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Unraveling the threads

Cale and Abigail wandered through the rows of roses, an awkward silence hanging between them. Both of them were trying to navigate the peculiar atmosphere, but it was clear that they were two strangers attempting to find common ground in the midst of a very strange situation.

"So, young Master Cale," Abigail began, attempting to break the silence with a friendly tone, "from the Henitsue Duchy, yes?"

Cale smiled softly, closing his eyes for a moment as he responded, "Yep, that's me."

Abigail's gaze softened for just a moment, and she subconsciously pressed a hand to her chest, as if trying to steady herself. The sight of Cale's calm, easy smile left her feeling unexpectedly flustered. She quickly regained her composure, offering him a warm smile in return. "Pleasure to meet you, Master Cale. My name is Abigail. You can call me Abi, or Gail, whichever you prefer. I do hope we can become friends."

Cale blinked at her, confused by the sudden shift in tone. He had not expected such an open invitation from someone of her standing. Since his mother's death, kindness had felt like a distant memory. Still, there was something about Abigail's sincerity that disarmed him. It was both foreign and comforting. Though wary, he figured he could play along; after all, this might bring him closer to the carefree life he had always dreamed of.

"I... hope so too," he replied cautiously, as he turned his attention back to the roses. He had always found something captivating in the color red. It was a color that commanded attention, whether in the vibrant petals of a rose or the deeper, more ominous hues of blood. His fascination was almost like an obsession, one that he never quite understood. It was as though the color held some sort of strange power over him, beckoning him to explore its depths.

As they continued picking through the roses, Cale tried his best to avoid the thorns, but it was a futile effort. A sharp pain pierced his finger when he grazed the stem of a particularly vibrant red bloom. He winced, quickly pulling his hand back, but the injury was minor—a scratch, really. Nothing to worry about, he thought.

Minutes passed, and both of them silently continued their search for the perfect shade of red. Cale, still a little distracted by the faint stinging on his finger, tried to ignore the dull ache. But deep down, he knew this would end badly. His past experiences with roses had taught him that even the smallest of pricks could have serious consequences.

It was getting late, and the sun began its descent, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Cale and Abigail made their way back to the meeting spot, each with their own bundle of roses in hand. Despite the earlier awkwardness, Abigail smiled brightly as she looked at the horizon.

"I really enjoyed our time together today, Young Master," she said with a soft smile, her voice carrying a warmth that made Cale feel oddly at ease.

"I did too," Cale replied, his smile shy but genuine.

They arrived at the gathering area, where the other ladies had already begun to assemble. The absence of Lady Roseworth and Lady Vexisten was noted, though the two women eventually arrived—empty-handed.

The princess, Blanche, beamed at everyone. "The game is over! The winners must be announced," she declared, her voice full of excitement.

Cale was vaguely aware that his thoughts were elsewhere. The prick on his finger still nagged at him, but the distraction of the game kept his mind occupied. He wasn't expecting much. He didn't think he'd won, and to be honest, he didn't particularly care about the outcome. But then again, something about the shade of red he'd found—the one that so perfectly matched the color of his hair—felt important. Unknowingly, he had been caught up in the game in a way he hadn't anticipated.

Blanche announced the winners: Lady Roseworth and Lady Vexisten had won for their selection of roses, and Cale's unique shade of red had turned out to be the highlight of the contest. But there was no time for further celebration. The ladies began to disperse, each one leaving in their respective carriages.

"Please, have a safe journey home, ladies!" Princess Blanche called, her voice sweet as she waved to the departing guests.

Just as the last carriage pulled away, a flurry of red rose petals danced through the air, swirling gently in the breeze. Cale's eyes followed the delicate petals, curious about their origin, when a tall figure appeared on the horizon. His presence was commanding—impossible to ignore.

Emperor Albert Crossman stood before them, a bouquet of vibrant red roses in hand, his gaze unwavering as he approached the trio.

Blanche's face lit up immediately. "Daddy!" she exclaimed, her voice full of excitement. She dashed forward, and the emperor caught her effortlessly, lifting her in a tight embrace before setting her down gently.

Abigail, ever composed, received the bouquet with a teasing smile. "Oh Alberu, these are for Cale, not for me!" she laughed, handing the flowers back to him.

Cale stood at the sidelines, still clueless about who this man was. He had bowed instinctively, as one did in the presence of nobility, but now he felt increasingly out of place. He was about to turn away, intending to make a quiet exit, when a hand gripped his wrist with surprising strength. He froze, his eyes meeting the playful gaze of the emperor.

"These are for you," Alberu said, his voice warm but insistent, as he handed Cale the bouquet.

Cale, taken off guard, hesitated. He had no idea what was going on, but he accepted the roses with a polite murmur of thanks.

But the moment he touched them, something felt wrong. The tightness in his throat returned, and his knees buckled beneath him. His vision blurred as his world began to spin. Desperately, he looked down at the small wound on his finger—the one from earlier. His heart sank as he realized what had happened. The rose's poison had entered his system, just as it had so many times before.

"Not again," he thought, the words barely forming in his mind as he stumbled, trying to steady himself. The colors of the world around him began to fade, replaced by an overwhelming sense of dizziness. He tried to hold onto the roses, but they felt too heavy in his hands.

Alberu frowned, clearly noticing Cale's sudden distress. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern creeping into his voice.

But it was too late. Cale's vision darkened further, and he could no longer hold onto the bouquet. With a final, soft gasp, his body gave out.

The last thing he saw before everything went black was the image of Blanche, smiling with her parents—her bright, innocent smile, so full of happiness, so full of a world Cale could never be a part of.

He collapsed to the ground with a thud.

As darkness enveloped him, the thought that echoed in his mind was simple: This was not how I imagined my slacker life to begin.

And with that, everything went silent.