left his bones sore and his muscles heavy, like he was wrapped in chains.
His eyelids felt like iron doors begging to shut. But he couldn't ignore the lingering images from the dreamc - no, the nightmare - that plagued him earlier.
That chapel. Those distorted faces. The demonic Ruth, Isabelle, and the four unknown brides. And Daigo's smile. God, Daigo's smile. Ian felt his throat tighten just thinking about it. He didn't want to close his eyes again. Didn't want to risk seeing them again.
His hand trembled lightly as he ran it through his hair and took a long, calming breath. He leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling of the bus, watching the dim lights flicker as they passed beneath street lamps. He whispered to himself, a quiet prayer in a voice only he could hear.
"Please. Just let it be nothing this time."
He hesitated for another moment before surrendering to exhaustion. His eyelids finally fell shut. The blackness came slowly, like thick velvet curtains descending in silence.
Nothing.
Not a chapel.
Not a wedding.
Not a single voice.
Just stillness.
...But he couldn't sleep.
His body relaxed, but his mind remained alert, twitching with residual anxiety.
After fifteen minutes later, he opened his eyes again. No terrifying visions, no dream world - just the gentle rocking of the bus and the muffled ambiance of the road.
Then he heard it: a voice. Not a human voice nearby, but a recorded one. Beautiful. Ethereal. Angelic. It swirled in the air like golden threads, weaving through his ears and pulling his heart toward the sound.
He turned slightly and saw Ellie, sitting quietly next to him, holding her phone. Her eyes shimmered under the soft light as she watched the screen, fully immersed. Ian leaned over a little and caught a glimpse of the live stream: Foxxy.
Draped in light and adorned in an elegant outfit, Foxxy commanded the stage with divine energy. Her silver fox mask glinted under the concert lights, and her smooth, precise dancing enchanted the crowd. Her voice was pure magic, each note delivered with grace and intensity.
The crowd roared with euphoria.
Ian blinked, trying to make sense of it all. She looked like a celestial being.
"Do you like Foxxy, Ellie?" he asked quietly.
Ellie turned to him, pleasantly surprised. "You're awake," she smiled. "Well, Foxxy? She's a damn good singer. But no."
"No?" Ian raised a brow, puzzled.
"I'm just waiting for someone to show up. I only watch this stream just for her," Ellie said casually.
"Someone?" Ian asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Isabelle Ravenglass."
The name hit him like a dart. He felt it in his chest.
Isabelle Ravenglass.
How could he ever forget her?
Even now, he could recall the exact tone she used when she once told him she believed in him. The sincerity in her voice. The way she looked at him like he wasn't a mistake. She helped him when nobody else did. Gave him something more valuable than money or resources: dignity.
"What about her?" he asked, turning his gaze out the window. The dark landscape of South Carolina zipped past, blurred like memories too fast to hold onto.
"She's my role model," Ellie said with soft reverence.
Ian turned back to her, surprised. "Really?"
Ellie nodded. "She isn't just beautiful, she isn't just rich. She's bold, charismatic, empathic and compassionate. She's got this calming presence. She's so unapologetically herself. I love that about her. Many tried to be her. But ultimately, they failed. They can't be the one that they contempt and hate the most."
Ian listened as Ellie explained. About how Isabelle used her modeling not just for fame, but to empower herself. How she was one of the few icons that never bent to social media pressure. How she was kind, but firm. Elegant, but never weak. To Ellie, Isabelle was proof that a woman could be powerful without losing her softness.
Ian didn't interrupt. He just let the words wash over him like waves.
And then, almost as if summoned by the memory, Isabelle finally appeared on the stream.
The crowd exploded.
There she was, striding onto the stage in an elegant white ensemble that glimmered with crystalline patterns under the spotlight. Her hair flowed behind her like liquid gold. She raised the mic. The audience silenced in anticipation.
And then she sang.
"Holy hell," Ellie whispered, her eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. She looked mesmerized.
Ian just stared.
The song. That song. The one she used to sing for him.
His throat tightened again, this time not from fear, but from raw emotion.
He was suddenly back in that apartment, lying on the floor after another failed job interview, and Isabelle sitting beside him, running her fingers through his hair while humming that very tune. She told him then, in that fragile moment, that the world hadn't given up on him - and neither had she.
Back then, he had asked her why she chose to model when she had a voice that could shake the heavens. She laughed and said, "Because sometimes, people need to see strength before they hear it."
And now, he understood.
Foxxy and Isabelle both sang. An angelic, divine duo. Angels on earth to conquer the many hearts of mortal.
The bus rolled on.
The passengers were mostly quiet, absorbed in their own worlds. The glow of the phone screen lit Ellie's face as she wiped away a tear. Ian leaned back again, letting the music and the moment cradle him.
Then suddenly, the bus driver's voice broke the gentle silence.
"St. Evelyn's Home For Children!"
The tires hissed as the brakes engaged. The bus slowed to a halt.
Ian straightened up, grabbing his small bag. Ellie turned off her phone and stood beside him. The music still echoed faintly in his ears. He looked out the window at the quaint, humble building ahead, nestled in the edge of the countryside. Fireflies danced lazily in the twilight.
"Come on," Ellie said with a grin. "Time to relieve memories."
Ian gave a nod. His heart, though weary, was warmer.
In his mind, he could still hear Isabelle singing to him during their brief but memorable time together. It wasn't just her voice - it was the way she sang to him, for him, as though every lyric was plucked from his own soul. It made him feel seen in ways no one else had managed.
Somewhere far from nightmares and monstrous brides, somewhere far from Tokyo's chaos, he felt a sliver of peace.
And it was enough. For now.