The old woman stood on the balcony, facing the vast ocean. It prepared itself for the new beginning tomorrow—the wind carried hints of tomorrow liberation for the suffering, destruction for the sinners.
A familiar scent reached her. She smiled.
"The delay came to its end."
"Yes," he said. His voice carried the same warmth as always.
"After two years."
"That is correct."
"Went against laws."
"Yes."
"Against reason."
"Yes."
"Against the universe itself."
"For a time."
The woman's lips pressed together. "You granted her wish."
He didn't answer. The quiet felt almost proud.
"She wanted a simple life," she continued, her voice softened by memory. "A life untouched by what she is. And you… you let her have it."
"I allowed what was feasible."
She chuckled. "You allowed what was forbidden."
He remained quiet. Her fingers tightened around the railing.
"You bent the natural order for her," she said. "Do not pretend otherwise."
"She deserved it."
"Two years means nothing for the likes of us."
"It will be to her."
A large wave crashed against the shore, exciting the kids playing on the beach.
The old woman looked towards the sky. "She built a life during these years."
"Yes."
"Lived with no worries for the future."
"Envy. The term for your current emotions."
She smiled. "Made friends. Formed attachments. Believed she belonged."
"All expected outcomes."
"Believing in safety."
"She was."
"You understand," the woman said. "The return to truth is always sharper when preceded by peace."
"What follows is inevitable."
She inhaled. "Why did you do it?" she said. "Why grant her a life the universe had already denied her?"
"She asked."
"Not when—" She closed her eyes and exhaled. "And now?"
"Now the delay ends."
"She is unprepared."
"She will adapt."
"She will resist."
"That is expected."
"And when she discovers tomorrow is her last day on Earth?"
"She will understand."
"... Will she forgive you?" she whispered.
"Never."
"Will she survive?"
"If she chooses accordingly."
"And if she cannot?"
"Then she will become what she was always meant to become."
The old woman lowered her head in acceptance.
"You gave her two years of peace," she said. "She will cling to them when everything else falls away."
"That is the purpose they served."
"... Was this really our last conversation?"
After a brief pause, he said, "Yes."
The old woman remained on the balcony, returning to her quiet hobby of watching normal families spend time with their loved ones.
Outside, in a world built to keep her dreaming, Manya's borrowed peace was already running out.
Her last day on Earth was soon to begin.