Marie greeted me the next morning by making me ask Étienne to tutor me in potion-making. Unfortunately for Love Blooming, it couldn’t stop me, Hanna Drowned, from asking Antoinette if she wanted to join in, and it also couldn’t stop her from accepting.

When we arrived, we found Étienne riding a snow-white horse around a course, the obstacles and fences and the overhanging leaves polished to a shine. I’d stepped right into a sparkling, highly-saturated cutscene.

I lifted my hand to wave; Antoinette pulled it down. She hissed, “Let’s see what the prince is like when he thinks no one is watching.”

I still wasn’t totally sure that he existed when I wasn’t watching.

We stood near the bleachers in our sundresses, me trying to protect my head of thick black hair in the shade of Antoinette’s parasol. All I knew about horses was that what I was watching was beautiful. Even at nothing faster than a trot, Étienne’s horse’s mane and tail streamed like silvery ribbons on every tight turn; her shiny hooves picked up high with every confident step. Beams were propped on wood stands shaped like colonnades and Étienne’s horse flew over them with ease.

Antoinette’s blue eyes were focused on him like she was an archer and he was a moving target. My inner self rubbed her hands together with evil glee.

I asked, feigning ignorance, “Do you ride?”

It took her a second. “What?”

“Do you ride? It looks like you’re watching his technique.”

“I used to.”

Like singing. Did she give it up when her mother died? Or maybe her sickness made riding too hard on her? I didn’t have a lot of catalysts in her life to pick from, and after all, I was still in a video game. All the characters’ pasts could be flattened into one or two important events and a handful of charming anecdotes.

Étienne soared around the course once more, then slowed his horse to a walk. He stood up in the stirrups to scratch between her big ears. He was cooing to her, so quietly that I could only hear the gentle rhythm of his voice and not the words.

Right as he leapt from the saddle, two servants darted out of the shadows. It was so sudden that I thought they had serious news for him–until one held out a hand for the reins and the other gestured Étienne to the gate.

“No worries, gentlemen. I’ll turn her in.” Étienne held the reins tightly, his horse nudging his shoulder with her nose.

“His Majesty insists, Your Highness.”

“She’ll think all I want her for is working.” His tone was jovial, patient. He rubbed the horse’s neck, turning her towards the gate, and she bumped into his back as the groom (that’s what they were called, right?) cut Étienne off. Étienne said, “Let me untack and groom her at least.”

“We must insist on taking over such unseemly matters, Your Highness.”

Étienne opened his mouth. And no words came out. Disappointment dragged down his expression. Finally, he handed off the reins–but not before giving his horse a scratch on the neck and telling her, “Good work today, Madeleine. Careful with her, please. She isn’t so confident with strangers. I’d really rather if I…” He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

I whispered, “Are servants even allowed to talk to the prince like that?”

“I don’t imagine so. Mine know that when I insist on doing something myself, to not allow me is tantamount to disobeying.” She rolled her eyes. “I suppose the king is as paranoid about the prince stepping in dung as the prince partying with strangers.”

Be for real! Was there a more princely sport than horseback riding? Étienne had looked like he’d sailed right out of a fairy tale.

When Étienne ran into us on the path to the palace, I learned one more way that game logic controlled the world: Étienne sure did not stink like a barn. He smelled like lilac and earth and boy, but not real-life gym-sweat-and-mom’s-laundry-detergent boy. Just…boy without ties to the world I knew.

Étienne smiled at us both. He smiled extra-brightly at me, sky-blue eyes crinkling. First Lou, now him; knowing I cheered them up just by existing made my stomach flutter. “Good afternoon, ladies. I’m sorry, I was practicing my riding, so I’ll have to change.”

“No matter. Put us where we can work,” Antoinette said. The way she slotted herself between Étienne and me, I was pretty sure she’d caught a whiff of boy too, and it fascinated her a heck of a lot more than it fascinated me.

Oh, Étienne. Turns out you're not only the safe option for newbie players, but for the villainess, too!

~*~

As soon as we were inside, I began to enact my plan.

I asked for the powder room, pointing out how I’d gotten dirt on my ankles (and purposely smeared some on my cheek) from being so close to the arena. Étienne had a servant escort me through the labyrinthine halls. I’d only spent a couple days here before moving into La Belle Lavande, after all, and I’d barely explored a fraction of the place.

I took a second to be stunned all over again by the bathroom. The game had given us the dignified gift of indoor plumbing, so this guest bathroom had a glass-walled shower that took up half the room and the taps on the marble sink(s!!) were plated with gold. I sniffed the soaps–lemon soap shaped like tulips, coconut soap shaped like a sand dollar, eucalyptus soap shaped like a bundle of leaves…what was this, a Lush?

I emptied my purse on the white countertop. I’d bought a pipe and tobacco in the hamlet when walking back from Sylvain’s place, so I lit it up and wafted the smoke into my hair while scrubbing away the dirt. I soaked and blotted the hem of my sundress, so I’d look like I put real effort into this lie.

When Étienne was fifteen, a report circulated in the tabloids, exposing him as a rabble rouser. Drinking! Smoking underage! At the horse races! With friends from his boys' private school, unvetted by his guardians!

Ever since, no matter how much philanthropy the poor guy does or how bland he acts in public addresses, the papers remind the people of Eavredor that he could revert to his dastardly ways at any point.

Needless to say, Étienne wouldn't find much reason to love a girl who reminded him of the biggest–and only–stain on his reputation. The mature, reserved woman at her side? She’d look irresistible in comparison.

So I was satisfied by the tiny wrinkle in Étienne's nose when he greeted me in the library.

I fluffed my black hair to waft around the tobacco smell. "Ready to start the lesson?"

Étienne cleared his throat and walked me to a cherrywood table where Antoinette was sitting. She was flipping through what looked like novels. The love interests’ notes were spread around, as were some textbooks on potion-making, some classroom vials of stable potion base, bundled herbs, a sauce tureen-sized cauldron, and an alembic.

Étienne explained, "We'll practice with some beginner’s potions to help you get the feel for it, and then–"

Antoinette grimaced. "Is that you, Chloé, or are they burning up the gardens?"

Yikes. I could smell myself… "Is it that bad? Sorry, I tried to keep it secret…”

"Oh, please. You don't smoke. I live ten feet away from you. I would know."

Faced with her, I felt like I had to scramble for some explanation. “It’s a, um, recent thing? Yesterday I was in town and I ran into some guys who were smoking, and they insisted I try, so I did, and they lent me the pipe for the weekend,” WHO DOES THAT? “and I thought, well, it’s classy and here I am in the palace, so…you know…” Shut up! Shut up!!

Antoinette gave me that panty-dropping arched eyebrow. "How stupid are you? Can't you stand your ground?"

Holy crap! My face burned like a wildfire. I felt more put on the spot than when I got my first call-out post on tumblr, calling me everything from a misogynist to an abuse apologist.

Antoinette continued, "Thanks to Louis and his sisters, I bet everyone at La Belle Lavande knows you've lost your memory. Boys will want to mold you into whatever they want."

My heart was pounding, just the way an otome game protagonist’s heart should. She was being way mean while doing it, but…

She was defending me!

"I…you're right. I'm sorry, it was stupid."

"At least you learned something."

I tumbled into my chair at the table, feeling all squirmy. Antoinette turned back to her books–not without hitting me with an eyeroll, though.

Étienne said, "...Well, okay. Let's get started."

Rémi may have teased Étienne about school, but he was a pretty good teacher. He lacked some confidence and was kinda prone to misspelling things, that was all. I could tell he was taking his chance to keep pretty close to me. It wasn’t in Rémi’s casually comfortable way or Lou’s quiet lingering way–I felt observed, but not in a bad way, more like I was sitting for a painting and he was the artist. Still, fortunately, every time I was confident enough to do something alone for more than ten seconds, Antoinette snatched his attention and asked him about some book in his collection. 

As I made a simple, chrysanthemum-infused, insomnia-aiding tonic to test out my skills with simmering and measuring, I realised why I’d been so embarrassed by Antoinette calling me out.

When I was making my plan for today, all I thought about was how Étienne didn't like when Marie was harsh or rash. He was programmed to skew towards sugar!Marie. Sour!Marie was a total non-starter. Spice!Marie was the best at pushing him forwards on his character arc, in my opinion, and even she had to step carefully.

However…at this table, sitting beside him as he helped me cool my magic and cut up stems perfectly…I felt stupid. He wasn’t only a program with binary choices: he was sorta my friend. I’d found out pretty fast that I wasn’t able to treat these characters like puppets when I was face-to-face with them. And Antoinette had made me feel…she made the scenario feel too real.

She made Chloé and her dumb decisions feel too real.

An hour in, Étienne was summoned. Apparently his mother wanted to talk to him. I had a feeling she either didn't care or had absolutely no idea that her son was busy.

In the game, Marie took this chance to slink around. She overheard a conversation between the queen and the prince where she was really hard on him for a speech he and his tutor had prepared. The queen dismissed Marie as a useless, distracting pet project.

Yeah, I wasn't gonna open that can of worms.

Antoinette said out of nowhere, “Why on earth did you fake that you were a smoker?”

I plastered on my best innocent face, freezing on my way to pick up my mixing spoon. “Fake?”

“Are you trying to make Étienne dislike you?”

“I–uh, well–”

“Is he bothering you?”

“No! No. Not at all. I promise. I just…” Think, think, think! The answer was a little closer to my tongue than I expected. “It’s scary, you know, being liked so much by him? Not because I don’t trust him! I mean, he’s the prince and I’m a nobody. Good things don’t happen to girls like me who are liked too much by guys like him. People get…jealous.”

“Afraid of wicked stepsisters?” She said it through a rough sigh, flicking her red hair off her shoulder. “All those girls are harmless. The kind of girl that should scare you in a love triangle is me. I–”

A servant entered the room holding an envelope–then paused, presumably noticing the distinct lack of Étienne.

Antoinette made the same guess. "The prince is with the queen. What do you want?"

“I have a delivery for His Highness.”

“And will you stand there waiting? Leave it here. He’ll be back.”

The servant said, not looking at Antoinette, seemingly more out of duty than rudeness, “It is meant to be handed directly to His Highness.”

“Please. Do you really think Étienne, of all people in this palace, would rather you wait around and neglect your duties, possibly getting in trouble with your superior, instead of giving us the delivery?”

After a momentary hesitation, the servant placed her delivery on the table: a few folded pieces of parchment with the seal of the kingdom’s guard. My chest tightened as I gave my violet potion a few cursory mixes.

“Thank you. Now back to work.” Antoinette waved the servant away. She dutifully bowed, turned on a heel, and vanished.

As soon as the library door closed, Antoinette picked up the parchment and unfolded it.

“Hey, should you be reading that?”

“My father received the same letter. It’s about that Gagnon arson case.” Antoinette flattened out the creases. “He said that I, as a woman, was too delicate to read it.”

“Oh, gross.”

Antoinette scanned the paper. The game only let players read that letter via Étienne’s recap of it, so despite myself, I wanted to see what those words really held. Would they give enough concrete detail about the missing Gagnon family that the characters in this version of the world, with more logic, detail, and freedom, would realise I was the lost daughter?

I felt like all my thoughts were too big for my head all of a sudden.

“Can I read it?” I asked.

Antoinette handed the parchment to me, over my mini cauldron.

The letter detailed how, in the town of Altolia, a business family with great legacy wealth was targeted through robbery and arson. The entire family–husband, wife, and daughter–was missing. Maybe the only thing stopping everyone from guessing my identity was because of the considerable distance between Eavredor’s crown city and Altolia.

Well, not my identity. Chloé’s identity. Marie’s identity. I was Hanna. Somewhere very far away, maybe on another ‘layer’ like in Lou’s painting, I was still Hanna. 

Somewhere.

“Are you alright?”

I was so frazzled that it took me a second to be flattered that she asked. “It’s so sad, isn’t it?”

“Greed brings out the worst in all of us.”

I flipped to the descriptions of the missing people, and they were just as useless and vague as victim profiles in our world. At least there weren't drawings that could pin the identity directly on–

I blinked away the flashes to find the table and papers soaked–first with the bright purple potion I’d been tinkering with, then with sprouts that grew out of the spill and burst into flowers.

Again?!

Marie, seriously–

 

Antoinette leapt to her feet with a small scream. Flowers popped open on her stomacher and skirt. I jumped away from the table too; I had to grasp the chair for balance. My heart was pounding. I pressed my hands to my ears, trying to squeeze away the imagery and the booming narration.

My lungs choked with smoke, refusing to heave in another gasp. All around me, I heard the creaking of the house under the assault of the flames. I trembled from the trapped feeling in my body that I knew was from Marie watching her whole life vanish…

Calm down, calm down!!

Marie’s terror was buried so deep in me that it really did feel like my own.

I know! I played this game! Marie, it was just some faceless goons who did this. The writers didn’t even care enough to make proper graphics for them. Stop!

I’d be a pretty crappy fic writer, though, if I let myself forget that her parents died during that fire. My heart had broken for her during tons of writing sessions and while playing the game over and over.

Now, I knew what true heartbreak felt like.

 

Anything to shut you up!

Okay, sorry, that was mean. Let’s be on the same team, Marie, okay? Just stop it…