"𝙄 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙄 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙢𝙚."
•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈•
Inside the grand Williams mansion—usually so quiet—a heart-wrenching cry shattered the peace. The sound echoed through marble walls, spilling out to the branches of trees in the yard, sending flocks of sparrows scattering in flight as if the grief breaking within was a storm made flesh.
"Hic... Mom... hic..."
At the top of the winding white staircase, Via stood small and fragile. Her round face was swollen, her eyes red and puffy like overripe cherries. In her left hand, she clutched a tattered teddy bear tightly; in her right, she held a flower that had lost its life—its petals dried and its stem limp with decay.
From the direction of the kitchen, the clink of a cup against a wooden table rang out sharply. Angel appeared with worry etched deep across her features. She set down her cup of hot coffee with a slight jolt, sending dark, thick liquid splashing over the porcelain rim. But she paid no mind to the stain. Her gaze was fixed entirely on her little daughter.
"Via? What's wrong, sweetheart?" Angel's voice trembled. Ever since the traumatic kidnapping incident, every tear from Via had been a warning bell for the entire Williams family.
Angel hurried forward, kneeling before the small girl. She watched as Via's tiny fingers held out the dead flower toward her—as if demanding an explanation for why the world could take beauty away from something she loved.
"Mom... the flower... it's dead," Via sobbed, her small body shaking violently.
Angel pulled her close, drawing the little frame into a warm, protective embrace. Since that dark day, not a single second had passed with Via out of sight.
The tight security wrapped around her like a fortress, yet Angel knew—no matter how strong the walls, they could not shield her daughter from the sorrow of losing something small she held dear.
"It's alright, baby. We'll get you a new one, okay? Something even more beautiful," Angel whispered, rubbing Via's back in an attempt to pass on calm.
But Via shook her head fiercely against her mother's chest. "No! I want this one!" She pulled away, holding out the dried flower with a determined stare. To her, the bloom could not be replaced by something of the same color or shape. There were memories woven into it—memories that could not be bought in any shop.
•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈
Across town, Mathius stood before a flower shop that seemed to clash with the urgency weighing on his heart.
The scent of damp earth and nectar rose from piles of fresh blooms displayed in the window. For his sister's smile, he would bring home the finest roses possible.
The door chime tinkled softly as he stepped inside.
"Excuse me, I'd like to buy some roses," Mathius stated firmly.
His steps halted. Behind an old wooden counter stood a figure with their back to the light. The person was dressed entirely in black—from head to toe, a cloak covering every curve of their body—as if mourning amidst a riot of colorful flowers.
Mathius furrowed his brow. His instincts, sharpened by years of vigilance in the Williams family, suddenly screamed a warning. Something was off. Yet he pushed the feeling aside as the black-clad figure turned to face him.
"How many would you like, sir?" Their voice was hoarse, yet carried an unreadable tone. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played on pale lips.
"One bouquet of roses. The freshest you have," Mathius replied curtly.
With movements too graceful for an ordinary florist, the figure arranged deep crimson roses. Their slender fingers moved swiftly between the thorns. When finished, they handed the bouquet to Mathius.
"How much do I owe you?" Mathius reached into his pocket, but the florist held up a hand.
"Free of charge. You're my hundredth customer today. Consider it a gift for my own small celebration," they said—their voice cold yet polite.
Mathius was stunned. Logic resisted the offer, but the pull of time and the need to return home made him simply nod. "Thank you." He turned and left at once, leaving the sharp scent of roses behind him.
In the dim shop, the black-clad florist did not move. They stood motionless, watching Mathius's back disappear beyond the glass door. Taking a deep breath, they inhaled the faint trace of the young man that lingered in the air.
Their eyes glinted with a longing that had lain dormant for years. Lips moved in a soft murmur, almost like a sweet death song.
"I'm coming... Geo."