Day 1494 /Snapshot

A month had passed by in a flash. The days of laughter and joy-filled games were now replaced with long, quiet hours confined to my bed. I had fallen ill, my small body struggling to beat what seemed like a simple flu.

My parents were constantly by my side, their expressions fraught with worry.

"Lilly, my dear, how are you feeling?" my mother asked, her hand gently stroking my forehead.

"Still weak, Mama," I mumbled, trying to offer her a reassuring smile.

My father, sitting on the other side of my bed, squeezed my hand lightly. "It's just a flu. It might be taking a bit more time, but you'll get better soon."

"I know, Papa," I replied, my voice barely a whisper. "I just...I just wish I could get up and play."

Seeing my disappointment, my mother leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. "And you will, my love. You need to rest and let your body heal."

"I miss being outside," I confessed.

"We all miss your laughter filling the house and the garden," my father said, a hint of a smile on his face despite the worry in his eyes. "But for now, you have to rest and regain your strength."

Their comforting words, their loving presence, it was a balm to my restless spirit. Despite the illness, despite the confinement, I felt a sense of comfort knowing that I was not alone in this. And with each passing day, I held onto the hope of getting better, of once again joining the laughter and games outside.

I did not want to die yet, I did not want this life to end yet, I had so much more to see, to experience... and with my parents by my side, I gathered my strength and decided to voice my idea, without giving away the knowledge of my previous life. "Mama, Papa," I began, my voice weak but determined. "I remember hearing something...maybe it could help me get better."

My mother's eyes lit up with hope. "What is it, Lilly?"

"I heard from a friend...," I trailed off, not wanting to arouse suspicion. "She said her grandmother used to do this. She would cut up onions and put them in a jar with honey. Then she let it sit for a few hours before giving it to her when she was sick."

My father raised an eyebrow. "Onions and honey?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes Papa. She said it was an old remedy, but it seemed to help her get better."

My mother looked thoughtful. "Well, it doesn't sound like it could harm you. It's worth a try, isn't it?"

My father agreed, "If it's an old grandmother's recipe, there might be some wisdom in it. We'll try it."

Relief washed over me. My suggestion had been accepted, and it didn't seem like they suspected anything. Hopefully, this old remedy would give my body the boost it needed to fight off this flu.

The preparation started almost immediately. My father went to the kitchen to fetch a jar, an onion, and some honey. The slicing of the onion produced a sharp, pungent smell that wafted into my room, making my eyes water a little. But there was something comforting about it, knowing that this simple ingredient could potentially help me.

With the jar prepared and left to marinate, we waited. The hours ticked by slowly, but there was a glimmer of hope in my parents' eyes that hadn't been there before.

Finally, it was time. My mother gently woke me up, the jar in her hands. The mixture had turned into a syrupy consistency, the onions seemingly melting into the honey. The smell was odd, a mix of the sweetness of honey and the strong aroma of onions.

"Now, Lilly, it might not taste the best," my mother warned me, her hand on my forehead. "But remember, it's to help you get better."

Taking a deep breath, I opened my mouth to receive the first spoonful. The taste was strange, the sweetness of the honey trying to mask the sharpness of the onions, but not quite succeeding. I grimaced a little, but swallowed it down, determined.

Over the next few hours, I was given spoonfuls of the mixture at intervals. It wasn't the most pleasant experience, but each spoonful brought with it a sense of hope.

Days passed, and slowly but surely, I started feeling better. My fever broke, my energy returned, and the pallor on my face replaced by a healthy blush. The simple remedy of honey and onions, a suggestion that I had almost hesitated to give, had worked, a traditional cough syrup of my previous life.

"Lilly, you're looking better today," my father commented one morning, a relieved smile on his face.

"I feel better, Papa," I replied, my voice stronger than it had been in days. "I think the onion and honey helped."

My parents exchanged a look, relief evident in their eyes. "We're just glad you're getting better," my mother said, pulling me into a gentle hug.

And I was glad too. Glad that I'd found a way to fight off the flu, and even more glad that I'd be able to join my friends in the garden again soon. The thought of laughter and games filled me with a newfound energy. And with each passing day, I grew stronger, ready to face the world again.