~

To my Lady, Darlin Rayne,

If you are reading this you have encountered some sort of danger. I initially meant for Collette to guard you from a distance, but in the event harm befalls you, she is under orders to approach you so you might know you have an ally.

Collette is one of my best and would lay her life down for you. Though our correspondence is sudden and brief, please trust her as if she were my own sword.

Your letter and flowers were received with much gratitude, unfortunately a more personal thanks will have to be delayed while I prepare to return to the Capital. 

Until we meet, please care for yourself before others and try not to get hurt.

I hope you will await me as eagerly as I do you.

With much anticipation,

Ludovik Von Taivaria

~

Every day Darlin reads Ludovik’s letter, and every day a vase of fresh irises grace the round table by her window.

She knew it was Collette’s doing and has grown tired of being unnerved by the faux maid’s sneakiness, especially as it made her three day confinement a tad more bearable.

Darlin often catches herself reaching towards the irises, always stopping right before her knuckles can brush a petal.

The flowers’ vibrant blue reflect in her blood colored pupils, Ludovik’s letter pressed to her chest by her other hand.

Darlin sighs, confused? …Maybe frustrated?

All logic and wisdom suggests she burn the letter, but just as her hand never reaches the flowers, she is unable to touch the paper to a candle’s flames. 

She reads the letter again and purses her lips. Darlin would love to blame starvation and dehydration for the suffocation in her chest, but the truth jeers at her— Ludovik’s words… move her. 

She should be over the moon, bouncing off the walls, but all she wants to do is laze on the table and sigh, staring into nothing.

Ludovik’s words are so kind. They seep with genuinely good intent that poisons her. He is a sincere person. Darlin didn’t trust feelings— hers or others’— but is inclined to give Ludovik the benefit of the doubt. 

Lifting the letter to eye level once more, she notes with a smirk, Bold too. 

Ludovik referred to her as “my Lady” which is awfully comfortable for someone writing to a person they’ve never met. 

She didn’t hate it, however. Like her heart is the instrument, and Ludovik a skilled pianist, any offense she might have felt resounds then quickly fades into nonexistence. 

Darlin’s ever working brain said he is only trying to secure her support in light of the information she provided in her letter.

Her traitorous heart did not care and swayed to the melody of the care and worry not even her family affords her. 

“Best not be stupid…” She grumbles and locks the letter away in the desk’s drawer. 

Wander as far as her heart might, Darlin is not stupid enough to believe Ludovik really cares for her. 

In high society, propriety is a must, and, sometimes, propriety demands buttering people up, smiling, comforting them, offering a helping hand while keeping a dagger tucked behind you. 

The trick is getting as close as possible, while also being able to discard others with little or no consequence.

Darlin is no stranger to this, having been abandoned herself, having witnessed others, like Ingrid, meet a lonesome end.

She rests her palms over her eyes, advising herself, “Do not be fooled. Do not soften your heart.”

She reminds herself she is largely disadvantaged against Ludovik. In the first place, she’d bet solely on his chivalry, and still relies on it now.

He did not dismiss her letter despite her, by all accounts, being a member of the aristocratic faction behind Prince Lionel. His letter also states an intent to meet with her— No matter what, I will make an ally of him.

That is enough for her. 

…It should be enough, still Darlin could not help feeling as if she will be largely disappointed if Ludovik takes full credit— Likely because it reminds her of how Heinrich took credit for her revolutionary discoveries in alchemy.

Did it matter if Ludovik takes the credit? Her aim is dealing the aristocratic faction a vicious blow, and he is merely the person most suitable to carry out the task as any harm to the aristocratic faction is an opportunity for the royalists. 

Right, it’s just business between us. That’s why he gave her Collette, the double-edged sword. She will keep Darlin from harm and any opportunity to backtab Ludovik. Hell, one wrong move and she might just be my executioner. 

Again, Darlin yanks her disloyal hand away from the flowers. Best to stay away, Irises are toxic, after all. 

*****

Flora’s stomach hurt. She was nauseous and the only thing stopping her from vomiting all over the table was the fear that Gretchen might just make her eat it.

Flora had more grit than Gretchen expected. Be as it may, every rope can only be pulled so taut before it snaps.

If another weight is what Flora needs to break, then another weight Gretchen shall add.

A butler lays down the fourth dish, a savory brisket with steamed asparagus, and a mild flavored sauce.

Flora gags and Gretchen turns away from the pink roses to glare at Flora for spoiling her mood.

The tutor curls her lips and plucks a rose. She snips the thorns as she lazily comments, “You must find this all senseless, yes? “It’s just eating, why so many rules”, yes?”

Her analysis was spot on, but Flora knew better than to voice her agreement. 

“Your father’s brain and mother’s blood make for a poor combination within you.” The tutor gave a gloomy sigh. “Even if you miraculously learn, I doubt you’ll be able to do anything worthwhile.”

It took Flora a moment to realize the mother Gretchen referred to wasn’t Isabelle. 

Her lips part, words of indignation upon her tongue. They freeze in place at the sight of Gretchen’s derisive, green, eyes.

They are a shade so similar to Narcisse’s, yet venomous in ways Flora didn’t think the young man capable of.

She shut herself by gritting her teeth. There’s no use getting upset because of this mad farce!

When her parents came to her room to offer comfort at night, they told Flora of Gretchen’s wicked plans— This woman is working for the Duchess to force me away from Heinrich and live in disgrace! How can someone like this be Narcisse’s mother?

“Poor Lady Darlin,” Flora starts at hearing Gretchen grieve, “what a bother to have a sister so dreadfully subpar.”

Flora frowns, offended, but also bothered by the inkling of a memory. Right, Narcisse said something similar… that time… 

“Poor Flora. It must be such a bother to have a sister so annoyingly frigid.”

At that time, Flora banged her small fists on Narcisse’s muscular arm and scolded him. 

Darlin had smiled and sipped her tea, seeming not to have heard. There’s just no way considering it was only Flora, Narcisse, Heinrich, and Darlin at the tea table. 

Flora didn’t realize she was crying until a tear splattered on the back of her hand. 

“You…!” Gretchen recoils in disgust. When Flora continued to silently whimper, tears pouring down a ruddy face, she let out a bark of laughter. Is she finally breaking? 

“My, my, are you crying over what I said? Don’t tell me you’ve only just recently become aware of the difference between you sisters?” The corners of her eyes curve up with malignant pity. “You silly thing. Even if you had a lifetime, you could never~ measure to even a quarter of your sister’s abilities. For your own good, do not entertain the idea of being Lady Darlin’s equal.”

“Lady”? Flora only just noticed. Gretchen referred to Darlin as “Lady”, but to Flora by her name and/or insults. 

She imagined if Darlin was in her position, she would smile, calmly, docilely. 

Flora could never really disagree when people called Darlin cold, frigid, or unfriendly. To her, one of the main reasons people treat Darlin the way they do is because she makes no effort to express herself.

For once, Flora agreed with Gretchen. She and Darlin are not the same, and never will be. Flora could not fathom being put down right to your face and managing to smile.

How can such a sick quality be admirable? This woman, the Duke and Duchess too, are they expecting me to be like Darlin?! 

Just a bit more… Gretchen took the seat across Flora and motioned to the untouched brisket. “Well? Eat.”

Flora’s tears were still falling. She was emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted. “Please… Please, I can’t take anymore!”

“My, my, you should be able to deal with this much as Duchess Apparent. It’s a highly coveted position many ladies will antagonize you for having. Can’t you see I’m only trying to prepare you for the worst?”

How stupid does this woman think I am? As Flora’s anger flared, so did her desire to wrestle this cruel fate. 

Flora did not want to be like Darlin, or Felicity. She is a lady totally different from the rest, she will not bully or regard others with a doll-like smile, but seek to understand them and make friends of them. 

Narcisse and Heinrich always said she is like a breath of fresh hair in the mucky world of high society. With the support of those she loves, she didn’t doubt she could make a change for the better!

Gretchen clicked her tongue at the spark in Flora’s eyes. Her lips stretch into an unkind smile. “Flora, what did I say about slouching?”

The maid behind Flora was unwilling, but she also wasn’t open to take a lashing for Flora’s sake— Please understand, my Lady. and raised the three books over the young noblewoman’s head. 

“Countess Gretchen!” 

“Mother!” Flora exclaims, rushing out of her chair and into Isabelle’s open arms.

Gretchen’s scowl was harsh, but Isabelle was determined to help Flora anyway she could. “I believe it’s high time you and I had a conversation.”

“I’m afraid now is not a good time, I was just about to work on your daughter’s horrid posture again. Now Flora, get back here before you upset me more.” 

Isabelle is adamant, “Not until you’ve had a talk with me.”

Gretchen didn’t care for anything she had to say, but, that Inspidly naive look was too similar to Flora’s. It’s aggravating. “Very well.” She pompously heads deeper into the garden.

“Mother…” Flora trembled. Into Isabelle’s shoulder, she weeps in relief, all she’s endured bearing down. “Mother, mother, mother…!” There was so much she wanted to say, but at the end she could only call out with a shaky voice.

Isabelle hugs Flora tight, even more certain she is doing the right thing. “My dear, you’ve been through so much.” Though begrudging, she separates from Flora. “Go have a rest, I’ll settle things with the Countess.”

Flora nods, almost wishing she had the strength to witness Gretchen being disparaged. As for Isabelle, she clenches her trembling hands, squares her shoulders, then goes after Gretchen. 

Isabelle finds the woman staring distastefully at the roses. “This garden was designed with Flora in mind.” She said matter-of-factly.

“Yes…” Isabelle replies carefully, not knowing or liking whatever point Gretchen is about to make “Pink roses are her favorite.” 

Gretchen hums then faces Isabelle with a smirk. “And which part was designed with Lady Darlin in mind?”

Isabelle knew what she was getting at but was not here to defend herself against thoughtless accusations. “I respect your role as Flora’s tutor, but as one mother to another, you must know your methods are unnecessarily harsh.”

“Are they?” Gretchen said, finding more interest in her nails than Isabelle. “That’s because I’m working with your daughter’s less than adequate intellect. Someone of her level has to work twice— thrice as hard as an average person if she’s going to make any progress.”

“When will your insults towards our family end! Why are you being this way towards me, did I offend you in some way? If so, we’re friends, aren’t we? I’ll gladly listen and apologize as needed.”

Towards her heartfelt words, Gretchen could only laugh. “Friends? Oh Countess, you really missed your calling as a jester.”

Isabelle’s jaw tightens in a heated mix of anger and sadness. “Why has your personality changed all of a sudden?”

“Am I the only one who’s changed? Did you cry your heart out to the others as well?” 

Gretchen’s grin told Isabelle all she’s been trying to conceal has long been seen. “Did they…” Isabelle gulps, “Did they tell you?”

“As if I would need others to. Did you think your family would go unscathed after the stunt your daughter pulled at the graduation ceremony?”

“Flora doesn’t carry guilt alone.” Isabelle argues, not sure if she quivers with rage or fear. Why is everyone set on putting the blame on my daughter? 

Worse still, she has no real way to defend her child, especially not when those in her social circle are either shunning or avoiding her.

“Are you willing to say that in Felicity’s presence?”

Mention is Felicity is a weapon that causes Isabelle to physically retreats. In fact, in hindsight, she probably should not have said that in the presence of Felicity’s confidant.

“That’s right, in comparison to a stagnant household’s bastard, who dares chastise the esteemed heir of Fritz?”

“Be as it may, Flora will marry into Fritz. What’s the use in antagonizing each other at this point?”

“What is the use of riding a boat destined to sink?” Gretchen hisses, growing increasingly annoyed by Isabelle’s idiocy.

“W-What… What are you trying to say?” Isabelle stumbles a few steps back. “Does the Duchess intend to—!”

“Gods you’re stupid!” Gretchen stomps forward, her finger almost poking the tip of Isabelle’s nose. “Listen here, the only reason I have ever bothered with you is because I mistook you for more than you really are!” 

“I- I don’t underst—“

“Of course you don’t!” Gretchen throws her hands up. “When have you ever?” Since their first meeting, Gretchen’s instincts simply couldn’t identify Isabelle as who others said she was. 

Conversation further proved her suspicions. Isabelle was too dull, too naive and optimistic. Yet, everyone felt certain it was an act, after all, one as magnificent as Darlin couldn’t have a mother that mediocre.

“I only put up with you because I thought this” she motions at all of Isabelle, “was an act! You really did have most fooled, but I always knew something was off about you.”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. I’ve never deceived anyone!”

Gretchen’s eyes roll. “I’m well aware. Everyone thought Countess Rayne to be this shrewd woman pretending to be kind,” She narrates, “”She uses her husband’s bastard to seize Heinrich’s heart, while her own daughter rules the Duchy” they said.” 

It was Gretchen’s opinion that Felicity let others think whatever they wanted to set the Rayne’s up as potential scapegoats. The Raynes are also not capable of competing with them for power once Sir Heinrich takes the throne. Darlin would also be kept under heel as her powers as Empress would never be complete— not with Flora in the picture. One’s skills are only admirable until they’re being used against you.

Isabelle was still gawking as if her jaw were unhinged, only able to muster dumb sounds of confusion. 

“Flora’s actions had others wondering if you really were as clever as they thought. A few words from the Duke, and now they know the truth.” 

Gretchen sputtered a laugh at Isabelle’s pallid face. She repeatedly jabbed a finger into the latter’s chest to annunciate her words, “You, Countess Rayne, are an empty headed fool. You doted a bastard into a person with no merit outside of her beauty, while the one raised outside of your care turned into the only good thing in your miserable life!” Gretchen cackled, “You’re like Midas if all he touched turned into coal. All around, you’re just a spectacular failure of a mother!”

A moment of silence passes between the two before Gretchen takes a few steps back and lets out a breath. What a good stress reliever~! 

She turns on her heel, dropping a playful warning for Isabelle to dwell on, “Go ahead and smother little Flora all you want. The love you’ve showered her with might just be her only comfort when she’s left all alone~!”

Isabelle wasn’t sure how long she remained in the garden— alone, motionless, speechless. Her mind was  blank, save for the endless echo of Gretchen’s words.

I… I am a… bad mother…? Isabelle’s heart began to race at a speed that left phantom pains on her ribs. She clutched her clammy hands over her chest and whispered in a tremor, “How could this be?” 

Flora saved Isabelle when she was at a point when she could not find the will to live anymore. 

She was only six years old, yet kinder than anyone Isabelle knew, leaving pink camellias at Isabelle’s bedroom door in hopes of coaxing her out of her persistent postpartum depression. 

Isabelle very much considers Flora her angel. Her smiles, her innocence,  all served to brighten a heart once overtaken by darkness.

In caring for her, Isabelle’s once loveless marriage to Howard came alive. 

Flora made them a family. 

A sudden gust of wind drew a small cry from Isabelle, taking her loosely tied bow from her hair and situating it in one of many rose bushes.

She moved to fetch it but froze upon seeing where it lay. 

Isabelle could hear Gretchen as if the accuser were still here, “And which part was planted with Lady Darlin in mind?”