The End of a Perfect Revenge - ✿ dusk blossoms ✿

The girl’s story had finally come to an end. After a long chat, it was already afternoon. The man, who had listened quietly the whole time, touched his lips with a troubled expression.

“Hmm…”

“Why? Does it sound like I made it up?”

Lia tilted her head, her wide, rabbit-like eyes blinking. The man brushed away a crumb of bread stuck to her plump cheek.

“A little…?”

“Hmph! I told it exactly as my mom told it to me, OK? Although… I think she might have made some parts up…”

Lia, who had been sneering confidently, began to trail off towards the end. The man rested his chin on his hand, his elbow on his knee.

“What parts?”

“This whole thing about being the last princess of the Empire, it’s just way too much.”

Lia made a face and waved her tiny hand in front of her.

On sleepless nights, when she clung to her mother’s skirt and begged, her mother would sometimes tell her old stories. How she met Lia’s father, how they fell in love, and in the end she always whispered about how precious Lia was, the result of that love.

When Lia was young, she believed everything her mother told her. But as she grew older, she began to realise that the stories were exaggerated. Little details in her mother’s stories changed each time she told them. For example, the person who delivered the letter and the potted plant might be a knight one time and a noblewoman the next. Things like that.

Besides, even if her mother was as beautiful as a princess, there was no way she could be the last princess of a fallen empire. Perhaps, as the villagers said, she was at best a noble lady. After all, she couldn’t cook or wash properly and spent her days painting without a care in the world.

Of the long story Lia had been telling all afternoon, this single detail was probably the only truth. And yet, ironically, it was the one thing the girl refused to believe. The man let out a weak, hollow laugh, feeling deflated.

Lia flared up and shouted.

“My mom is not a liar! And she’s not stupid either!”

There was a reason why Lia was so upset. She knew that the villagers mocked her mother and called her a fool. Especially the men she had rejected – they were the first to speak ill of her. Lia puffed her cheeks like an angry squirrel and the man nodded slightly.

“I know.”

Lia’s eyes widened in surprise. Her face clearly showed how touched she was by this simple answer. The man swallowed a sigh, regretting that he had said something unnecessary.

Lia wiggled her hips and moved closer to the man until she was pressed against him. He moved away slightly, but it only backfired. As her small body tipped precariously, the man instinctively reached out and caught her in his arms.

The girl nestled against his chest with a contented smile. Avoiding her gaze, the man let out another stifled sigh.

“Sir.”

“Yes?”

“Are you really not coming to our house?”

A yellow bird crossed the blue sky, dotted with white clouds. The man’s eyes followed its slow flight. The scene was so peaceful it was almost unreal.

“No.”

“If I call you Dad, will you come?”

“No.”

It was enough to confirm that she was well. Even revealing himself to the girl had been an act of overindulgence.

The man silently repeated the story the girl had told him. The story her mother had made up for her was full of sweet fantasies. Compared to reality, it seemed like a wildly implausible fairy tale, and yet, in truth, it was made up of rather ordinary, insignificant things. He couldn’t help but wonder if the dreams she really wanted were really that trivial.

Though he had initially placed her on his cloak, Lia had gradually moved closer to him and was now sitting directly on the cold floor. The man picked her up and placed her on his lap. It felt overly intimate, but at this point it didn’t matter how much he insisted that they were nothing to each other – she wouldn’t believe it anyway.

Excited, Lia wiggled in his lap and asked.

“Sir, what’s your name?”

The man didn’t answer. A name was something he had discarded long ago. For someone who was neither dead nor really alive, a name had no meaning.

The protagonist of the girl’s story also had no name. He was just called he, the man or sometimes dad – titles that didn’t quite fit. But Lia answered in his place.

“Akan.”

The man – Akan – brushed aside a strand of Lia’s golden hair instead of answering. The eyes were his, but the hair was unmistakably hers.

In truth, Lia didn’t know the name of the protagonist of the story. She only remembered the name her mother sometimes said when she seemed a little… off. In those moments, her mother would hastily usher Lia out of the room.

Hearing the name fall from the girl’s lips made Akan feel as if he were being strangled. The thought that for some reason she still had some memory of him was excruciating. He wished desperately that she would forget everything – for he knew only too well that erasing those memories was easier than healing the wounds etched deep into the soul.

“How is Robellia?”

The last news he had heard was that a daughter had been born. After that, Akan had cut off all news of her. He believed that severing their connection completely was the only way Robellia could survive.

Lia rolled her eyes mischievously at Akan’s question. She had been itching to talk about her mother for a long time, but she didn’t want to waste the precious opportunity she had worked so hard for.

“What will you do for me if I tell you?”

Akan let out a small laugh. Lia, looking back at him, tilted her head curiously. Though his eyes, nose and mouth were all different, the man somehow reminded her of her mother. The way he looked at her, the way he acted – there was an uncanny resemblance that tugged at her thoughts.

Softening his harsh, raspy voice as much as he could, Akan replied.

“I’ll answer some of the things you’re curious about.”

“Hmm, okay then.”

Akan felt it was better to give correct answers than to let a child believe whatever she wanted. Of course, he had no intention of revealing the cruel truths of the past to a young girl. His aim was merely to shatter a small part of her false hopes – just enough to stop her waiting for someone who would never come.

Unaware of his thoughts, Lia continued in a cheerful voice.

“Mom spends all day painting. She’s not very good at it, but she’s even worse at cooking or cleaning. When she tries, Auntie scolds her, so she doesn’t bother any more”.

The “aunt” Lia mentioned – Mrs Reinin – was the very woman Akan had entrusted Robellia to. A former member of the Roxas household, she had survived the tragedy because she happened to be away from the castle at the time. Akan had met her again by chance just before the rebellion began.

Though otherwise a woman of little use, save for her lingering loyalty to a long-dead ducal family, she was the perfect person to care for Robellia. Finding someone who wouldn’t exploit the last surviving princess or flee with the money was no easy task.

Akan listened to Lia’s chatter in silence, offering no reaction.

“Mom is frail, so she can’t walk far. Once she went to the village and was sick for days. Auntie says it’s because she got really sick after having me…”

At this point Lia stopped talking and pouted. Her mother always told her it wasn’t true, but it upset her every time she heard people say she was the reason her mother was unwell. Being treated like an unwanted burden by others only made it worse. She looked at the man, whose warm eyes reminded her of her mother, and found some comfort before continuing.

“She’s very kind to me… and sometimes she acts a little strange, but only once in a while.”

Lia emphasised the words sometimes and only once in a while as if to defend her mother. My mom is not crazy and she’s definitely not a witch. Akan nodded and patted Lia gently, as if to calm her down.

What Lia described wasn’t much different from what he’d heard in the village. That was why he still couldn’t be sure if Robellia was really crazy or not.