When Eliza opened her eyes, she found the sun shining directly upon her, as if watching over her safety. She clenched her fists and felt the dry grass beneath her, understanding where she was and what had happened. She turned her head on the pillow she rested on and saw a young girl moving quickly back and forth with a wet cloth, tending to her unconscious sisters with surprising diligence. In that moment, she realized it wasn't the sun who was truly looking after her.

The young girl approached little Pipi and squeezed the cloth over her mouth; she was hydrating her. Eliza felt the moisture on her lips, realizing she had been hydrated in the same way. Turning her head again, she saw the garden she loved so much, now completely dry; a cemetery where once beautiful flowers and roses stood.

Observing her surroundings, Eliza understood they were out of danger, so she stopped worrying about her sisters' well-being. However, a twinge of fear about what awaited her in the mansion's future kept her on edge. The chaos that had engulfed the mansion was the result of the deception of a plant, a Fidonia similar to the ones resting on the ground, to whom she had neither the right nor had ever had the right to call daughters.

She sat on the ground and looked at the faces and the yellowish hair of her sisters, a sensation of pain in her chest beginning to overwhelm her. Were they, perhaps, my daughters scattered across the grass? She questioned herself, and her mind filled with more questions: Did she have the right to call them daughters after the harm she caused them? Wasn't it a mother's duty to ensure the safety of her daughters? Why did her daughters lie gasping on the ground? What did I do wrong? Eliza had no answers, but she convinced herself she had done the best she could. However, deep in her heart, she knew the truth, although she continued to deceive herself, committed to a character she had created to carry out her true plan.

Brínea, as committed to her task as Eliza was to her lies, finally noticed her awakening and rejoiced. She was happy to know that what she was doing was right and that soon her other sisters would awaken. She told herself that at some point she should thank Ceache for the advice on how to care for a Fidonia and forgave her for how she had dragged her from the living room to the garden, even though she could walk and didn't feel physically unwell, though emotionally she was still affected.

"Eliza," she pronounced those words almost like a sigh.

The young salamander girl threw herself at Eliza without caring about anything else. She buried herself in her chest and began to cry, for now she knew she wasn't alone and that, sooner rather than later, they would all be a family again; at least it was something she wished with all her heart.

Feelings of unconditional love and the desire to see her smile invaded Eliza's heart. Weren't these the feelings of a mother? She wondered if it was right to try again, because she loved them all. She had seen them grow, taught them everything they knew, and had always considered them her daughters. Should she give up after all she had done to get to where she was? Quickly, she found the answer.

"It's not time to cry," Eliza said as she stroked Brínea's reddish-yellow hair. "Now is when we need to be strongest; we have much to do."

Brínea stood up from the ground and wiped her tears with the long sleeves of her maid uniform. Then, she reached out to Eliza, who took her hand and rose from the ground. She shook and adjusted her uniform, giving Brínea a maternal smile before speaking:

"This is much better. I'm going to get blankets, more water, and a sponge."

"Shouldn't you rest?" Brínea asked, showing genuine concern.

"I've rested more than enough," Eliza replied with a smile, then adopted a serious tone. "It's my duty as a mother and servant of Mr. Henry."

Upon hearing Henry's name, Brínea tensed, something that did not go unnoticed by Eliza. Nevertheless, she decided to ignore it and, with determination, turned away. Looking at the mansion's huge walls was hard for her, reminding her of what had happened at the gathering.

Carefully, Eliza knelt down and adjusted her skirt. She removed her gloves and let her fingers tenderly caress the faded and dry petals. Despite losing their former splendor, the flowers still retained a trace of their past beauty. Their withered forms still resonated with the grace that once adorned the garden.

"It's okay," she murmured, and stood up with more determination than she had when she regained consciousness after fainting. She walked towards the grand hall without looking back even once.

Eliza walked away from the garden patio and opened the sliding doors to enter the grand hall, then closed them. An eerie calm filled the space, but as she approached the living room, whispers reached her ears. As she got closer, she managed to distinguish the voices and recognize to whom they belonged, however, among them was one she believed lost forever.

"Rosa?" she wondered and proceeded to enter the living room.

Everyone turned to look at her and the room fell silent. Beatriz, with her robe on, stopped sweeping the floor and approached Eliza, releasing the broom that Henry quickly caught before it hit the ground.

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"Eliza..." Henry murmured, gripping the broom tightly until it began to creak from how nervous he was.

Eliza was mentally prepared for whatever might happen, but she couldn't anticipate what Elisheba was going to do to her. Nonetheless, she didn't stand still and moved towards her, closing the distance. When they were close enough, she waited, expecting her mother's next move.

"You're undoubtedly a better mother than I am," Beatriz said, then hugged her tightly and added, "Thank you."

Despite having convinced herself to be strong and to accept whatever Elisheba or Henry said to her because of their deceit, those words and that hug completely broke her. Eliza, for the first time in a long while, began to cry. Though she felt overwhelmed, she didn't care and returned the hug sincerely. At that moment, she felt very foolish, because she had just told Brínea that it wasn't time to cry.

"S-sorry," she managed to say between sobs.

Elisheba gently stroked her back, like a mother comforting a sad child.

"It's okay, crying is fine. Without sadness, we wouldn't know what happiness is," she said as she continued to stroke her. Then she added, "I learned that from Henry's books."

"Beatriz?" Eliza asked, confused.

"Yes, mother. I am no longer, nor do I want to be Elisheba. I am only a girl in love, just like my sisters."

Several seconds passed embraced in silence, just like the whole room. Finally, feeling a little better, Eliza spoke:

"But that's not possible, now you know the truth."

"The truth is relative. I only know that now I have no bark for skin nor branches for hair, although flowers grow on my head," she said with an animated tone, as if the joke amused her greatly.

"That's something Henry would say, reality and truth are always relative," Eliza commented between laughs.

"Don't you have something to do, mother?" Beatriz said boldly.

"You're right, I must take care of my daughters."

Beatriz let go of her, and despite both being the same height, she felt Eliza grow in her presence, regaining her confidence, even more than before; she had become the mother she admired so much once again.

Eliza regained her mood and, with more confidence than when she entered the living room, approached Henry. Surprised, he broke the broom in two, with the top half falling to the ground and resonating throughout the room.

Rosa and Eleuteria, sitting on the couch, and their companions, standing at the entrance, watched the scene with anticipation, waiting for what would happen next. Since Rosa and her friends arrived, they had witnessed a series of emotional scenes. However, Ceache had already advanced halfway through the book and was moving on to the next page, ignoring the scene unfolding before her as she sat on the floor, engrossed in her reading.

"I have to apologize to you, Henry," she said, waiting for his words in silence.

"It's my fault too. Life isn't just in books, and I've always been unable to express myself well to others. You know me better than anyone," he let out a big sigh. "This is my punishment for playing with the hearts of several enamored women. I'm despicable," he concluded, throwing away what was left of the broom with self-contempt.

Eleuteria jumped up, startling Rosa, who was beside her and almost dropped the empty teacup she held in her hand. Then she approached Henry and took his right hand.

"This is my fault too. I shouldn't have asked you to love me. I shouldn't have gotten involved in your dispute. And yet, I don't want you to consider me one of the women you played with, because I never felt that way," she said with a smile. "I still love you."

"I love you too," Eliza said.

"And I," Beatriz added.

"We do too!" they all shouted from the entrance.

The Fidonia servants, who were secretly listening, surprised everyone. Ceache, apparently engrossed in her reading, slammed the book shut, stood up, and exclaimed:

"I love him more than anyone, let that be clear!"

Brínea remained silent behind everyone, holding little Pipi's hand, who gave her a warm smile that comforted her deeply.

"Well, maybe I'm not so despicable after all," Henry joked, running a hand through his hair and playing with his horns with a shy smile.

"Ah! What kind of manners are these!" Eliza exclaimed, surprising everyone, and continued, "It's lunchtime and we haven't prepared the food. Please forgive us for such a great fault, Mr. Henry."

"Forgive us!" they all shouted, including Beatriz, bowing to Henry.

Brínea remained silent, facing an unprecedented situation for her. No one had given her instructions in such cases. She convinced herself that if she failed Henry, she should follow her sisters' example, but her greatest desire was not to disappoint him.

"It's okay, really. You can stop bowing to me, it doesn't matter," Henry responded uncomfortably. Then, looking at his guests, he said, "But if our guests are hungry..."

"I'm very hungry!" the woman exclaimed, eager at Henry's proposal.

"Me too," added the young man with dog ears and tail.

Rosa remained silent, but her stomach spoke for her. Henry, with his keen hearing, caught it and exclaimed:

"All right, girls, you have work to do, rest!" Henry said, and they all looked at him confusedly. "Until your hair returns to its green color, you are forbidden to return to your daily work routine."

There were some complaints, but they finally accepted, knowing that Henry wouldn't yield in his words. Brínea was more puzzled than the others, for although her hair was yellow, she knew it would never be green like her sisters'.

"And who will take care of the guests then?" Eliza asked puzzled.

"I will, who else?" Henry said with a wide smile.

Although they were happy to enjoy Henry's home-cooked meal, they felt sorry for the work he would have to do to prepare lunch alone. Instead, Brínea felt relieved not to have to help in the kitchen, as Henry had offered to do it himself.

"Of course, Ceache will help me in the kitchen," he added, looking at Ceache, who would surely offer her help without him asking.

"At your service!" Ceache exclaimed with a strange salute.

The living room, once shrouded in a sepulchral silence, now buzzed with life. Everyone chatted animatedly and showed happiness. Pando, unable to contain himself, threw himself into Eliza's arms in a hug, followed by all the others, except Beatriz and Brínea, who watched the scene with joy.

"Maybe we can talk during lunch. I have some questions for you, Rosa," Henry said seriously.

"All right," she replied, looking him in the eyes and clutching the book to her chest. "Thank you for taking the time at such a complicated moment."

"It's nothing, not every day an old friend returns from the dead."