V

V– Anemone

The Princess steps inside the palace grounds, her head rising slightly, and she narrowed her eyes as she took in the sight of the place that had been her home for oh, the last godforsaken decade.

Such an awful thing to refer to my prison as such, the Princess scoffs, tugging at her hood a bit higher from the traitorous sun that was dangerously peeking in and out from the clouds overhead as dawn was close to approaching.

She briefly nodded her head in acknowledgement to the guards who were stationed right in front of the palace gates, all who were automatically bowing right before her presence as is proper, never mind the odd hour of her appearance. Regardless of age, here and now, they have no right to question her.

Her dark cloak was fluttering around her like a pair of raven’s wings as she stalked forward with purpose and confidence befitting of royalty.

Here, they thought, that the child with eyes of red looked like a demon has returned from hell. Every day, every moment without fail, for years–the Princess had come and goes without so much as another glance other than a passing sweep of eyes and an obligatory nod of acknowledgement to any of them. They have always believed the Princess as a person of habit, a person of routine.

…they were wrong, to put it bluntly.

She suddenly paused, eyeing them from the corner of her eyes, and out of the blue, she asked: “...Has Sir Sanscroft left already?”

Silence…

And a second after, careful not to meet one another's eyes, one of them was finally brave enough to finally give her an answer lest they anger the Princess, “He has, Your Highness.”

Something akin to a pleased smile played at the corner of her lips, but only for a moment–because it was suddenly gone, and it made them squirm uneasily in their place at what could that possibly mean for them…

Or for anyone at all, really.

“...I see,” she said, simply, no more than a hum.

She turned away from them.

Cloak fluttering behind her like an onslaught of darkness, the young Princess slowly but surely made her way further inside the palace with a not-smile on her lips, leaving nothing but uneasiness and dread in her wake whilst the guards stared worriedly to one another.

                  

* * * * *

Meanwhile, in Sans Manor, there was a young boy who was at least two years older than the Princess named Jin.

As of now, he was watching over his beloved mother, Lady Amelia, hum in appreciation as she holds a flower that was somewhere between blue and a dark violet in color his father had presented to her earlier as soon as he came home (a gift from the princess, Sir Edward had told them, a bit uncomfortable to say more) close to her face that was pale but content.

And yet, for some reason, looking at the flower, no matter how beautiful and elegant it may seem... it made him feel kind of sad.

And almost in pain.

Like he was grieving for someone.

The thirteen years old boy immediately shook his head to clear such negative thoughts away from his mind.

How silly!

Surely, he was just worried because of his mother. Why, she no longer went out of her room for years unless she needed to get some fresh air and even then, she needed a handmaiden or two (sometimes his father) to help or carry her out because her legs had grown weak to do so much as to stand.

“…Jin?” his mother suddenly called, and he hurried to her side, holding her hand tightly as she smiled weakly and asked: “Do you know about the language of flowers?”

He was quiet for a moment, confused and taken aback by the sudden, seemingly out-of-the-blue question. His mother did that to him–a lot, since she became ill. She seemed more thoughtful most of the time, almost… regretful of some things.

“I'm sorry, mother. I don't,” he answered, “Is it a code or something? Could you tell me more about it?”

Amelia remained quiet, smiling patiently at her only child as she did whenever she was trying to teach him something, her features were sickly pale and tired but to her son, he thought of her as the prettiest woman he would ever meet in his life.

“This flower is called an anemone, you see... they indicate a feeling of–” she suddenly cut herself off and let out a gasp, which ended up in a harsh fit of coughs.

Quickly, careful not to wince at the sound of her painful hacking, Jin hurriedly turned away from his mother to get her a glass of water not far from the table. What Jin did not see however, was the blood that his mother had accidentally spat on the flower, staining it just as easily.

Amelia held the flower closer to her chest so her son may not see, may not know the stained petals as he urgently handed her a glass of water. She smiled as she lowered it down once she's finished drinking, keeping the flower close to a dying heart, “You worry too much, darling. Isn't that supposed to be my job?”

“Oh, cut it out, mother. I'm taking care of you until father comes back from his stupid paperwork so we’re stuck with each other till then,” Jin grumbles but despite his gruff answer, almost indistinctively, his ears were a bit pink in embarrassment.

“You do realize that once you become a knight someday you will also do those things?” she asked, laughing.

“Even stupid paperwork?!” he spluttered, looking aghast.

Her laugh grew louder, “Why yes, even stupid paperwork, my love.”

To her dismay, she suddenly began to feel very, very tired and as if on cue, her heart began to twist in pain.

Ah.

It was time.

She rested her head on his shoulder.

“Jin,” she finally says to him, tired but already resigned to her fate, “...can you please call your father for me?”

Reluctantly, Jin left her side and stood in front of the door, glancing at her over his shoulder for a long, suffering moment with an open look of uneasiness that made her want to cry. But still, she smiled and urged him.

“Go, my dear,” I don't want you to watch me die.

And before her vision began to blur, she saw her son finally walk away to call for his father… just as she had asked for him.

She slowly lay down on her bed, releasing a pained shudder, a gasp escaping her lips. My sweet, sweet boy... you are a good child, and I love you more than anything this world has to offer... you know that ...don't you? 

Amelia slowly held the bloodstained anemone close to her face again, watching it wither in a span of seconds’ right before her very eyes until it began to wither and crumble into dust.

Because an anemone is a flower that indicates fading hope, a feeling of having been forsaken... but on a positive note, anemones also symbolize anticipation… and in some places, they served as a ward from evil.

Little princess, what are you trying to tell me?

Little princess, what are you trying to say?

Resigned that she may not know the answer herself, Amelia Sanscroft closed her eyes just as she breathed her last.

* * * * *

King Arion knocked twice before opening the door.

“Daughter,” he called.

The Princess paused at the sound of his voice, the brush she had in hand still within her long locks of hair when she turned her head slightly over her shoulder to let her father know that she was at least listening.

And yet… those terrible eyes of red were staring straight at him from the reflection, watching and waiting.

“What did I do now?” she demanded.

The King immediately straightened his back at such a hostile (the usual) greeting, looping his hands together behind him formally, “Hopefully… nothing. I simply feel the need to inform you that the matriarch of the Sans family has passed away last night.”

“And I should know of this woman because…?”

“Because this woman is Lady Amelia Crossram, Sir Edward Sanscroft’s wife,” the King answered evenly, emphasizing the last word.

Her expression did not even falter, “And…?”

“He told me you spoke to him last night.”

“Sir Sanscroft did imply that his wife had been ill as of late... although I was unaware she has ties to another one of the North's esteemed family... how unfortunate, I had a feeling we would have gotten along somehow,” the Princess remarked, resuming to brushing her hair once again.

“What does that supposed to mean?”

“I was thinking out loud is all. But dearest father, I am curious of you feeling,” King Arion fought back a flinch when she suddenly slammed the comb down on the vanity table harshly, causing the mirror and her reflection to rattle at the impact, “–the sudden need to inform me of this,” she turned to face him, those red eyes sneering at his poor attempt of an interrogation but her face remained frighteningly composed, “…what are you hoping to gain by asking me of this?”

King Arion pursed his lips, bluish-green eyes narrowing down at her with growing suspicion. No use in hiding it now then, “Sir Edward mentioned that you have graciously gifted him with… flowers from…” he hesitated, clearing his throat, “…from your garden…”

She raised an eyebrow, “I did.”

“You wished his wife well,” the King added.

Something flickered to life within those haunting eyes of carmine. Ah, they seemed to sigh, I see where this is going.

“... I did.”

(And wasn’t that a confession within itself?)

“It makes one wonder is all…” the King went on in a deceptively light tone, closing the door behind him lest someone overhear what he had to say, eyes never leaving his daughter’s, “You were usually so protective of your flowers, especially when someone had dared to steal from you just recently.”

“Do not mince your words, king,” those eyes practically burned at the word–he almost took a step back in alarm, “…just get to the point. I tire of this charade already.”

He cleared his throat again, “Why did you give him those flowers?”

For a moment, his daughter seemed to be genuinely taken aback at such a question, almost confused that he had even asked as she regarded him with a slightly opened mouth…. then, just as quick, her features smoothed over into a look of calm.

Though this time, it was obviously forced.

“You suspect that I have done something ‘despicable’ yet again, that somehow, in some way, I may have cursed this poor woman with bad luck to… to die,” the Princess muttered, red eyes seeming to grow dull at this realization as she turned away from him, moving to fix her comb back in its proper place somewhere in her vanity table.

Her hand was trembling.

“…I honestly have no idea why I am even surprised,” the Princess sneered, but this one was… strangely enough… seemingly directed to herself.

“Just answer the question,” King Arion all but demanded.

A small, almost sad smile flickered over those small lips, “Why is it that whenever something terrible happens all of you looked at me as though I was the one responsible who had allowed it to come to pass? How could you honestly believe that your own child is not even human?”

The King was silent for a moment.

His heiress, in that moment, with her hair that was nearly the shade of his own and a smile so alike to her mother made something within him ache, causing him to look away from her quickly, “…That is not an answer, Princess.”

The Princess, unaware of his thoughts, glanced over at the window outside, thinking distantly of how fitting the gray, cloudless skies are for the moment… she did not even need her thick curtains despite it currently being mid afternoon to block out the sunshine. Such a somber, solemn affair it would be for the Sanscrofts, indeed.

“What exactly do you want me to say, father? What more do you want from me?” she finally asked, her voice a bit strained and when she looked at him, lost and confused, he was painfully reminded just how young she was. Still is, “Because from the way I see it, no matter what I do, no matter what I say, I… I will never be good enough, aren’t I? To everyone, I will always be the villain by the end of the day.”

He winced, “That is not…”

She waited for him to finish.

He didn’t.

He couldn’t.

She nodded, resigned, “Will that be all you wish to speak of, Your Majesty?”

King Arion straightened himself, nodding back at her rather stiffly; King and Princess again, never father and daughter.

The King moved as if to turn away only to pause mid-step. Looking back at her again, he hesitated once more, opening his mouth to speak, to at least apologize… only to close it again. He so wanted to say something else to his child… but…

She was already turning away.