The Bloom of Violet

No matter how much she loved him, and no matter how desperately he felt for her, she couldn’t accept such impulsiveness. Yes, impulsiveness… Lennox’s feelings for her were nothing more than that. After all, they had only spent one night together.

“I should never have agreed to his proposal back then….”

Why did she ever think that would be the end of it? She had believed that night would sate his curiosity about her—about her body, to be precise—and that he would move on. How naive. If it were now, she wouldn’t have been so foolish.

“…Just… just go back.”

Her cheeks burned crimson. An turned her head slightly, ashamed to let him see her flustered face. She didn’t want to see the confusion on his face either. But as she turned to leave, stealing a hesitant glance at him, her shoulder was grabbed once more.

Startled, An flinched. Lennox frowned, his brow furrowing deeply.

“What just happened…?”

“Oh, I’ll pretend it never happened. Don’t… don’t worry about it too much. I’ll forget soon enough.”

Just like that night… An bit her trembling lips hard, using those words as her final shield, and fled. She escaped, leaving him behind like a hunted animal running for safety.

An grew up in Bluebuilt Village, the largest slum in the capital city of Rosbon.

Her father, Pierre Rosenthal, was a young man who had learned to brew alcohol at a distillery in Roderville, a wealthy village not far from Bluebuilt. He worked as a bellboy at a nearby inn, while her mother was a young maiden employed at a hat shop in the same area.

The inn where Pierre worked also served as a restaurant. Its first floor housed the dining area, while the upper floors served as guest rooms. It was there, amid the hustle of the inn, that he met An’s mother. Pierre was twenty years old.

Rihanna—An’s mother—was an orphan. She had lost her parents to an epidemic when she was only twelve. She spent years drifting from one relative’s home to another until she eventually arrived in the capital, where she started working at a hat shop.

Pierre fell in love at first sight. Despite the calloused hands and roughened skin that bore evidence of hard labor, seventeen-year-old Rihanna was radiant with a youthful beauty that turned heads wherever she went.

Her flowing silver hair framed a delicate, heart-shaped face, and her eyes gleamed like aquamarine gemstones treasured by noblewomen. She captivated Pierre instantly. The beauty An possessed today was an inheritance from her mother.

Even among Rosbon’s elite social circles, An was considered “a beauty too rare for a commoner.” Her pale blue eyes shimmered with an untainted purity, and her delicate features radiated a serene elegance. In the ruthless social scene of Rosbon, An’s beauty was nothing short of dazzling—a gift passed down from her mother.

Pierre grew close to the young maiden, who was adrift and vulnerable in an unfamiliar city. Unlike the idle young men who loitered around her, Pierre was different. He was kind, hardworking, and blessed with a handsome appearance. It didn’t take long for Rihanna to fall in love with him.

At twenty and seventeen, Pierre and Rihanna built a life together. They weren’t wealthy, but they weren’t poor either. Compared to other couples their age, they were relatively well-off, thanks to their diligence and dedication.

Rihanna, in particular, was so frugal and hardworking that she didn’t allow even the smallest indulgences. Pierre admired this about her.

Their first child was born in a villa in Roderville, not in Bluebuilt Village. It was a healthy baby boy born just six months after their wedding. But he didn’t survive. The doctor had assured them he was healthy and strong, with no visible ailments.

It wasn’t an epidemic. Nor was there a family history of any hereditary illness. Yet, the child died. The cause remained a mystery, and the outcome was unchanging.

Rihanna was devastated. The child hadn’t died in her womb or during childbirth. He had been born healthy, laughing in her arms just the night before… only to stop breathing the next morning.

It was horrific. For a long time, the couple couldn’t pull themselves out of their grief. The laughter that once filled their evenings disappeared. Yet, life pressed on.

Pierre went to the distillery every morning, brewing alcohol. His dream was to one day open the largest distillery in Roderville. The loss of their child didn’t erase tomorrow’s responsibilities, and he needed to keep working—especially since Rihanna couldn’t.

Months passed. Slowly, painfully, they began to heal. Time dulled the edges of their sorrow, even if it didn’t erase it entirely.

Another child came to them. This time, Rihanna was determined not to lose her baby. She quit her job and stopped helping Pierre at the inn. Instead, she took up embroidery.

Rihanna was skilled and quick with her hands, producing intricate patterns with remarkable speed. Her embroidery quickly became popular, thanks in part to her experience decorating hats at the shop during her youth.

A year passed, and they welcomed their second child—a beautiful baby girl who resembled her mother. Her hair curled like gentle waves, and her eyes sparkled with the same aquamarine hue.

“What a peculiar little girl,” the midwife chuckled. “She’ll break plenty of hearts when she grows up.”

But Rihanna didn’t care about such things. She had worried endlessly during her pregnancy—worried that the baby might not survive, worried that she might not be healthy.

After losing her first child, those fears had haunted her. She would have accepted any imperfection, so long as the baby was alive and strong. Yet, even healthy babies were fragile, their lives so easily extinguished.

“What should we name her?” Pierre asked, gazing at their newborn daughter.

Rihanna stared down at her child.

“Anesse,” she said softly. “Anesse feels right.”

It was the name they had chosen for their first child if she had been a girl.

“Perfect. What do you think, Anesse?” Pierre asked, smiling at the baby. The little girl stopped nursing for a moment and smiled back at him. His heart swelled with joy—a feeling entirely different from what he had experienced with their firstborn.

Looking up, he saw his wife’s eyes brimming with tears. He embraced her frail body, patting her back gently. For the first time in a long while, they shared a genuine, heartfelt smile.

It was their first taste of peace since losing their first child. That night, the three of them lay together and fell asleep.

If only their happiness had lasted longer. If only there had been no farewells, no partings. What kind of life would An have lived then?

What kind of life would she have known if she hadn’t lost her parents, if she hadn’t been passed from one relative to another, if she hadn’t endured hunger and humiliation?

If life had been simple and modest but free from loss, perhaps she would never have met Lennox. Perhaps she wouldn’t have found herself living within the palace walls.

It wasn’t difficult for An to imagine a life outside the palace. It would have been challenging, but at least her heart would have been at peace.

She was tired of the insecurities and inferiority that clung to her like shadows. In the palace, every woman she encountered was a noble lady—flawlessly beautiful and endlessly gracious.

They were kind, but it was never sincere. An had grown weary of this courtly life, where politeness masked judgment, and everyone seemed to search for flaws.

She was tired of wearing borrowed things, pretending they were hers. But what she hated most was the fact that she could never truly belong in noble society. To love a man who stood at the pinnacle of the imperial hierarchy in a land where unions between commoners and nobles were forbidden…

“Foolish. You’re so foolish, Anesse Rosenthal.”

It was a mantra she had repeated to herself throughout her life, a prayer to stop herself from loving Lennox.

She wasn’t Lennox’s friend. No, she could never be just a friend.

Every time he embraced her in public, as if they were lovers, ignoring the stares of others… every time he tried to kiss her cheek… An felt a strange mix of resentment and something far more troubling.

The real problem wasn’t the resentment.

“It’s because I like it, even if it’s like this.”

The fleeting touch of his skin, the lingering trace of his scent… it was that vile, shameful desire. Even when his actions appalled her, she cherished the moments of closeness, no matter how brief.

“Will Lennox still hold me like this after he marries Charlotte?”

If that were to happen, it would truly be dreadful. An was so afraid of facing Lennox—still holding her as a friend even after becoming a proud father to young princes and princesses—that she wanted to leave the palace. The palace was never her home to begin with.

It wasn’t even a place where she had any family. Perhaps things would have been different if she had relatives, no matter how distant. But within the royal palace, there wasn’t even the faintest thread of kinship to rely on. If there was anyone she could genuinely lean on, it was only Lennox.

After all, it was Lennox who had wanted to keep a commoner child like her close to him from the very beginning. But even Lennox would eventually marry. Then, he would have a family of his own. When children were born, his relationship with Charlotte would be completely different from what it was now.

An dreaded the thought of becoming even lonelier than she already was. In a place where she had no family of her own, the idea of the only person she depended on creating a family was terrifying. Watching Lennox with his family and endlessly yearning for her late parents… that would be unbearable.

That’s why she needed to find a family of her own. This was the driving force behind her active pursuit of arranged meetings with potential suitors.

But the best scenario would have been never losing her parents at all. Unfortunately for An, her once modest and loving childhood was plagued by relentless misfortune.

The first tragedy was the death of her father, Pierre. Sadly, Pierre did not live long. In fact, he passed away just one month after his daughter was born.

The innkeeper called it an “accident,” but at its core, it was murder. And that marked the beginning of An’s string of misfortunes.

Pierre died on January 13, 656, in the year of the Rasphalmedan Empire. The cause of death was excessive blood loss from stab wounds. A merchant drinking at the inn, which turned into a tavern at night, got into a fight with his companion over a love affair. Pierre intervened to stop the altercation but was stabbed in the process.

He sustained deep wounds to his chest and abdomen, but there was no medical staff on-site capable of providing immediate aid. The innkeeper, who lived in the topmost floor of the building, rushed out upon hearing the commotion but was unable to take any meaningful action. Pierre lay there, untreated, for over half an hour.

One of the other bellboys hurriedly ran to fetch a doctor, but by the time they arrived, Pierre had already passed away.

Upon hearing the news, Rihanna fainted. She was unconscious for so long that neighbors had to care for her. Even after regaining consciousness, she fainted repeatedly throughout the funeral period, unable to endure her grief.