故事模式剧情详表 (移动版)/Ephemeral Page
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7-1
解锁条件：购入Ephemeral Page曲包
解锁要求：通过Alice à la mode
在丛生的林木与鲜花之间有一片昏暗的花园。
一张银色的蛛网在玻璃的角落处闪烁着微光。哦，那是玻璃吗？
看起来倒更像是石头，不过这个独特世界的运作机制比任何其它的世界都要怪异。
来自异界的现实通过空中漫舞的碎片渗入这里，将五彩斑斓的记忆投影到荒芜的白色大地。
周围是紫水晶构成的立柱，满溢出整个地面的光芒让它们也晶莹靓丽。
她坐在浅绿色的精美椅子上，面前是同样浅绿色的小桌。
她一只手伸在身旁的行李箱上，食指随意地沿着皮箱的顶部划动。这里别无他人。
“我们该走了，爱丽丝。”
“这里没有别人”——然而这里确是有一个“别人”的。
他就在这儿，像往常一样端着茶杯，在她转过目光的片刻便又准备好了香茶。她将手掌抚在行李箱上。
“你听到了吗？”她问道。
他转头仔细聆听，然后才答道：“我什么都没听见。”
她举起另一只手，手肘放在桌上，身体前倾，眉眼低垂，慵懒地望着桌子，用手托起下巴。
“那就对了”，她说道。“这个……或者说，这些……很安静。”
“那又怎么样呢？”
“上一次是什么时候呢！？”她略微提高了音调，用这种语气表达着他这个问题的荒谬。
“赏心悦目的寂静风景……看看这片花园，坦尼尔。这幅景观很……俊美。”
她的手从行李箱上举起，指向了两人面前淡入淡出的昏暗原野，以及阴影中点缀着的天蓝花朵。
“我，”坦尼尔开口了，他腰板一直，将茶杯指向自己道，“这样子就很俊美。”
这般自吹自擂让她皱起了眉头。
爱丽丝开口了，她倾身指向他：“给我闭嘴。”
“何等粗鲁，何等失态。”他无谓地回嘴。她一边摇头一边小声抱怨着，又靠回了椅子。
具体来说，距离她被困在这个世界、无法去往其它世界已经过去多久了呢？
她的护花使者坦尼尔一路上都追随着她，还坚定地宣称：“我无法与你分离。”
不过很大程度上，这件事被证明是个麻烦。她正盯着他。
一只橙黑相间的蝴蝶飘过他的眼前，随后他将注意力转向了自己的茶杯。
然后，他一口都未品尝，便将杯中的液体泼到了地上。
一个非常非常寻常的行为——事实上，坦尼尔一直如此。
他张开了嘴，倒不是为了舔舐杯中的残香，而是打算说话。
“我们真的该走了”，爱丽丝先发制人。“这就是你想说的，对吧？”
“如果你明白，那我们就动身吧。”他说道。
她听从了他。她觉得，他行事从不会毫无理由。
于是她站了起来，跟着他迈向白色的地平线。
在两人穿行的路上，记忆若隐若现。它融化、滴落，然后消失于无形。
不过蝴蝶却是例外，它在她的肩膀处一路随行。
坦尼尔姑且又关注了它一下。不过，它也终将淡去——
所有的记忆都将淡去。
A dark garden betwixt forest and flowers.
A silver web glints in a corner of glass. Well, is it glass? More likely it's stone, but this particular world
operates more strangely than any other. Reality bleeds in from elsewhere, through floating shards
that fill the air, projecting colorful memory into lands of ruin and white. Now there are pillars of
amethyst, glowing from a light beneath that fills the entire floor.
She sits in a fanciful, pale green chair, before a small and pale-green table, her hand atop her
suitcase which rests beside her. She drags her finger down the leather of its top. There are no other
people here.
"We should leave, Alice."
"No other people"—but there is at least one other person.
He's here, holding tea as he often is, having again prepared it when her eyes were turned away.
She lays her palm on her suitcase.
"You hear that?" she asks.
He tilts his head, listening closely before replying: "I hear nothing."
Lifting her other arm, she rests her elbow on the table, slouches forward, and props her chin up
with her hand. "That's right," she says, "in this one... or these ones... it's quiet."
"And what should that matter?"
"When was the last!?" she slightly raises her voice, telling him with its tone that she finds his question
absurd. "Silence and a pleasant view... Look at the gardens, Tenniel. This landscape is... handsome."
She picks up her hand from her suitcase and indicates the dark wilds fading in and out before them,
and to the sky-blue flowers dotting the shade.
"I," Tenniel starts, gesturing toward himself with his teacup, "am handsome."
Her brow twitches at the gall.
"Shut," Alice starts, gesturing toward him with her hand, "up."
"Terribly rude. Awfully rude," he notes. She shakes her head, grumbles, and leans back in her seat.
Precisely how long has she been stuck in this world, unable to travel to any others?
Forever, the ward Tenniel has been with her, steadfast in his claims of "I cannot be apart from you."
However, that largely proves itself to be a pain. She looks at him now. A black and orange butterfly
flutters past his eyes, and after it passes he looks into his cup. Then, he tosses the cup's contents
to the ground, having not drunk even a sip of it. A very, very usual habit—in fact, consistent Tenniel
behavior.
He opens his mouth, not to lap the dregs, but to speak. "We really should go," says Alice,
preempting him. "That's what you want to say, isn't it?"
"If you understand, let us take care," he says.
And she listens to him. He never seems, she thinks, entirely without reason. So she stands and follows
him to the white horizon. The memory fades around them as they pass. It melts and drips, all, into
nothing. All except the butterfly, which flies along at her shoulder. For now, Tenniel watches it again.
But it will fade, too—
All memories do.
7-2
解锁条件：完成7-1，购入Ephemeral Page曲包
解锁要求：采用爱丽丝 & 坦尼尔通过Eccentric Tale
所以，这里究竟是哪里？什么才是“真实”？
的确，她曾经遍行于无数世界之间。
她现在也依然如此。对她来说，这是与生俱来的习惯，犹如进食和饮水一般。
但在她发现最后踏足的这片境界之后，上述两点好像就没那么必要了。
在以前，在来到Arcaea之前，她见识过无数的地方，各种奇形怪状的植物和形形色色的人物。
人可以想象出的一切，包括幻想生物和魔法，也都只是她目睹并记录过的东西。
对于一个……“超次元”百科全书？
不管是什么（似乎已经被遗忘了），这份工作的特性让她一直都保持着新鲜感和安定感，然而……
这个世界实在是过于特殊。
其它世界的记忆纷至沓来，且不仅以影像的形式呈现。
她可以听见那些地方的声音……闻到异域的气息……
品尝那些记忆的甘苦，甚至从它们身上获得真实的触感。
那么问题随之出现：什么是真实？在Arcaea这样的世界，她认为这是一个至关重要的问题。
如果……这种全方位的体验只能持续有限的时间，那么它究竟是虚幻还是真实？
尽管她曾周游四方，但记忆中却并无这样的世界。它的存在目的究竟为何？
于是毫无征兆亦无缘由地，她询问自己的同伴：
“那么……真相是什么，坦尼尔？我们怎样才能判断这里是否真实？”
“这里是真实的”，他一边从杯中洒出茶水，一边说道。
“因为你所有的感官都‘认为’这里是真实的。为什么要担心这是某种诡计或者幻象呢？
为什么你要质疑自己亲手触摸到的东西呢，爱丽丝？这就足够了。”
“好吧”，她结束了自己的发言。在他这样的状态下，说什么都没有意义的。
“不说话了么，那就看这里”，他指着地面说道。
两人步入了一个篝火的记忆中，坦尼尔的茶水浇灭了火焰。
“这究竟是个什么原理？”他疑惑道。
“你问我？”爱丽丝觉得莫名其妙。
“我毁了他们的派对……”她的同伴低语道。
“记忆很快就会淡去，没什么值得你自责的，坦尼尔。”
“我们看到的都是真实的，爱丽丝。就算你没看到某个东西，难道它就不复存在了吗？
当然不会。不过，那个篝火确实被我弄得不复存在了。”
“你以后不要乱洒茶水了。”
“我会留下一封道歉信。”
“给谁看呢！这里一个人都没有！”
坦尼尔挤眉弄眼地笑着，又嗖地一下掏出便签和笔。她一边低声抱怨着，
一边在他书写时努力压制着笑意。
在这个片刻，她想起了自己为何从不质疑同伴。不过，最近她很少这样了。“最近”，她想着……
在开始的时候……有什么不一样吗？
她只思考了一小会儿，路上的新景色就分散了她的注意力。她忘却了这个问题。
于是时光继续流逝。
So, what is this place? And what is "real"?
This is true: she once walked between worlds.
She still does. For her, this is an aspect of life as normal as eating or drinking, not that she has had
need of either since finding this latest realm. In the past, before Arcaea, it was countless how many
new places she'd seen, how many strange plants and people she had found.
Fantastic creatures, magic too, everything one could ever imagine: she has seen it, and recorded it.
For... an "inter-dimensional" encyclopedia? Whatever it was (it seems to have been lost).
The nature of the work keeps her profession fresh, certainly, but...
This world really is terribly unique. The memories of further worlds dance into this one, and not as
mere images, either. You can hear the other places... smell the foreign nature... taste from these
memories, and touch them as if they're real. Therefore it begs the question: what is real?
In a world such as Arcaea, she feels that is a very important question to ask.
If... it can be experienced fully, but only for a limited time, is it an illusion or is it valid?
Well-traveled though she is, nothing in her memory tells of a world like this.
What is the purpose of it?
So she asks her companion: without flare, without context. "So... what is reality, Tenniel? How can
we know that here is real?"
"It's real," he says, as he casts tea from his cup, "because every sense of yours 'knows' that it's real.
Why do you wonder about artifice or illusion? Why do you question even what you can touch with
your own hands, Alice? That should be enough."
"Fine," she replies with finality. It is worthless when he gets like this.
"If that is over with, look there," he says, and he points to the ground. They had wandered into
memory of a campfire, and Tenniel's tea had doused the flame.
"How the devil does that work?" he asked.
"You're asking me?" replies Alice, incredulous.
"I've ruined their party..." mutters her companion.
"The memory will fade soon, so there's nothing to be glum over, Tenniel."
"What we see is real, Alice. And when you stop looking at something, does it cease to be? Of course it
doesn't. That fire has ceased by my hand, though."
"You need to stop spilling tea everywhere."
"I will leave an apology."
"No one will see it! No one is here!"
Tenniel smirks while whipping out a pad and pen.
She groans, and tries not to smile herself as he writes.
It's a moment that reminds her why she never questions his company. But, it's a moment rare of late.
"Of late", she thinks...
In the beginning... was it different?
She ponders for a little while, but new scenery distracts her as they walk. She forgets to wonder.
And the day goes on.
7-3
解锁条件：完成7-2，购入Ephemeral Page曲包
解锁要求：采用爱丽丝 & 坦尼尔通过Alice à la mode
他从来不会真的“撒谎”。
他对自己所知的事物如数家珍，就好像呼吸一样理所当然——虽然他根本就无需呼吸。
或者说，就好像进食和饮水一样理所当然，虽然他也无需进食和饮水。
不过理所当然地，他还是会陪伴并保护她……
……真实会给人以纯粹且几乎无可动摇的舒适。
所见所感即真实。看到和感知到的是真实存在的，这意味着真相。
真相带来安心感。如果没有了它，只剩下未知，恐惧就会席卷而来。
或者，来的也许是更糟糕的东西：不应得知的真相，令人受伤的真相。
人会发现自己无法做到想做到的事情，遇到不可避免的结局。
那样的真相只会让人深陷痛苦。
不过，他不会撒谎。
没错，“他”一直都照看着她。
的确，“他”总是会予以她自由，引领她前往新奇、有趣……不同的地方。
这是真的，事实如此。
他只想看到她的笑容。
但他并非无心无念，他知道她所寻求的不止如此：那是无法看见的东西。
“……你偷偷摘的？”他问道。她将一朵花展现给他，那来自之前离开的花园记忆。
“你知道的，我喜欢它的颜色……淡色……”她不再隐藏，盯着花的眼神中充满着喜爱。
“它就像我们在其它世界里看到的天空”，她肯定地说道。“它叫什么名字？”
他知道答案。
“我不知道”，他答道。“它终究会消失，就像所有东西那样。你没必要带着它，爱丽丝。”
“……也许吧，但我喜欢”，爱丽丝把这件他早已知晓的事情又告诉了他。“我觉得它不会消失。”
他凝视的目光飘向了别处。没有征兆和理由地，他倒掉了茶。他也清楚地知道：
她说的没错，花不会消失，而这正是他最为担心的。
他又告诉她：“你高兴就好……爱丽丝。”
她也玩笑般地回应：“那当然！”，一边将花枝插在了耳边。
她态度高傲地宣称道：“你无法左右我的意志！”
坦尼尔轻叩着自己的胸口，目光中并无焦点。
何等不幸……
她的这句话也完全没错。
Never does he really "lie".
He knows what he knows, just as well as one knows to draw breath—though he doesn't need to
breathe.
Or that one knows to feed, though he needs no food; to drink, though he needs no water.
Or, to remain at her side and shelter her, though...
...There is a raw and almost perfectly unshakable comfort in reality.
What exists is what you see and sense. Knowing that what you see and sense is real means that is
the truth. Having truth puts the mind at ease. Without it, with unknowns, you open yourself to fear.
Or to, perhaps, what is worse: truths you do not need to hear.
Truths that will damage you. To know you aren't capable of everything you wish to be capable of.
To know that there is an end, that it is inevitable. That truth, and truths like it, can make a person
truly suffer.
But, he does not lie.
It's true that "he" has always watched over her.
It's true that "he" has always given her freedom, and guided her into places that were exciting, new...
different.
That was real. That is.
He wants nothing more than her smile.
But with heaviness inside where a heart should be, he knows that she is seeking something more:
beyond what can be seen.
"...You hid that?" he asks, as she presents him a flower from the garden-memory they had left.
"You know, I love its color... pale..." she reveals, gazing upon it fondly. "It's like the skies we see in
other worlds," she asserts. "What's its name?"
He knows.
"I don't know," he says. "It will vanish, surely, as everything does. There is no need to keep it, Alice."
"...Perhaps no need, but I like it," Alice tells him, and he already knew this. "I think that it won't
disappear."
His gaze drifts away. With no rhyme or reason, he dumps his tea. He also knows this very well:
She is right: it won't. And that concerns him most of all.
He tells her, "Do as you like... Alice."
And she playfully fires back, "I will!" as she slips the flower behind her ear. With pompousness, she
declares: "You can't decide how I live!"
Tenniel taps his chest and gazes at nothing.
How unfortunate...
She is entirely right about that as well.
7-4
解锁条件：完成7-3，购入Ephemeral Page曲包
解锁要求：采用爱丽丝 & 坦尼尔通过Alice's Suitcase
这个世界不断地发生着神奇的变化和融合，让她为之着迷。
然而坦尼尔看起来并不怎么为之所动。
因此，爱丽丝直接了当地询问了他：“你真的就毫无激情吗，坦尼尔？”
两人刚刚离开一个记忆场景，那些飞翔的机器就洒下骇人的烈焰，他们的背后只留下灼烧的悲叹。
面对询问，他没心没肺地笑道：“我从未感到痛苦，从不。”
面对回答，她只是淡漠地望着他。
他那锁紧的胸膛里肯定藏着什么。
带着这种想法，她试图在他看到令人愉悦的事物时，
找出他眼中的激情火花，亦或是片刻的窒息、欢喜的面容。
有一天——如果在这个从无夜晚的世界里还有这种说法的话——他们遇见了一个旧画室的记忆。
在那里，她决定略施小计。趁着坦尼尔罕见的片刻失神，
她藏到了远处，小心翼翼地躲在了一扇门的后面。
当他意识到自己失去了她的踪迹后，他来回张望，又小声呼唤道：
“爱丽丝……？嗯，你肯定就在附近。没关系，没关系……”
她从藏身处看着他走过落满灰尘的桌椅……最后停在一个摆放着画布的画架旁。
他查看了四周，找到了一根炭笔，然后就坐在了空白的画布前。随即，他开始了绘画。
“戏耍”他的那种微妙愉悦感开始消退，她换上了平稳的心态来观察对方。
没错……
当她当初苏醒在这个世界的时候……
坦尼尔经常互换两人的帽子。他会和她打趣，也总是会询问她想要做什么。
他还会频繁地引经据典，例如诗歌、散文之类。
当她因苏醒在一个牢笼世界中而迷失无措时，他曾引导过她。
以前的他略显憨傻，却令人欣喜。
只是……很快……他就不再是那样了。
她所认识的坦尼尔如今戴上了一张面具。这几乎成为了他的新面孔，因此她也差点忘记了……
他以前是喜欢艺术的，应该没记错吧？每当两人找到有关画廊的记忆，他就会开始指点江山……
现在他正摹绘着周围的景象，并在画布面前加了一个茶杯。
茶杯位于画布前面的地板上，而不是凳子上。
这是他个人的创新，并不是实际场景的样子。
她在门后评论道：“画的真棒，坦尼尔。”
他慢慢停手，终于将炭笔放回了原处，又隔着自己的肩头回瞥了一眼。
“只是模仿而已”，他说道。
“但那是你想象出来的”，她指着画作道。“那个茶杯。”
“……那是想象出来的，没错”，他承认道。“……但我觉得你的想象力大概会比我更好吧，爱丽丝。”
他又露出了微笑。
于是她回应道：“别管那种事情，哥哥。你的画技令人惊艳，将它和我无暇的思维相比——”
两人的气息为之一滞，对望了一眼后，他们意识到了她刚才所说的究竟是什么。
The world shifts and blends fantastically, fascinating her always. Tenniel, however, never seems
very thrilled by it.
Therefore, as they leave the scene of a horrific fire spurred by flying machines, the last burning
wisps of tragic memory trailing behind them, Alice confronts him with a question:
"Have you no passion at all, Tenniel?"
To this, he smirks and says, "I never suffer, no."
To this, she looks at him dully.
He must have something in that tied up chest of his. With that in mind, she tries to catch any
sparkle in his eye, any breath cut short, any sort of pleased look—as he looks upon pleasant things.
One day—if time can be so divided in a world where night never comes—they come across the
memory of an old workshop.
There, she decides to hatch a little plan. In a rare moment of Tenniel's distraction, she hides away
from him, carefully, behind a door. When he realizes he's lost her, he glances back, forth, and there
mutters, "Alice...? Well, you must be nearby. Never mind it, never mind it..."
From her hiding place she watches him step past dusty tables and stools... until he reaches an easel,
upon which is a canvas. He checks the surroundings, finds a piece of charcoal, and sits at the stool
before the blank sheet. And, he sketches. The ticklish joy from "teasing" him begins to fade, and she
instead observes him steadily.
That's right...
When she first woke up in this world...
Tenniel would often change their hats. He would tease her and be sure to always ask what she
wanted to do. He also recited things—poetry, prose—very often. He oriented her, when she was so
disoriented by waking in a caged world. He was sillier, delightful.
But... rather quickly... he stopped all of that.
The Tenniel she knew now wore a mask. It had almost become his new face, and so she'd forgotten...
He did like art, didn't he? He used to remark on it whenever they found memories of galleries...
Now he sketches his surroundings, adding to them a teacup sitting on the floor before the canvas
instead of a stool. An invention of his own, not a part of the scene.
She remarks from behind the door, "That's very nice, Tenniel."
He slows to nothing, and rests the charcoal back where he found it. He glances over his shoulder.
"It's only an imitation," he says.
"But you imagined that," she says, pointing toward the sketch, "the cup."
"...It is imagined, yes," he admits. "...But I believe you likely have a better imagination than me, Alice."
He smiles, again.
And she replies, "Don't let it bother you, Brother. Your technique is impressive, and comparing it to
my flawless mind is—"
And they stop, and meet one another's eyes, as they both realize what it is that she just said.
7-5
解锁条件：完成7-4，购入Ephemeral Page曲包
解锁要求：采用爱丽丝 & 坦尼尔通过Jump
“……将它和你无暇的思维相比，然后呢？”他问道。
“……坦尼尔……”她念着他的名字。
“我的名字可不是动词。你刚才的对比具体是要表达什么呢？”他打趣道。
然而爱丽丝才不管这些。“坦尼尔！”
她大喊着，气势汹汹地冲进了房间。“你知道我刚才那样称呼你的原因，对吧！？”
“那是我的名字”，他回答道。
“哥哥？”她疑惑地做出反应。
“坦尼尔”，他微笑着坚称道。
“不是那个！！”她吼叫着，又是挥拳又是跺脚。“我们是……亲人！？”
“我喜欢——”坦尼尔坐在凳子上转过身。他看起来很满意的样子，却显得令人讨厌。
但在他开口表述想法之前，他又重新陷入了思考。
他闭口不言，一边目光漂移，一边露出一副怪异的苦脸。
“你现在又不说话了？”她的言语毫不留情。
“我就知道，我没想错……！我都注意到了……你是最近才变成这样子的。”
“变帅了？”他试图转移话题。“不，我一直都这么——”
“坦尼尔，我现在的态度非常严肃。”爱丽丝以冷漠的口吻打断了他。
“我想要结束这场对话”，坦尼尔说道。“我的态度非常严肃。”
“因为你在担心这件事？神神秘秘的，到底是为什么？”
爱丽丝的气势并未松懈。她向屋子里又迈了几步，气愤地朝他说道：
“哥哥，我是这么称呼你的，而且态度相当真诚。这意味着什么？
你并非毫无意识，并非一无所知，坦尼尔。你在这方面表现得相当明显。
现在，我要求你，必须把真相告诉我！”
“我不会说的”，他低吼着。
“坦尼尔！”
“别说这件事了！”
“我已经成年了。我可以面对痛苦的真相！”
“这没有那么简单！”
“你又不是我父亲！”
“或许他真的当过你父亲呢！”
怒目的爱丽丝踏出的一只脚停在原地，愣愣地注视着已经起身的坦尼尔。
她的脑中高速处理着来自对方的信息，却只是问出了一句话：“……什么？”
“啊……哦……天啊，我竟然说出来了”，坦尼尔的自言自语几乎微不可闻。
他的眼中光芒闪过，然后他底下了头，让帽檐遮挡自己的眼神。
“不，爱丽丝……我不是你的哥哥。但我记得他。”
“……继续”，爱丽丝的语气透露出坚定。
她的同伴从背心中掏出了一块闪光的碎片：那是Arcaea的一部分。
“一段记忆？”她疑惑道。然后坦尼尔便答道：
“你的。”
爱丽丝沉默了。她看着指间的碎片，良久未言。
“我并不了解这个世界”，他说道。“但我知道这些记忆是因为你而投影进了这个地方。
我可没引发过这种事情。我认为……根据我出生时拥有的记忆……呃，虽然它……
在你最初苏醒之处的四周散落成了无数碎片，但我清楚地记得‘他’。
我‘感觉’自己就是他，不过我的脑袋……显然有些不对劲。”
他笑了笑，又继续说道：“我只知道，我不希望你去了解这一切，仅此而已。”
“……我没事的，坦尼尔”，爱丽丝开口安慰着他。
一道光从他的脸上滴落到地上，像小水花那样散成碎片。他用颤抖的声音告诉她：“我觉得并非如此。”
不过，他还是把碎片递给了她。
她收下了。
透过玻璃般的碎片，她看到一个窗帘在窗前飘动。还有阳光。
她感到一只手抚在了帽子上。坦尼尔的袖口遮住了他此刻的表情。
“如果你看到了那里”，他说道。“你肯定就会明白的。以及，爱丽丝……”
她握住碎片，然后回应道：“什么？”
“我当然只是个仿冒品，但你能否——”他顿了顿。“能否……”
“什么？”她催促着。
“……保重”，他说道。“注意安全，爱丽丝。”
“这根本接不上……你是个仿冒品，你自己说了……‘一个仿冒品，但是’……？”
“……哼”，他发出了小声的不满，一边将手抽离她的帽子。
更准确地说，是将她的帽子摘下，换成了他自己的那顶。
他迅速地趁她望向自己之前转身，又说道：
“我是个仿冒品，但这一次还是听我一句话吧。我只是想说这句话而已。”
他撒谎了。
她并没有追根问底，而是望向碎片，激活了它。
不过，当五彩斑斓在开始环绕她时，她听到了年轻人在说——
“好吧，仿冒品的愿望从来就没人能够听见。”
但还没来得及问他这究竟是什么意思，她就来到了一个熟悉的地方。
"...'Comparing it to your flawless mind,' what?" he asks.
"...Tenniel..." she addresses him.
"My name is no verb. Where precisely is this comparison going?" he teases.
But, Alice insists. "Tenniel!" She shouts, stomping into the room. "You know why it is that I called
you that, don't you!?"
"It is my name," he replies.
"'Brother'?" she answers, baffled.
"Tenniel," he confirms with a smile.
"Not that!!" she yells, balling her fists and stomping again—now once in place. "Are we... family!?"
"I like t—" Tenniel begins, turning 'round on his stool. He looks self-satisfied, and obnoxious, but
before he can say what it is he's thinking, he thinks on it again. He holds his tongue, and grimaces
as he turns his eyes away.
"You're shutting up, then?" she accuses him. "I knew I was right...! I noticed it... Only lately you've
been like this."
"Handsome?" he tries. "No, that's always—"
"Tenniel, I am being quite serious," Alice tells him coldly, cutting him off.
"Quite seriously," says Tenniel, "I would like to end this conversation."
"Because it worries you? Mysteriously? Why?" Alice persists. She steps further into the room, angrily
telling him, "'Brother', I called you, and I said it quite sincerely. What could that be for? You're not
unaware, Tenniel. Not unknowing. You're very obvious in that regard. Now, I insist! I insist that you
tell me!"
"I would rather not," he growls.
"Tenniel!"
"Just leave it alone!"
"I'm a grown woman. I can handle unpleasant words or truths!"
"It isn't that simple!"
"You aren't my parent!"
"He may as well have been!"
With a foot forward, the glowering Alice stops, her eyes set on Tenniel who is standing now.
She processes what he told her, and asks, only, "...What?"
"Ah... oh... dear me, I said it," Tenniel speaks in a near whisper. His eyes shine a moment, and he
bends his head so the brim of his cap might hide them. "No, Alice... I am not your brother. But I
remember him."
"...Go on," Alice bids, resolute.
And her companion fishes from his vest: a shining shard. A piece of Arcaea.
"A memory?" she asks. And Tenniel replies:
"Yours."
Alice is silent. She looks at the shard between his fingertips and waits.
"I don't understand this world," he says, "but I know that memories project into this place because
of you. None do the same for me. I believe... given what recollection I was born with... Well, though
it was rather... scattered, from the myriad of shards around you where you were first sleeping, I
strongly remembered 'him'. I 'felt' as him, though my head is... certainly a bit strange."
He smiles before going on to say, "What I knew made me wish for nothing but your ignorance."
"...I will be fine, Tenniel," Alice speaks to assure him.
A light falls from his face to the floor, scattering in a minuscule splash. He tells her, with a fluttering
voice, "I might say that you aren't."
Nonetheless, he extends the shard to her.
She takes it.
In the glass, she sees a curtain waving before a window. Daylight.
She feels a hand falling down on her hat. Tenniel's sleeve obscures his face.
"If you look there," he says, "I know you will understand. Also, Alice..."
She grips the shard before answering, "Yes?"
"I am surely just an imitation, but would you—" he stops. "Would you..."
"Yes?" she prompts him.
"...Take care," he says, "and stay safe, Alice?"
"That doesn't follow... You're an imitation, you said... 'An imitation, but'...?"
"...Hmph," he makes a light and dismissive sound as he takes his hand from her hat. Or rather, he
takes her hat from her head, and replaces it with his own. Turning before she can glare at him, he
tells her, "I'm an imitation, but listen to me just this once. That's what I was going to say and
nothing else," he lies.
She does not push, and instead looks into the glass, activating it.
But, as color swirls around her she hears the young man say—
"Right, an imitation can't ever have their wishes heard."
But before she can ask him what he means, she enters a familiar place.
7-6
解锁条件：完成7-5，购入Ephemeral Page曲包
解锁要求：采用爱丽丝 & 坦尼尔通过Felis
她发现自己身处一个平淡无奇，甚至有些灰暗的地方。
这是一间医院的房间，有着白色的墙壁和天花板。
准确地说，这是一间病房——一个安静的房间，窗外是几只扑扇着翅膀的帝王蝶。
而令她惊讶的是，她在片刻之间就认出了这里，她从未意识到的遗失记忆涌入了自己的脑海。
这里的外面有一座公园。
这里的护士们友善而耐心。
这里的天气似乎总是晴朗。
她几乎一直都住在这里。
她感到了晕眩，试图将信息都整理一遍，但还未来得及开始，就听到了身后的脚步声。
她转过身，看到门边有一个人，他手持一朵绣球花，
敞开穿着一件轻薄的带兜帽运动衫，看起来颇有现代感。
他在里面穿的是一件T恤，下面是一件宽松的裤子，以及简约而舒适的鞋子。
他的表情透露着单纯和安心——她认识这张脸。这个人看来就像是坦尼尔。不过，“他”的名字……
“……塞德里克。”
靠窗的病床上传来了一声虚弱的呼唤。
年轻人路过她，礼貌地点了点头，然后就走向等待着的那位病人。
不用去看那金发娇躯，也不用看那般面庞就知道，那就是她自己。
这里是她的回忆，她的名字是爱丽丝。
塞德里克将鲜花放进了花瓶里。她的原身旁边已经积累了整整一束花。
他拉来一张椅子就坐在了她的身旁。他手中并无茶杯，也并无言语。
“塞德里克……”女孩无力地重复道，一边从床上坐了起来。“我以为你今天要去工作室。”
“不，不去那里了。我现在自主安排工作时间，爱丽丝”，坦——塞德里克说道。
他们的声音听起来很像。
“怎么会？你没事吧？”
两个人都看向她，然后微笑着。
她未加思索就脱口而出。嗯，因为理所当然，她也做不到多加思索。
这是一个新的真相世界，即将开始运转。
看起来，作为身处记忆片隅的观察者，她只是自发地重复了当初说过的话。
“你还在写作吗？”塞德里克问道。
“你还在画画吗？”病弱的女孩问道，嬉笑中又带着些许戏弄。
“‘我还在画画吗’”，他复读了一遍，他盯着天花板，眼神闪动。
“你来这儿了！”她笑着回应道。“说真的，我还以为你很忙呢！”
“我画完了三页”，他面带微笑，自豪地答道。
“很好！”
“你呢，一个字都没动吗？”
“我写了！我写了好多！”
“那就让我瞧瞧。我这儿也有一本书……”
“好啊！”
女孩把手伸向病床旁边的橱柜。
她都把笔记本和餐具放在里面，除此之外，还有一个她不怎么爱使用的平板计算机。
年轻人从袋子里拿出一本书。是啊……这本书其实哪里也没有去过，对吧？
那都只是编出来的故事……听到的传言……以及美梦。
两个人开始分享、欢笑、打趣。
这四天就这样过去了。
在四天后，一切都结束了。他们本来以为，就算无法永远活下去，但她至少还有三百六十五天的时间。
她并没能在临终时见到他。她在一个清晨感到痛苦，并就此消逝。然后，没有然后了。
她只记得有一群人高声喊着她的名字，仅此而已。
坦尼尔知道这一切。
这段回忆很漫长。她能感觉到。它涵盖了临终的这段时光，但她并不想看这些。
虽然她很坚强，但面对这些时还是感到了恐惧。这段回忆中没有任何可以改变的地方。
她的健康总是会崩坏，两个人总是独处，而他总是来不及赶赴结局。
美梦和故事……只靠许愿是无法变成现实的。
她在两人欢笑时离开了这段记忆。她不记得这是不是两人最后相处时的样子了。
她不想知道。
你会死。你已经死了。
爱丽丝站在画室的回忆中，记起了这件事。
“坦——”她开始寻找。
但坦尼尔已经不在了。
随即，回忆开始淡去。她能猜到这点……
就像他说的，他只是仿冒品，当真相被揭晓时，他就大限已至。
爱丽丝站在Arcaea的虚空中，用无神的双眼望向前方。
万物同时向她发起尖啸。
这个“位面”是虚假的，这幅“身躯”是空壳，这段“回忆”是捏造的。
她的“人生”不是自己的，直至结束也没有什么波澜曲折，更没有陪在身边的哥哥。
你是孤独的，爱丽丝。
你孤独至死。
回过神来时，爱丽丝发现自己跪在地上，带着手套的手指插在土壤中。
她感到寒冷。她想要哭嚎，但眼泪却不见踪影。
她感受着……
她感受到了。
“这里是真实的。
因为你所有的感官都‘认为’这里是真实的。”
她的脑海中浮现出坦尼尔的话语。
她看着自己的手，她看见了。
她将手套拉紧，她感觉到了。
她将花朵从发丝间摘下，她听到了，闻到了。她对着花瓣张开了嘴。
什么才是真实？是我看到的吗？是我尝到的吗？是我摸到的吗？
如果是那样……
“爱丽丝”死了，但爱丽丝活着。
如果坦尼尔只是一段回忆，那么他肯定还存在着。
以真实而言，她只是个四处游荡的灵魂。
她一路来到了这里，不是吗？如果不去管所谓的“真相”的话。
如果是这样……那便还有出路。
她一定会找出办法。
那条来路：通往她一生中最重视她的人。
至于另一个家伙……
如果她没法在旅途中再次找到他，他也知道对方的一部分会永远陪伴在自己身旁，留在自己心里。
也许她也会开始只泡茶而不喝茶。
这份思绪……让她重新露出了笑容，发出了笑声。
爱丽丝当场下定了决心，她站了起来，手指紧抓着“真相”的碎片：
她总是向前看，朝着崭新路途的地平线迈进……
……她永远也不会忘记是什么带领着她前行。
She finds herself in something unremarkable, and even a little dull. It is a hospital room with white
walls and ceiling. To be precise: a patient's room—a quiet room, with monarch butterflies fluttering
outside the open window. And, to her surprise, in the moment she recognizes the place, memories
she hadn't realized she'd lost rush into her skull.
That there was a park outside.
That the nurses were friendly and kind.
That the weather always seemed perfect.
That she nearly always lived here.
She feels overwhelmed, trying to sort it all, but before she can even begin she hears footsteps
behind and turns. There is a person there, at the door, with a hydrangea in hand, presently
dressed in a thin and open, hooded sweatshirt. He wears a T-shirt beneath that, looser slacks over
his legs, simple and comfortable shoes... and his face. She knows his face. This man is a man who
looks like Tenniel. "His" name, however, is...
"...Cedric."
From the bed by the window, a weak voice calls out.
The young man passes her by, politely nodding as he goes, and he moves to the waking patient.
She doesn't have to see the golden hair, the thin frame, nor the kind face to know: of course, it is her.
This is her memory. Her name is Alice.
Cedric puts the flower he bought in a vase. A true bouquet of them sits beside her original self.
He pulls over a chair and sits down beside her. He has no tea in his hands, nor does he ask for any.
"Cedric..." the girl repeats, groggily, as she sits up in bed. "I thought you were at the studio today."
"No, not there. And I work on my own time, Alice," says Tenn—... Cedric. It sounds like him.
"How are you? You're alright?"
They both look at her, and smile.
The words had just come out of her without thinking. Well, she could barely think, for what it was
worth. A new world of truth, here to process, and it seems that as an observer in a place of one
part of this memory she merely recited what was said at the time automatically.
"Have you been writing?" asks Cedric.
"Have you been drawing?" asks the sickly girl, grinning in light mockery.
"'Have I been drawing'," he echoes, looking to the ceiling and then rolling his eyes.
"You came here!" she fires back with a laugh. "I swear, I thought you were busy!"
"Three pages I finished," he answers with pride and a smile.
"Good!"
"And you've got no pages?"
"I've written! I've written plenty!"
"Then let's see it, then. I've this other book, too..."
"'Lright!"
The girl reaches to a cupboard beside the bed. She keeps her notebooks and utensils there,
as well as a tablet she could probably use more often. The young man fishes out a tome from his
bag. Right... it never had been traveling, had it?
It was always written stories... told tales... dreams.
They begin to share. Laughter, teasing.
Four days.
In four days, all of this ended. They both believed that, if not forever, she had at least three hundred
and sixty-five. She didn't get to see him in the end. In the early morning she felt a pain and faded.
Then, nothing. She remembered hearing them yelling to call. That was it.
Tenniel knew this.
The memory is long. She feels it. It encompasses these last days, but she doesn't want to see it.
Strong though she is, facing such a thing terrifies her. No part of it can change. Her health was
always failing, they were always alone, and he couldn't be there: the end. Dreams and stories...
can't become real by wishing.
She leaves the memory while they're smiling.
She doesn't remember if it was their last time together.
She doesn't want to know.
You will die. You have died.
Standing in the memory of the workshop, this is what Alice remembers.
"Tenn—" she starts, looking up.
But Tenniel is gone.
And there, the memory fades. She can guess... As he'd said, he was only an imitation, and with the
truth revealed, his time was up.
Alice stands in the void of Arcaea, staring forward with unseeing eyes.
And everything screams at her at once.
This "plane" is false. This "body": a shell. The "memories" were distorted.
Her "life" was not hers; her life ended with no arc, no culmination, no brother beside her.
You are alone, Alice.
And you died alone.
Alice eventually finds herself on her knees, her gloved fingers dug through the earth.
She feels very cold. She wants to cry, but tears wouldn't come.
She feels...
She feels.
"It's real,
"because every sense of you 'knows' that it's real."
Tenniel's words reflect in her head.
She looks at her hand, and she sees it.
She pulls her glove taut, and she feels it.
She takes the flower from her hair and hears it. Smells it. She opens her mouth over the petals.
What is reality? Is it what you see? What you taste? What you touch?
If that is so...
"Alice" is dead, and Alice is alive.
And if Tenniel was a memory, then he must remain as well.
In reality, she knows herself to be a wanderer of worlds.
She made it here, didn't she? Regardless of the "truth".
And if that is so... there is a way out.
She'll find it.
The way back: to the one who cared for her the most in life.
And for the other...
If she cannot find him again on her journey, she knows a fragment of him will be there with her,
remaining in her heart. Perhaps she'll start making and never drinking tea. The thought... makes her
smile and laugh once again.
Alice decides then and there, feet on the ground and holding the shard of "truth" between her
fingers: even if she may always look forward, to the horizon that marks a new way...
...she will never, ever, forget what brought her there.