Rose Monster: Blanchfleur (Complete)

I have worked for Bianco ever since I was a teenager. When I first started painting, he was my first customer, and ever since he has kept me as artist-in-residence on his side of the palace. Growing up, my mother had been an advisor to the King and Queen, a role which my brother now takes for Rosso. 

Ever since Bianco and Rosso split the palace, I have stayed with Bianco, and have barely seen my brother in all these years. Still, I very much love my job here at the palace. I love the work I do, which is not just restricted to my painting skills. I am also in charge of decorating, designing the uniforms as well as Bianco’s wardrobe, and I assist Bianco with his makeup.

But all this brings us to a moment I never expected to happen. The palace was unified again after a certain girl came into our lives. Primrose not only wooed both Bianco and Rosso, but she was able to bring the brothers back together, healing their old wounds as well as the divided castle. Now a wedding is taking place. Bianco and Rosso are both marrying Primrose, so my life has never been more hectic. 

I have been arguing at length with Rosso’s artist-in-residence for days, both of us having clashing ideas for how to design the wedding. I was at wit’s end dealing with such an immovable force, but then I was approached by the gardener of the red roses. Prims have always been beautiful to me; my exact aesthetic of dangerous beauty mingled with such an innocent softness. Rosenrot was exceptionally tall, especially to someone petite and under five feet in height like me. Their body was a mix of flowering vines, topped by a mask-like face surrounded by bright red rose blossoms the size of my head. 

“I am looking for the artist-in-residence here,” Rosenrot says with a bow. “Little girl, can you help me find her?”

I grimace at them. “I am who you are looking for.”

Rosenrot straightens up like a shot. “Oh! Do forgive me! Yves did not warn me that you were so dainty, Lady Alisabethe.”

“My brother?” I ask.

“He sent me to speak with you,” Rosenrot replies. “He and I are, well...” they chuckle shyly. “Your brother and I are becoming extremely close.”

“You’re my brother’s partner?” I say with a smile. “I knew we had similar taste.” I giggle. “Anyway, how can I help you?”

“My sibling is the gardener of the White Roses, and we are both in a bit of a predicament.” Rosenrot laces their fingers together. “Both sides have ordered one thousand of my red roses, while Blanchefleur has an order for one thousand of their white roses.”

“There won’t be a rose left in the entire garden!” I gasp. “I’d rather have no roses at the wedding than see an empty garden!”

“That is our conundrum,” Rosenrot says. “Blanchefleur and I have both suggested painting some of the roses from various other gardens around the city. But we have no way of getting enough of them in time.”

“Painting the roses?” I gasp.

“There is a white rose maze near the Chess Board, and they have agreed to sell us the flowers. But then we need someone to paint them red. I have been told you are a skilled maestro with a brush.”

“Why not Chesterfort, the artist-in-residence on your side?” I ask.

“He’s mean, and he stabs when he paints.” Rosenrot does the motion in the air, and I understand right away why I have been asked. “Blanchefleur wanted me to ask you; white to red.”

“Painting the roses red,” I murmur under my breath. “I suppose if there isn’t any other option. But there is one thing - it’ll be easier to paint the roses if they’re still on the bush.”

Rosenrot sighs. “Blanchefleur is going to pick them up today. They’re getting the carriage ready as we speak.”

“Then I will travel with them.” I snap my hands to my hips. “I can paint the roses while they gather the extra white ones needed. Then once the red roses are dry, we can pick them together.”

“Not sure how Blanchefleur will like this, but this is an emergency.” Rosenrot takes me into the white rose garden and towards the back. There lies the small cottage where the gardener lives, and someone is there hitching a wagon to carry the roses.

“Sibling!” Rosenrot calls out.

Blanchefleur turns around. Where Rosenrot is elegant curves, Blanchefleur is built like a lithe ballerina. They are as tall as their sibling, but thin and dainty, with legs that must be longer than my entire body. They are covered in white roses from the top of their head down their arms, and their vines are a sapphire blue, ornamented with gold jewelry. They are exactly my type.

“Why are you here?” Blanchefleur snaps. “I have to go soon!”

“This is why I am here.” Rosenrot pushes me forward. “This is Bianco’s artist in residence. She has agreed to take on the task of painting the roses red.”

Blanchefleur shakes their head. “Horrible, still! Painting my beloved white roses is such a shame. But I would rather do that than see my garden stripped bare.” They stoop to look down at me. “But why have you come here? You can paint the roses when I return.”

“That is why I am here. I have painted flowers before and let me tell you, they are much easier to paint when they are still on the bush. They behave better and the petals stay in place. I will paint the roses red while you pick the white ones needed.”

Blanchefleur grumbles. “If you say so. Then come along.” They pick me up off the ground and set me in the wagon like a doll. “I have the paint ready. I’ll just put it under your seat.” They go inside their cottage for a moment, then return with the buckets of paint. 

As we leave the royal grounds, Blanchefleur turns to look at me. “Tiny thing for an artist,” they say. “What’s your name?”

“I am the size I need to be,” I huff. “And my name is Alisabethe, but everyone calls me Alise.”

“Alise?” Blanchefleur murmurs. “Al-ise, of course you are,” they chuckle.

“I am also the sister of Yves,” I add.

“Yves?” Blanchefleur tilts their head to the side. “Ah! Yves, the man Rosenrot has partnered with. Amazing how taste runs in a family. Our Zaza was partial to beautiful human women, especially our mother.” They then turn to look at me. “Are your tastes like your brother’s?”

I feel exposed for a moment, and I take a quick breath. “Well, I certainly do love beautiful things.” I shut my mouth tight again.

Blanchefleur chuckles. “Are you calling me beautiful, Alise?”

I huff and look to the side. “It is hard to call a rose anything but beautiful.” Then I glance back cautiously at Blanchefleur. “So yes, I am calling you beautiful.” I try to keep a stiff upper lip. No shame in telling someone that they are lovely to behold.

“And you are tiny.”

I grimace at them. “I am not ashamed of my size!”

“And why should you be?” Blanchefleur chuckles. “Good things come in small packages, or so the saying goes.”

My cheeks grow warm again. “Thank you.” I smile to myself. “Not many people realize that.”

“Shame on them,” Blanchefleur sniffs.

I giggle and beam up at Blanchefleur. “Anyway, has the wedding driven you crazy yet?” I ask them.

“Hmm, no,” they sigh. “Personally, I enjoy a bit of chaos every now and then. Besides, I am excited for all the royal guests to see my garden, especially now that it has joined with Rosenrot’s, and become the garden it is supposed to be. At least, the one the King intended.”

“That’s right, he planted the garden when they were born,” I murmur.

“Along with the pink roses for Merah Muda,” Blanchefleur replies. “Our other sibling tends to that one, and they must be laughing at us. Merah Muda is offering up just enough roses for bouquets, and she’s not letting anyone take her roses.”

“I don’t blame her,” I scoff. “One of the best sights on all the grounds is looking out on a crisp morning to see the fog laying over the white rose garden. The way it looks, it’s almost as if the world is emptied of color. But the white roses glimmer so brilliantly in the fog, like radiant beams of light.”

Blanchefleur clasps one hand over their chest. “You’re making me swoon.”

I giggle softly. “I mean it. I often wake up early on cold mornings just so I can see the spectacle. It has become my most favorite thing in the world.”

“You are doing my heart a world of good, hearing this praise,” Blanchefleur sighs. “Have you painted it, then?”

I scoff and lean back. “I have tried, dozens of times. I have so many half-finished canvases from my attempts.”

Blanchefleur lifts up their chin. “Why only half-finished?”

“Because,” I grumble, “I can’t get it right! Of all the things in this world, I cannot paint the one thing I love most.”

“That is what you love most?” Blanchefleur remarks, astonished. “There is no handsome knight who has whisked you off your feet? No baker covered in icing that she lets you lick off her fingers?”

I frown up at them. “No.”

“No cat?” they scoff.

“No!” I growl. “I’m not at all into that sort of thing,” I sigh. “I love beauty and I adore looking at it, but I’ve never been into romance that way.”

“No one has made your heart strings sing like the sight of my roses?” Blanchefleur purrs.

“Exactly,” I say with a nod.

Blanchefleur turns to look at me. “Then by all means, come visit them up close next time you get a chance to come to the garden. They would love it if you did.”

My heart is hammering, not because of the roses, but because I am looking at Blanchefleur and enjoying their words.

Once we arrive at the white rose maze, we both set to work. The maze is contributing one thousand roses to the wedding, so while I paint five hundred, Blanchefleur is gathering another five hundred which will remain white.

As I paint, I realize these roses are nothing like the ones in the royal garden. They do not have the same glimmer and shine that the ones Blanchefleur tends to have. These are just ordinary roses, while Blanchefleur’s are like the divine ideal of roses.

“Wonderful work! Not a petal bruised,” Blanchefleur remarks as they come to examine my artistry.

“Have you gathered five hundred already?” I ask.

“Indeed I have!” Blanchefleur chimes. “Which end did you start at? I can start collecting these abominations.”

“That they are,” I sigh.

“What was that?” Blanchefleur looks up from the roses.

“These roses are nothing like yours. Even painted red, I can tell the difference instantly. These are just roses.” I move on to the next rose to paint.

“You can tell that?” Blanchefleur comes up close behind me.

“I can.” I then gasp softly as Blanchefleur puts their arms around me from behind. They take hold of the rose I am trying to paint. My heart is shuddering and sputtering like a fly that can’t get off the ground. They are so close, and they smell so sweet.

“If you were not so opposed to romance, I would sweep you off your feet right now,” Blanchefleur whispers into my ear. “Of all the pretty words you have said today, these are my favorite.”

I look up at Blanchefleur and swallow down the nervous lump in my throat. “I am not completely opposed,” I murmur. “It just depends.”

Blanchefleur chuckles softly, then releases me. “I’ll gather the flowers you have painted and leave you be, then.”

I take in a deep breath, feeling woozy from the experience. I haven’t felt an attraction to anybody, ever, and Blanchefleur is making me feel like a child trying candy for the very first time. 

We get the roses ready; all one thousand of them, painted and bare, are packed into the wagon. We deliver them to the palace along with the five hundred of Rosenrot’s red roses and five hundred of Blanchefleur’s white roses.

After that, I am back on my toes again, and so busy preparing for the wedding and that I have no time to think about the feelings I have developed. On the day of the wedding, I finish the bouquet that Primrose will carry down the aisle. It is made of the pink roses out of Merah Muda’s garden, with one red rose and one white rose to symbolize Primrose’s new husbands. I notice that there is an extra white rose left over, so I take it and style it into my hair.

I deliver the bouquet to Primrose, who is all tears and bright smiles. “This is wonderful!” She clasps the bouquet to her chest. “It is so lovely, Alise. Thank you for all of your hard work.” She then touches my hair, where I have placed the white rose. “This is so beautiful.”

“You think so? It was a last second addition as I dashed out the door.” I smile softly, hoping Blanchefleur will see it.

“Blanchefleur told me you painted the extra red roses. That must have been a feat.” Primrose poses in the mirror with her bouquet and dress. 

“I never noticed,” I say with a gentle smile. “I’m glad you like your bouquet, Primrose,” I say as I leave her room.

That evening, I attend the banquet to watch Rosso, Bianco, and Primrose dance for the first time together. Afterwards, I steal some champagne and abscond from the palace and out to the garden.

I find a seat in the white roses, where I sit down amongst them. I gaze up at the sky, wondering if the stars are jealous of the white blossoms.

“You left the party!” A scolding voice snaps me from my thoughts and startles me to standing.

I look up at Blanchefleur, who has their hands on their hips. “Oh, you’re here,” I gasp.

“I was going to ask you to dance, and you left!” They extend their hand out to me. “I still intend to have that dance.”

“Dance?” I ask curiously. “With me?”

“I have been looking forward to asking you since we left the rose maze.” Blanchefleur takes hold of my hand. “No better place than here.”

I grip their hand and rise to my feet. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Blanchefleur pulls me close to them. “This is what matters.” They start to move, slowly at first, stooping over to make up for my small stature. Then they huff. “Okay, sometimes short is too short.”

I gasp and yelp as Blanchefleur picks me up and holds me off the ground in their arms. They spin me around, dancing me about the rose garden. I giggle and wrap my arms around their neck. I then plant a soft kiss on their mask, and Blanchefleur goes still.

“I am very much a romantic, Alise,” they reply. “A kiss for me might mean something else than it means for you.”

“I told you, I am not completely opposed to romance. It just has to be a very certain person.” I smile at them. “I’ve never felt the way I feel looking at roses with anyone else, well, until I met you.”

Blanchefleur nuzzles against my cheek. “You always know the right things to say,” they sigh dreamily.

“My brother always had dates,” I murmur. “He always enjoyed the feeling of being in love, but I never understood. To me, I just-” I huff and turn my attention to the ground. “I don’t know, I couldn’t understand it. And I felt happier not trying to.” I glance back at Blanchefleur’s face. 

“How do you feel about planting a kiss on my cheek?” Blanchefleur tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “With my flower in your hair.”

I capture their hand and kiss their fingertips. “I like it now.”

Blanchefleur giggles softly. “That makes me very happy to hear, Alise.” They spin me again, dancing through the garden until we come to the center, where it meets with the red roses. There is a patch of ground still separating them, but the roses have begun reaching across the gap towards one another.

“What will you plan to do here?” I ask with a quiet voice.

“We aren’t sure yet.” Blanchefleur sets me down then takes a hold of my hand. “My siblings and I have been discussing it as of late. Rosenrot and our sibling who cares for the pink roses, Lolovivi, have all been talking since the palace reunited. We think there should be something here that symbolizes that unity.”

I think for a moment. “What if you all just lived here?” I ask. “Then all of you could take care of the roses together. It wouldn’t matter what roses were whose, they would all be cared for the same.”

“A garden of homes,” Blanchefleur murmurs softly. “It certainly does sound nice when you think of it that way.” They glance down at me. “Your brother would probably live here, then. You would have to come and visit him often.”

“I would, wouldn’t I?” I lace my fingers with Blanchefleur’s. 

A few days later, the house idea is agreed upon by the three rose siblings. Rosso and Bianco allow three cottages to be built there, standing in a circle, the front doors facing one another and the back doors leading out into the gardens. Yves, my brother, does indeed, move in with Rosenrot, and I help him move from the palace and into the garden.

“You don’t have to keep pretending to come to the garden for me,” Yves smirks at me one day.

“What?” I laugh it off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am simply making up for lost time.”

“Don’t try to act cute. It doesn’t suit you.” Yves pinches my cheek. “You don’t have to hide your feelings from me. In fact, I would prefer that you share.”

I pout at him. “It’s all new for me, Yves. You know this,” I grumble. “The way I feel for Blanchefleur, I’ve only ever felt while painting. They make my heart feel so full and happy, just being around them makes me dizzy.”

“Thank goodness you don’t write poetry,” Yves snickers.

“I’ll have you know Blanchefleur likes the way I talk!” I snap at him. “You and Rosenrot trade love letters all the time. How is this any different?”

“You’re visual, Alise,” Yves says. “I’m better with words. If you want to show Blanchefleur how you feel, why not paint it?”

“Paint it,” I mutter, then frown. “There’s no way. I have tried painting the white roses before and I just can’t capture them!”

“Then think about Blanchefleur,” Yves replies. “Paint while thinking about them.”

The next morning, I take Yves’ words to heart and set up in my room, painting what I see beyond my window. I think about Blanchefleur, and how my heart feels, and the brush moves easily across the canvas. Each stroke is another song in my heart, another string of flowery words. Once I am finished, it is night. I pass out on my bed, and don’t wake until late the next day. When I look at the painting, I realize it is my best creation.

I wrap it up and make my way down to the gardens where the three houses are. Blanchefleur isn’t home, so I sit and wait on their porch until they return.

“Alise!” Blanchefleur opens the door. “How long have you been out here?”

I clutch the package to my chest. “Not long,” I grumble. “I was just waiting on you. Have you been home?”

“For an hour,” they reply. 

I grimace and look away.

“What’s that you have there?” Blanchefleur asks. “Oh, never mind, come inside. You must be hot sitting out here.”

I go into their home, where I see that things are still being unpacked and decorated. I sit down on their sofa while Blanchefleur pours a cold drink from a fancy decanter. 

“Drink this. It’s rose lemonade.” Blanchefleur presses the cold glass into my palms.

“Thank you,” I look at the pearl-like liquid inside, where several white rose petals dance. I take a sip, finding it tart and sweet at the same time.

“Did you bring me a housewarming gift?” Blanchefleur says as they pick up the package.

“Sort of,” I blurt. I wipe my mouth and stand up. “It’s a gift, something to show you-” I stop myself. “Well, it’s something only for you.”

Blanchefleur removes the wrapping around the painting, then sets it over the fireplace. They step back and stare at the canvas. “Oh my,” they whisper. 

I have painted the white rose garden, but in such a way that the roses, the vines, the paths and borders and surrounding grounds all form an image of Blanchefleur. I step beside them and take hold of their hand. “I could never paint the garden - because I was always meant to paint you.”

Blanchefleur snatches me up off the ground, spinning me in the air before they hold me tight in their arms. “I love it. I can’t express to you what this means to me.” They press their still lips to my cheek, then nuzzle against my hair. “Thank you, Alise. I will treasure this always.”

I loop my arms around their neck. “Do you understand?” I ask quietly, “what the painting is saying?”

Blanchefleur nods. “I do. And I promise, I will love you too.”

I sigh with relief as I cling to them. “I’m glad you see it.”