"The Ministre de la Presse Royal is here to see you, your majesty."
The man motioned his hand, signaling his secretary, Aveline, to let the guest enter. The neatly-combed hair on his head was dark with inconspicuous streaks of silvery gray. Signs of stress and experience showed on his eyes of dark blue and on the lines on his forehead.
To some people, particularly those who know him personally, the man on the desk is Jean Aimeri Michel Sascha Deodat Aristide de Croix. But to the rest of the French public, he is known as Le Roi de la France -- the King of France.
The king set the reference in his hands aside as he waited for the Head of the Royal Press to enter. He did not wish to meet him at a time like this, a time when people have been watching both of their actions closely, more so that he and Monsieur Auberon have been noted as longtime friends by the public.
The Royal Press had released to the public that the Enfant Royal de Couronne had gone missing eight days before the supposed official visit to Japan. A search team has been formed by Intelligence to find her all throughout Europe. This was the information the king had hoped to maintain to fulfill his only heir's unspoken wish before ascending the throne.
It has been good so far. But the king knew fooling the people was a grave sin.
The people have watched the Famille Royal de la France for as long as he could remember, and like him, his daughter, Isolde, has been adored by the public even before her birth. She was the younger child, but as the king's mother, La Reine de la France, predicted, Isolde would be pressed by the French to rule one day. And she was right.
Isolde rarely spoke, but he knew that like his son, Isolde's older brother Degare, her heart was not set toward the throne.
A knock.
The king lifted his head. A stocky, middle-aged man in a black suit stood at the door. His hair had thinned over the years, contrary to the sideburns and moustache on his aging face.
Monsieur Auberon entered, stopping a few steps away from the desk, and bowed before the king.
"What brings you here, Christophe?"
"Le Presse Associée asks for updates on her highness' whereabouts, your majesty."
The king frowned. Updates. He could not think of another fabrication at the moment.
"I would personally suggest a blackout for this, your majesty," Monsieur Auberon said, clasping his hands. "This is what Monsieur Hamon suggests as well." He referred to the Ministre de la Intelligence, Monsieur Gregoire Hamon.
The king pulled back on the executive chair. Blackout. Yes. He has considered this. But it was not as simple. The generations of the Royal Family have seen the consequences of blackouts. Presse Royal may have the upper hand at this; however, Le Presse Associée will always find a way to know what it is, one way or another.
"The Royal Family of France ranks among the most covered monarchial lineages in the world," Monsieur Auberon remarked. "Perhaps we should decide a more…" He paused to think. "…Convincing move on this."
"I agree, Christophe," the king said. "But sadly, I cannot allow blackout while the people are still dwelling upon an issue such as this. Iron is best shaped while hot, yes. Therefore, we need something to cool it… so as not to misshape it further than it has already been."
"Cool it down…" Monsieur Auberon stroked his chin. "But while the there is source and heat, your majesty, they will not stop. If we are to let such a scale of an issue subside, then I suggest we release a statement that will not cause anymore of it."
The king nodded, pulling up from his seat. Monsieur Auberon was right to say so. If he would not allow blackout, then he will have to take an alternative. His mother had taught him how a ruler defends himself and his actions, and it was time he used this knowledge. He paused to think. And ending his silence, he cleared his throat. "I will have Faustine call on a few people I may need, Christophe. I will inform Gregoire Hamon as well. Let me take care of this first before the day ends."
"Yes, your majesty," Monsieur Auberon said, bowing.
"You are dismissed."
"Good day." Monsieur Auberon bowed again and turned to leave.
'Mama,' the king thought as he knotted his fingers and leaned against his desk. 'If the same happened to me… what could you have done?' Despite his declaration, he was unsure. But the strategy he suddenly thought was the most he could think for now.
The gingko nuts have been crushed again. Shimako sighed at the sight of this as she walked along the concrete path. She had not paid much attention to them after noticing that lone cherry blossom tree. And upon seeing them in their cruel fate, she had awakened from the spell that had once befallen her. She will come back for them, yes. She will come back for them later. The trail of fallen gingko nuts had ended; Shimako lifted her head.
Someone was on the bench not far from where she stood. A tall figure. She seemed familiar. Shimako walked a little faster.
Hitomi lifted the camera around her neck. She brought it to her, adjusting the lens and focused on the view before her. She positioned her finger and slacked. She paused shortly and quickly pushed the button. She moved the camera away from her and exhaled, pausing again and glancing at the view before her. Then, she put the camera down.
"Hitomi-san…"
Hitomi turned to the direction of the voice. "Rosa Gigantea…"
"What are you doing here?"
"Nothing much," Hitomi answered. "I always come here after taking my lunch."
"Then… may I join you?"
Hitomi nodded.
"Yoshino still won't stop talking about how well you did in Math Class this morning," Shimako said, sitting down.
Hitomi smiled shyly but said nothing.
Shimako noticed the camera hanging on Hitomi's neck. She remembered that Tsutako had told her Hitomi had joined the Photography Club, something she thought was quite unexpected. "You chose the Photography Club?"
Hitomi lifted her camera a little. "I thought I might use it," she explained, referring to the camera. "It has been a while."
"Tsutako-san told me that… a person behind a camera can see what is inside her subjects when she takes pictures of them," Shimako said. "I'd like to doubt her that time, but…"
"Tsutako tells the truth in some cases, Rosa Gigantea," Hitomi said. "I see it the same way. Some photographers… see life through lens. Even if we see a blank projection, a happy one or a sad one, somehow, the lens manages to see through it. But then, even if it does… what comes out on film cannot speak for itself… therefore saying photographs are the best liars."
Shimako dwelled upon Hitomi's words. Hitomi said it well, she thought. To her, it seemed that Hitomi has been used to being behind the camera. But then, she began thinking… if Hitomi said so because she herself had been a target of the lens. "You seem to know so well," she said.
Hitomi shook her head. "It's nothing big… really."
Shimako gazed at Hitomi as she had set her eyes to the view ahead of her. The first time she had seen her, she reminded her of Rosa Chinensis. And now that they finally had the chance to talk like so, she felt a certain air that surrounded Hitomi… similar to that which Sachiko had. She wondered if Rosa Chinensis and Hitomi were related in some way.
"Noriko isn't with you…" Hitomi suddenly said.
"She said she needed to go on ahead." Shimako remembered that Hitomi could not have a soeur. "I think you would have made a good soeur if you had come earlier."
"Soeur…" Hitomi paused. "I don't think… I'd want to be."
"Not? May I ask why?" Shimako heard Hitomi saying the same in the Rose Mansion, but she did not say why.
"I don't want to disappoint anyone," Hitomi said. "I don't think… I can afford that anymore."
I enjoyed your company…
Eriko sighed in her exasperation. It was her first time to ramble this much. She still could not forget the evening she had with Hitomi yesterday. It was not planned. This, she admitted. She simply wanted to see Hitomi.
She put up her right hand and gazed at it. She held Hitomi's hand with it while walking. Hitomi's hand seemed cold to touch. But it was all right.
Hitomi was younger. Detached. Unaffectionate. She did not speak much. Eriko thought of it as a defense mechanism Hitomi used to shield off any feeling that would change her. But it was at that Eriko had started to be drawn closer to her.
Hitomi was sitting on the bench that day. She was looking at the sky. It seemed as if she were speaking to it. The light breeze that blew against her face revealed a scar on her forehead. And seeing this caused a certain loneliness to channel toward Eriko.
Whatever made her sit beside Hitomi that afternoon, what made her want to talk to her, to spend time with her, all of them… were not out of impulse… This, she was sure of.
You will see me again, right?
She asked this as Hitomi was about to leave. Hitomi did not answer. Eriko saw it through Hitomi's eyes that she would want to. She sighed at this. She thought maybe she should have pulled Hitomi closer to her instead. She would have done something to make her reciprocate… at least a little bit. She was impatient enough to do so that evening. But for some reason, she did not.
She wanted to hear Hitomi, to listen to her gentle voice, as she expressed her thoughts. She wanted to know Hitomi better. She wanted to break the wall of silence Hitomi had built between her and the world around her. And with this in mind, she had to treat it with the patience she had for other things.
Eriko looked at the time. It was time to go. She will not see Hitomi today because of a make-up class. But she will tomorrow. This, she has decided.