—Duke Lucien's POV—
'Flip flip flip.'
No matter how many I read, another waits beneath it. Reports from the northern stores. Tax records. Maintenance expenses. A request concerning the supplies and ongoing shipment through a different country. A letter from a minor house attempting to sound more important than it is.
"Hmm.."
The sound is steady, almost mechanical, broken only by the faint clink of porcelain against a saucer.
I lift my teacup and take a slow sip.
The tea has gone lukewarm.
I stare at it for a moment, as my mood turn sour.
Still, I drink it.
The page beneath my fingers contains three errors within the first paragraph. I mark each one with a neat stroke of ink and move to the next document.
'flip flip flip.'
—few hours later—
Time loses its shape somewhere between the seventh financial request and the third estate security report.
The light in the room changes without asking my permission.
Gold turns to orange. Orange fades into gray. Gray deepens into darkness.
I only notice when the words on the page become slightly harder to read.
I turn my head toward the window.
The sky outside is already dark.
'It's night?'
I look back at the pile of documents.
Still not finished.
'flip flip flip...'
"Duke Lucien, your tea."
Cyril's voice appears from the corner of the room as if it had been waiting there the entire time.
A faint shimmer of purple sparkles curls through the shadow beside the shelf. Cyril steps out with a fresh tray in hand, his posture perfectly composed, as though emerging from darkness.
He places the teacup beside me.
Steam rises from it.
I lift the cup and drink.
Cyril bows silently.
'flip flip flip...'
—Rosethorne Estate, Garden—
I crouch before one of the flower beds in the Rosethorne Estate garden, careful not to let the hem of my clothes brush too much against the soil.
The flowers here are far more varied than I first realized.
Tall flowers stand behind shorter ones so the smaller blooms are not hidden. Pale petals soften the brightness of deeper colors. Some plants look delicate enough to break under a strong wind, while others seem almost too proud, stretching upward as though competing for the sun.
'I'm still unfamiliar with most of them, but there really are a lot of varieties here.'
I lean closer to one cluster of small blue flowers, studying their tiny petals.
Elie crouches beside me with the ease of someone who does not care whether the grass stains her dress.
"Say, Vel."
"Hm?"
"Do you know the flower called forget-me-nots?"
I glance at her.
"Isn't that flower's meaning too specific?"
Elie chuckles, covering her mouth with the back of her fingers.
"Well, it is. But its actual name is scorpion grasses."
I blink.
"…Scorpion grasses?"
She reaches toward the small blue blooms, careful not to pluck them. The flowers are tiny, with soft rounded petals surrounding pale centers, each one looking almost like a drop of sky that fell and decided to grow roots.
"They bloom in clusters."
Elie gently touches the flower delicately.
"Small, gentle-looking, and easy to overlook if you are not paying attention. But once you notice them, they become hard to forget."
I stare at the flowers as if calculating.
Elie tilts her head and watches my expression with amusement.
"They are often connected to remembrance, loyalty, and love that remains even through separation."
"That is why I said the meaning is too specific."
I stare at Elie in disbelief, boasting.
She laughs softly.
"Well, flowers are dramatic by nature."
Before I can answer, Elie reaches out and pokes the tip of my nose.
I flinch.
She smiles as though she has done nothing wrong.
I rub my nose, narrowing my eyes at her.
"You keep doing that."
"Because your reactions are funny."
"That is not a proper reason."
"It is the most proper reason."
Her confidence is ridiculous.
Not realizing I was pouting, I let out a small chuckle as if I'm becoming childish because of her.
For a moment, the world feels lighter than it should.
—Later that day, library—
The scent of old paper fills the room, mixed with polished wood and the faint trace of dust hiding in places even servants cannot reach every day. Tall shelves surround us, their shadows stretching long beneath the warm light of the lamps. Books sit in neat rows, some bound in leather, others in faded cloth, each one carrying words written by people who may have died long before I was born.
Elie sits near me with a book open on her lap, though she has not turned a page in several minutes as if bored.
"Say, Vel."
She puts her hand against her cheek and leans above the table.
"What do you think your last words would be if you ever had to say goodbye?"
Elie seems to realize how sudden it sounds, because she quickly waves one hand.
"Sorry. I know it must've been out of blue but..."
Her smile turns smaller.
"I just do not like the idea of leaving nothing behind for the people who will be forced to move on."
The thought of farewells leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
'Velora is destined to die.'
'This body has already been written from the start, I've only been careful.'
Elie leans closer, lowering her voice.
"Vel, do you think about something like a code?"
"A code?"
"Yes. Something short. Something simple."
She taps her fingers lightly against the book.
"When you like someone, or love someone, or want to be remembered by someone, but you cannot say everything properly… you leave a code. A phrase. A line. Something they can carry even when you are gone."
"That sounds like an epitaph."
"It can be."
"It can also be romantic."
Elie hums, completely unbothered.
"Imagine it engraved on stone. Even if your voice disappears, the words remain. People may not know the full meaning, but the person who matters will."
Elie's eyes brighten.
"Ah, Vel! I know. When I die, my code would be…"
She leans closer and whispers it into my ear.
For a second, I say nothing.
A laugh slips out before I can stop it.
"That is too plain."
"Oh come one, code would always be simple enough for people to memorize right?"
"Yours is too common, anyone would guess it."
"Eh... You're too young Vel to understand"
She pouts and crosses her arms. The way she averts her eyes makes her look genuinely offended, though the twitch in her brow gives away her disbelief.
"Are you sulking, Lady Elie?"
"Hmp, what's with the formal speech?"
"You know you're older than me right? I might mistake you for someone younger than me."
"It is noble reflection."
"Did you just made that part on the spot?"
I let out a chuckle.
"It sounds elegant."
"It sounds fake elegantly."
Outside the library windows, the wind moves through the estate gardens.
The flowers continue to sway beneath the fading light, blooming without asking who will remember them. The day keeps continues without giving us time for a second thought.