Epilogue

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She hadn't returned.

Nobody knew where Aelis had gone. Nothing was found of the mad servant girl for almost a year- naturally, rumours abounded.

I had heard she simply dissolved into thin air. I heard she had returned to her mother in the village. I heard she'd eloped with a village boy and they had a child. I heard that she'd gone to the brook, by the willows, and drowned herself.

Of course she hadn't drowned herself by the willows, because Jacob and I returned there frequently. It was a n ice spot, that first summer of our marriage, and he didn't have lordly responsibilities yet, so it was fairly easy to slip away. It was in the autumn that hings began to be difficult.

Lord Bennet died that autumn after we were wed, and having carried out his nefarious plan, Jacob inherited his title. I was Lady Ida, and I loved it more than anything. People listened to me. I had responsibility. This is what I was born to.

By the next summer, after a year of being his wife, we had a daughter. It was only just after her birth that a trace of Aelis was found: a scrap of wood, with her name carved into it- by her own hand, I could tell- sitting by the willows where she'd spent that last happy day. It had nothing else written, but a lock of hair- as golden as the sun- was lying atop it.

Two years after that, and just before the birth of my son, a little girl was born just outside the village, to a freeman and his wife, who died in the process. I never knew her name, but I had a great suspicion- for the girl grew up with hair as gold as the sun, and eyes that were born sorrowful.

Many say that roses are red. I disagree. Red is the colour of anger, of blood, of a bitter past, and rose is softer. Rose is the colour of my daughter's cheeks, the colour of the sunrise that still comes without fail. Rose is perfect.

It isn't what I'd expected. Roses have thorns after all, and heaven knows I'd found them. But now I am glad that my mother chose not to name me Rose: for I am not perfect, and my true colour is red.

Chasing RoseWhere stories live. Discover now