Rose Monster Lover: Blanchfleur 2 (complete)

Before I met my wife, there was another. Working in the gardens of the royal palace, I came across my fair share of people who wandered through the roses, admiring their beauty and perfume, or simply wanting to escape the bickering of the royal family. I’ve been around for a long time, since Bellerophon was king and Merah Muda had brown hair. 

But before Alise came into my life and made it new, there was someone else I found amongst the roses. Someone I loved very dearly, and for a time made me never want to love again.

There was a time in Miror when the weather was constantly overcast, murky, and shrouded in mist. The usual color of the land was dimmed and the bright hues were toned with gray. The ground was constantly soggy and muddy, and the gardens were suffering for it. My roses were drooping and sad. The land wasn’t so much flooded as it was oversaturated; the air, the walls, the ground, were sodden. And much like a cake, all of Miror was sagging under this extra moisture. 

Usually, at this point in the year, the palace was full of all sorts of flowers. Every table had its own bouquet of roses, and it didn’t matter where the table was placed. But now the castle was quite empty, and even though the prince had just been born and celebration was in order, there were not enough roses in the garden for even a single bouquet. 

“Such a sad thing,” Bellerophon sighed as he took a tour of the garden. “All this damp, and even the roses are fed up with it.”

“I have tried everything, sir, but we need the sun!” I motioned to the clouds above us. “Without the sun, there is nothing I can do. Even I am growing weaker without it.” I placed my hands over my chest and gazed up at the graying sky. “I try my hardest, but some days I cannot find the energy.”

“You need not explain things to me, Blanchefleur. I think we are all feeling the effects of this horrible weather.” He glanced down at me with a gentle smile. “You do not need to push yourself to work hard if you are not feeling well.”

“But the garden will suffer once the sun returns. I am trying to keep it from growing too damp! It can lead to rot, or worse.” I started to fret, but I calmed myself down. “I just feel terrible that the new prince is not surrounded by roses!”

Bellerophon smiled. “We will be his entire life, and no need to worry about it now. Although the scent of roses might help mask the stench of his diapers.” His nose crinkled at the thought. “He goes through a lot.”

“At least he has his health,” I tittered.

“I take little Rosso and Bianco as much as I possibly can, but I know my poor Merah Muda is dealing with more than she lets on.” He sighed and folded his hands behind his back. “I would so love for some good weather to brighten her mood.”

“Is she not feeling well?” I asked with worry.

Bellerophon’s face took on a look of anguish. “Her health is good, physically, but it’s the mental I worry about. Ever since the twins were born, I worry. I know a body goes through many things after birth, and I cannot help but worry she is not telling me everything.” He sighed heavily, then lifted his chin. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to start going on about my problems.”

“Quite alright, sir.” I bowed my head. “If you ever need to complain, no one better to talk to than a rose.”

Bellerophon smiled at me. “I appreciate it. If we were to bring some light back into the palace, what could we do?”

“Paper flowers might help,” I suggested. “I have seen them during the fairs. Craftsmen will make giant roses from paper and fabric. Perhaps you could find such a person and have them make paper bouquets for the palace until the sun returns.”

Bellerophon furrowed his brow. “Will that not upset you?”

“I would prefer there be paper roses than none at all, sir.” I laced my fingers together. “When the sun does return and the roses grow, I know where they will go.”

“I’ll take that suggestion to my advisors then,” he said with a smile. “Thank you, Blanchefleur.”

A few days after that, I found a stranger wandering around my half-empty garden. She was wearing all black, and her hair was cropped close to her head, with bangs that descended halfway down the sides of her face and curled at her cheeks. She looked pale and fragile, like the stem of a champagne flute. As she turned, I saw black blossoms decorating the front of her blouse, all of them made from paper. She looked at me, lashes fluttering like wings. Her deep green eyes were the first color I felt I had seen in weeks.

“Oh,” I gasped. Her visage stole my breath from me. “Hello.” I hefted my bucket of tools. “I was not expecting company today.”

“Is this your garden?” Her voice was husky, with a knife’s-edge precision to her words. Her black lips looked dewy, and the blush of her cheeks was painted very high.

“Yes,” I started unsurely. “Who might you be?”

“I was told the owner of the garden suggested I come to this place.” She turned to me, her heels clicking loudly on the cobblestone path. “Would that be you?”

Her presence was domineering, and I felt a bit uneasy, but I was attracted to her poise, her face, her deep-set eyes. “I am Blanchefleur,” I said with a nod. “Who might you be?”

“Atropa.” She tilted her head this way and that as she looked at me. “Are white Prims not a rare breed?”

I couldn’t help but feel a bit agitated at this. “We are all the same. Prims do not differentiate on the basis of color.”

“Forgive me. I have so long admired the Prim. It is one of the many reasons I practice my art.” Her gloved finger fluttered around her neckline, where the cluster of black blossoms bloomed. “It is because of you that I’m here, so I wanted to thank you as well as meet you.”

I set my tools aside and approached her, extending my hand. She took it, kissing my knuckles. I felt a flutter, a spark, and my vines tightened as she planted another kiss on my wrist. She rose, her green eyes lingering on me as her tongue darted over her lips. 

“I’m glad you could come.” I felt breathless. “The castle has been in much need of some color, some life. Even if the blossoms are made of paper, I think it will help with this gloomy atmosphere around us.”

“I am glad you think so.” Atropa bowed her head. “I only hope my flowers bring as much joy as yours can.” She turned to the garden which looked so barren these days. “I only wish I could have seen the beauty of your roses, Blanchefleur. Perhaps they could have inspired me.”

Atropa became a strange presence around the castle. Looking very much like some gangly spider, she made herself at home, crafting various bouquets around the royal palace. She made the blossoms from anything; old paper, books, old gowns. She made special blossoms for Merah Muda from the twins’ very first shirts. She was temperamental, often secluding herself in her room and forcing everyone away from her. But she was often in my garden, wandering around where the roses once bloomed so thickly. 

“Do you work here alone?” Atropa asked me one afternoon.

“I have my sibling,” I replied. “They tend to the red roses.” I walked beside her as we went along the cobblestone path. “And of course there is the usual staff, but lately there has not been much to do. Not until the sun returns to the sky.”

“Do you get lonesome?” she asked me. “Is there not anything you long for during these gray days?”

I looked her over, wanting to touch her, to see if her lips were black or if it was just paint. I wanted to kiss her, to feel her hands upon me. I wanted to be close to her. I was fascinated by her, a strange feeling I had never felt. 

“You are so very cute, but without the sun, your own petals are hiding.” She brushed her fingers along my cheek, and then up through the blossoms that had closed around my head. “I would love to see them, at least once,” she whispered.

“Your blossoms are just as beautiful,” I blurted, then immediately felt ashamed. I had spoken far too loud from the nerves. “I mean… your blossoms-” I stopped before I embarrassed myself any further.

“Do you want to know why I make roses that will last forever?” Atropa said, in a voice as soft and delicate as the mist around us. “Because I won’t.”

“I see,” I murmured. “So, you make flowers that will outlive you?”

Atropa cast her eyes down and touched the thorny remains of the rose bushes. “Something to that effect.” She turned her gaze back onto me. “I don’t mean to sound like a cliche. I never liked how the artists I meet tend to be so morose about mortality.” She chuckled and gave me a small smile. “I feel so bad that roses never got to live for very long. To see them bloom and wilt the way they do. It did not seem fair. I started making ones out of paper so that, maybe...” She stopped herself. “Oh, this is going to sound so silly.”

“No, go on,” I urged with a smile. “I want to hear.”

Atropa scoffed and shook her head. “OK, but remember, this was teeny-tiny me who thought of this. I thought if I made perfect paper roses, then the ghosts of the roses that die would come and inhabit my paper ones, and live forever.” She spread her hands, then chuckled with embarrassment. “Ridiculous, no?”

“No,” I shook my head. “I think it is very sweet! You wanted to give them a second chance at a better life.”

“You see it.” She grinned, and her hands fluttered to her chest. “I’m glad.”

“Of course I see it.” I glanced at the rose bushes. “I wish I could give them all a second chance at life right now.”

She sighed heavily. “You are perhaps the most perfect creation,” she said quietly.

My vines tightened, coiling up and squeezing so that all of me felt tense. “Huh?” 

Atropa gazed at me, her eyes so strikingly green. “Prims,” she murmured. “You’re perfect creatures on your own. You live forever, grow forever, and yet you tend to some of the most fragile beings on this earth.” She waved her hand at the garden, then let loose a heavy sigh. “Prims are so amazing.”

“We do not live forever, you know.” I placed my hand over hers. “We just live a while.” I took her hand into mine, and she squeezed my fingers. “Some of us prefer to live short lives, and then we return home.”

“But you have a choice.” Atropa had tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I turned to face her and took both of her hands in mine.

She shook her head. “No, no. It is nothing to apologize about, Blanchefleur.” She smiled sweetly at me, then laced her fingers with mine. “I am glad I got to come here and meet you. Perhaps in your memory, I can live a long time.”

“I would like to remember you very much, Atropa.” My vines shivered all over, and my blossoms trembled. They so wanted to open, but there was no sun.

One day I woke, feeling something warm against my face. I rose from bed to see there was sunlight streaming through my windows. I raced outside, drinking in the sunlight for the first time in weeks. I stood in the warm rays, letting them wash over my blossoms. I felt an energy inside me that had been dormant for so long. 

“Please last,” I prayed to the sun. “Stay with us, please!”

Luckily, the sun stayed. The gray had broken, and color returned to the world. The ground began to dry and the dampness left the air. It took time, but the garden started to bloom again. Tiny specks appeared all over as the buds began to form.

“Once the flowers return and they can make bouquets again, I suppose I will no longer be of service here.” Atropa sighed sadly. 

I took hold of her hand. “Who knows. They may like you enough to ask you to stay.”

Atropa smiled at me, but there was a sadness to her eyes. “What is the point of keeping around someone who makes flowers, when there are real ones just outside?” She shook her head. “They will want you more than they will want me, Blanchefleur. I can assure you of that.”

“But-” I squeezed her hand tightly. “I don’t want you to go.”

Atropa looked at me, then instantly kissed me. The black on her lips smudged, and she wiped it away from mine. “Sorry,” she whispered. 

“No, do it again.” I grabbed her hand.

Atropa gave me an unsure look as she turned her body towards mine. “I thought Prims didn’t care for this.”

“I do,” I gasped as I grabbed her close. “Kiss me again.”

Atropa closed her eyes, tilting my chin up with her fingers. Her lips pressed close, and I placed my hands around her waist. She was so thin, and she felt practically like a bone. She pulled away, her lips pale under the black paint, and pressed her forehead to mine. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wish I could stay much longer.”

“You can. You can stay with me,” I urged her softly. “Live with me, Atropa.”

Atropa shook her head. “I can’t do that.” She pushed away from me and touched her lips, pressing them into a tight line. “It wouldn’t be fair. You know...” she whispered, “being in your memory will be so much better than being anywhere else.”

“Atropa-” I started to argue, but she placed her hand over my mouth.

“It’s best we end here. I made a mistake, Blanchefleur. I’m sorry.” She quickly walked away from me, leaving me standing alone in the warm rays of the sun. 

The garden grew. The sun continued to shine. Everything was beautiful and perfect - except for the fact that I could not stop myself from thinking about Atropa. I remembered our kiss, the way she touched me, the way my petals felt lighter when she was around. Prims do fall in love. It’s a very important thing for us. But we do not feel sexual desire the same way others do. Perhaps that was why Atropa is hesitant! Perhaps she thought that she was forcing herself upon me, and I did not want her affections. But I did. I very much adore affection, and I would have been happy to reciprocate her feelings. 

I decided to go to the palace. I had a small bouquet of early roses for Merah Muda, ones she could keep in the twins’ bedroom window so they could watch them blossom. I could also go and visit Atropa and talk to her before she left.

When I reached her room, I found it empty. Her supplies were still laid out on her desk, but her bed was unmade and the food on the table had not been touched. I stepped further into the room, looking around, when I heard a small voice. I look down and saw the blankets on the floor move. 

“Oh, my goodness!” I quickly pulled the blankets back to find Atropa lying there, weak and unable to lift herself up. She looked sick and dazed, barely even breathing. I screamed for help, hoping someone will come.

Atropa was taken to the royal physician, and there I learned for the first time that this was not an unusual occurrence. It wasn’t even the first time it had happened at the palace. Since she arrived, Atropa had received emergency care from the physician three times. 

I sat by her bed, watching her eyes dart rapidly around behind her eyelids. She twitched occasionally, her fingers flexing while her arms lay on her chest. When she woke, I was still there, watching over her.

“No,” she whimpered weakly. “I did not want you seeing me like this!” 

“It’s OK.” I brushed her hair from her face. “I want to be with you.”

She looked angry, as if she would start throwing and tearing things, but she just lay there. Tears pooled in her eyes as she gazed out the window. “I won’t last any longer,” she whispered to me. 

I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it. I glanced towards the window as I ran my fingers through her hair. “You will last a long time, as long as I am here.”

Atropa closed her eyes, resting her head against my arm. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I care about you.” I lay down in the bed beside her, and she curled up next to me. Her imposing figure was now so small as she rested at my side. “Because you're the first person who made me breathe deep, and the first to kiss me.”

“That can’t be true,” Atropa laughed sadly. 

“It is.” I placed a soft kiss on her temple. “I very much wanted to kiss you more.”

Atropa sniffled and clung to me as tightly as she could. “Do not make me the last.” She placed her hand over my chest. “It’s not worth it.”

“Perhaps there will be another,” I whispered to her. “Perhaps there won’t.” I looked out the window as the sky began to turn pink and lavender with evening. “But always you will be with me, Atropa. I promise you that.”

She got to see the garden in full bloom before she departed. She was sent home to her family, and I received word later that she passed. I sent dozens of white roses to her funeral, and for a long time, I grieved. I grieved for her, and what missing her would mean. But I mainly mourned a life that I would never have, and the sound of Atropa’s heels clacking on the cobblestones of my garden. I lost my life with Atropa.

Time passed. More gardens grew, and endless roses blossomed. The gardens were split in two when Rosso and Bianco became kings. Then my Alise - beautiful, soft, and wonderful Alise - and I have her in my life now.

Our children are growing, two beautiful creatures who are barely knee-high, running around and hiding amongst the flowers of the garden. Alise paints them, their smiles and their joy, as well as their fits and their tears. 

I wake with the sun on my face to see her lying beside me. Her hair looks white in the light, and her long lashes flutter on her cheeks. She stirs,stretches and yawns, her hand nearly hitting me in the face.

“Oh, gosh,” she breathes. “Darling, I’m so sorry.”

I kiss her, holding her hands in mine. “It’s quite alright.”

Alise brushes her fingers across my face, leaning in for another kiss, when there is a tug at the blankets. “Mama! Zaza,” tiny voices trill in the air.

I chuckle, leaning over to pick our babies off the floor and tuck them into bed between us. They snuggle up close, their tender white petals fanning out in the sunlight. This was not the life I dreamed of so long ago, but it is the life I need.