"Miss Aloma, this is your script. This is Betty, an acting coach. You can ask her if anything's unclear, though you'll mostly just need to play yourself."
The script Annan handed the reporter was about three pages long. She would mainly play herself, as would the other actors. Apart from the fallen warriors, most of them were playing themselves.
"Thank you..."
Aloma managed a strained smile.
"I should be thanking you for showing the people of Middle Earth how brave Free City's soldiers were," Annan said. "You must have suffered a great deal."
Countless people had said the same thing to Aloma these past few days, and she had felt nothing. But when Annan said it, her nose stung and tears welled in her eyes.
"Compared with those who died... I was lucky," she said.
"You can't look at it that way. Sometimes the living suffer more than the dead."
Aloma looked up at him, stunned. "Do you, too?"
"Yes. In my 'dream,' there was still hope for their souls..." Annan lowered his dark eyes, then raised them again. "Oh, right. You probably haven't heard. Ymir's soul returned to the World Tree."
"She's still alive?!" Aloma vividly remembered the beautiful elven Archmage and had mourned her death.
"Alive... in a manner of speaking."
Elves who returned to the World Tree's embrace would be nurtured for a time before being born anew through the Moonwell. But they would have no memories then; they would be entirely new individuals. Only powerful elves had a chance of recovering their memories.
For the dead, that life had ended. For the living, it was a kind of continuation, something to hold on to.
"Lord Annan, is Little William here?" Aloma asked about her Guard. Of the four Guards assigned to her, only Little William had