Some say it feels like floating on a lake of absolute bliss; all warm water and silky petals, leaving tingling touches as it languidly runs over skin. Others say it feels like the summit of suffering, like dried petals piercing into their skin, leaving nothing behind but woeful wounds accumulating abhorrence. And then there were those who said that it feels like nothing at all; an infinite void that was neither jovial nor dismal.
The hanahaki disease was but a clear epitome of love, love that left you in bliss, torture, or absolutely nothing.
Prince Lelouch is yet to develop a relishing for royal balls. He'd probably be fonder of them if they had only concentrated in the times in which they are actually taking place, instead of consuming the preponderance of his time several days prior. He's lost count of how many times this week he's had to go for suit-selecting, dancing classes, rehearsals, and other generally headache-inducing matters. Lelouch doesn't think they are of much necessity; he can wear any suit to the ball, he already knows how to dance like a professional, and he has been to enough balls to memorise the regimes.
Nonetheless the violet-eyed boy has to hold in his umpteenth sigh as a servant carries on with comparing two fabrics while holding them over his pearly skin, trying to decide which is a better fit although Lelouch is pretty sure they're the exact same fabric. He has nothing against this servant but there's no telling what is going to happen if this session doesn't end soon. It doesn't help that Lelouch is your would-rather-be-sitting down guy, and that the mere action of standing drains him rather quickly.
Keeping hold of his stance—arms on sides, legs parted, and chin high—Lelouch dares to look out the window. The last time he'd done that the servant was quick to turn his head back to its original position—facing the wall opposite him—claiming the turning had deranged her measurements, though Lelouch doubted that his tie being a centimetre shorter would have been a problem. He'd obliged earlier, but now that the servant was measuring dimensions of his legs, Lelouch believed it wouldn't be a problem to turn his head, though he did concentrate more on his posture to avoid another disturbance to the servant.
He locks his gaze on the scenery out the window. The serene sky is captivating but he fixes his eyes on the vast green land beneath, or rather, what lies beyond that green land. The things he would do to catch a snippet, just a snippet of the outside world. Alas, from any given point in the palace, all he can see is green after green after green.
Lelouch feels something in his chest give a slight twist. He should by now be used to the prospect that so much as breathing the air outside the perimeter of the palace is unthinkable. It is something he never forgets but nonetheless is constantly reminded of every time he catches himself focused on the farthest point his eyes can see while gazing outside, every time he gets a visitor from outside the palace, every time he watches the news. Why does this pang of pain still catch him by surprise?
Fortunately, the sorrow doesn't have time to manifest before the servant declares the ending of the session, putting everything aside and helping Lelouch off the platform, then bidding farewell.
Lelouch's limbs hurt from the stance he had to keep. He stretches his arms as he makes his way to the door, where his knight patiently awaits him.
"Quite a troublesome feat to stand for a while, isn't it, Your Highness?" the knight says as Lelouch approaches, making a clear emphasis on the word stand with the faintest grin on his lips.
"Spare me your sardonic assertion, Suzaku," Lelouch replies, feeling his own lips threaten to break into a smile, probably hindered from his fatigue. "You try doing this more than once a day for several consecutive days and you'll be enlightened on how strenuous it actually is."
"Thank you for the offer, Your Highness, but standing by the door is enough for me."
"That's what I thought you'd say," Lelouch says, his lips finally curved into a smile. "I could use some fresh air right now."
"Of course, Your Highness, You've only an hour left to your next dancing lesson—"
"Don't remind me."
"I doubt you've had the luxury of forgetting."
And so Lelouch and Suzaku make their way to the garden, where Lelouch hopes to rejuvenate.
Little did the prince know, that the languor he was in that day was going to be the best he would be in a long, long time.
Milly's mischievous smile is going to, one day, be the end of Shirley.
She knows from several past experiences that this very smile hints at no good, especially when it is accompanied by the impish gleam in Milly's sapphires. A minor explosion in the science lab. A girl being groped in the baths. A drama costume that has Shirley strutting down the stage half naked. There is just no way of knowing what Milly has in store, but trouble is always guaranteed.
That being said, Shirley doesn't know what to anticipate as she fumbles with the pure white envelope in her hands. The envelope did look out of the ordinary, being impossibly white with outlines that are so shiny Shirley doesn't doubt they're real gold. Nonetheless she believed that the envelope would be harmless enough, or so that's what she believed until she dared to glace at Milly, only to be greeted by that wicked grin.
Now all Shirley can do is nervously glance from the thick paper to Milly and back again. The prestige of the paper and the imprint of the flag of Britannia on it are inadequate to help Shirley guess just what could be inside.
"Well, Shirley?" Milly says in a singsong voice, languidly tilting her head, her grin widening. "Staring is a leisure pursuit, I won't deny, but in this particular situation, it's really of no use." The blonde bats her lashes. "Your fate has already been sealed."
Shirley gulps. She is unable to restrain a shudder but she does concede to Milly's words; whatever Milly has gotten her into she indeed wouldn't be getting her out of. Soon enough Shirley's fingers are fumbling to open the tightly-sealed envelope and out flows another pure white paper, though its feel is slightly different from that of the envelope. Shirley casts another glance at Milly, seeing the blonde's satisfaction grow, before turning back to the paper.
She goes for reading at a normal pace, starting from the very first line, but her eyes move by themselves and scan words haphazardly, only lingering on her own name, invitation and—
And royal ball.
Shirley shrieks, throwing the paper away as if it were a ticking bomb. Milly only laughs at this reaction.
"This can't be," Shirley breaths heavily.
"Oh but it can be," Milly's voice is a serene melody. She reaches for the paper and waves it in Shirley's face. "You're going to the royal ball."
Too many words flood into Shirley's mind at once, and instead of speaking she can only make a series of incomprehensible sounds that make Milly dissolve into laughter yet again.
"How—how did you even manage to get me an invitation?" Shirley manages to say. She already knew that Milly's family had affiliations with the royal family, but being able to get an invitation to the royal ball for Shirley still seems impossible.
Milly winks. "I happen to have a very handy modus operandi. And many guests are allowed to get a plus one."
Shirley gapes. "I can't be considered a plus one."
"A plus one in definition means a guest of my choice to be attending, not necessarily a love interest." Milly strokes her chin. "Although I wouldn't mind hopping on that wagon for the sake of it."
Shirley vigorously shakes her head. "Love interest or not, I can't go at all."
"Why so?"
"Because I'm not royalty material."
"I haven't the slightest fabric of royalty material either. You and I are the same."
"But we're not, Milly. You'd fit right in with the upper class. I... I won't be able to." Shirley buries her face in her hands, not even daring to think about what a chagrin she would be if she dared to show up at the royal ball.
Milly gently moves Shirley's hands away, locking their eyes together in an unwavering gaze. "Listen to me, Shirley," she says softly. "I won't force you to go to the royal ball, but I promise you that if you do, I'll make sure it's the best night of your life. Maybe you won't fit in with the royals, but you don't have to. You can have a wonderful time nonetheless. I'll make sure of it."
Shirley feels her uncertainty slowly subside. Milly always knows the right thing to say and right now her words cannot be denied. Shirley has gotten through many direful situations solely because Milly was by her side, and she doubted the royal ball would be any different.
"But wait," Shirley's eyes widen as another alarming thought rings in her mind. "I have nothing to wear. I... I can't wear any of my own dresses..."
"I wonder..." Milly's voice adopts the same merry melody as she scoots away to reach for the bag she'd been carrying earlier, and Shirley realises she's completely forgotten about it. The bag is glittering, its surface somewhat reflective, with shiny ribbons sticking out and elegant cursive printed on either side. She hands the bag to Shirley, a wide grin on her face.
Shirley hesitates for a beat before taking hold of the bag and slowly opening it. The mere sight of the dress folded was enough to make her gasp. She was frozen for a moment, unable to speak or move at the splendour before her eyes. With great care, she takes out the dress and lays it on her bed.
The velvety dress feels incredibly smooth, almost liquidised, against Shirley's fingers. The rose colour, being a few shades away from being white, has her thinking of cherry blossoms blooming in the onset of spring, or a clumsy, lovestruck person faintly blushing. Its length has Shirley doubting her shoes would be visible once she wears it. The hem and the strapless top, as well as the waistline, are lined with pearls, a touch that adds to the already-overwhelming charm. Accompanied by the dress are a pair of elbow-length gloves, the same shade of pink as the dress, their hems also lined with pearls, and a pair of milky stilettos.
Shirley finds herself at a loss for words, staring at the attire in front of her in utmost bewilderment. She is acutely aware of Milly slinging her arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer.
As unbelievable as it is that Shirley might actually have a chance to attend the royal ball, there is no denying Milly's uncanny talent of doing the impossible.
"Mark my words, Shirley," Milly says. "The night of the royal ball will be the best night of your life."
Lelouch can't decide whether to be grateful or dreadful that time picked up speed and the day of the royal ball arrived soon. Tonight he would be sprawled on his bed, the fatigues of the week fading away, making him have the wondrous sleep he's been robbed of for the past days. Alas this luxury won't be happening until tonight, meaning that Lelouch has to actually get through the day first. Quite the mission impossible.
The prince's tribulation finds him seated in a luxurious lounge with the multitude of his brothers and sisters, who are all busy with making sure they are perfected from the roots of their hair to the soles of their shoes, leaving him the only one reclined on the couch, staring at the ceiling, without the slightest of interest in pretty much anything.
He can't figure out why his siblings pay him no attention but is grateful for desolation nonetheless. He surely needs the time to escalate his energy levels before the ball starts. He would have preferred silence but has already mastered the art of drowning out people's voices.
Lelouch doesn't know how long he played statue and the very first interaction he has with his siblings onsets when the couch creeks, and he sits up to find his sister Euphemia sitting next to him.
"You should cheer up, you know." With her bright eyes and beautiful smile, Euphemia's merry energy is contagious. The third princess is already alluring, with her milky skin and her enchanting periwinkle eyes, with her flamboyant pink hair, but above all with the smile that almost never flees her lips. But right now she seems to have exceeded the summit of beauty, with her hair twisted into two buns on either side of her head, with many curls left to flow all the way to her waist. In the frilly, snowy gown decorated with many ribbons Euphemia seems to be glowing, more literally than figuratively.
"You and I are of the same mind, sister," someone says, approaching, and Lelouch looks over his shoulder to see his brother Clovis languidly rest his arms on the back of the couch.
"Don't affront Euphemia by saying that her mind resembles the bowl of porridge you have in your head," Lelouch says.
Clovis pays no heed to Lelouch's remark, only eyes the boy in contempt. "The ebony suit is a remarkable fashion statement, I'll admit," he says, "but with that melancholy and attitude of yours you look like you're on your way to a funeral and not a royal ball."
Lelouch wryly smiles. "That's what I was going for."
"You're quite the ramshackle, aren't you?" Clovis sighs. "Don't you know that things could happen at royal balls?"
"I've much grown past the habit of reading bedtime stories and giving credence to fairy tales."
"I do agree with Clovis though," Euphemia intervenes, and Lelouch flashes her an alarmed look. "Royal balls are indeed magical."
"Though you can count on Lelouch to hinder the magic," Clovis says, examining his gloved fingers.
Lelouch runs a hand through his hair. "This is just another day in the life, same thing in and out. I doubt any amount of magic would change that." It wasn't something easy to deny. Being born royalty, there is no warrant that his life would deviate from its normal path.
"There's no way of telling." Clovis stands upright and turns away, the golden locks of his hair swaying with him. "But I'll have you know, Lelouch, that there's a chance that after this evening, your life will never be the same."
Shirley finds a stranger reflected in the mirror in front of her.
The hairdresser Milly hired had spent a full hour on Shirley's hair, tucking it into a frilly bun atop her head, letting a single curl flow on either side of the ginger's head, with her bangs pinned back. The makeup took quite some time, too, for Milly insisted that the majority of Britannians enjoy putting an abundance of cosmetics on their face.
Milly had quite the makeover herself, with her blond hair pulled into a ponytail and her face colourful with makeup. In the royal blue dress that looks less like a dress than robes haphazardly tucked around her body, leaving some skin uncovered (another Britannian preference, she'd mentioned,) Milly looked like royalty.
"See, Shirley?" the blonde says, waving at the mirror. "We'd fit right in."
Shirley slowly scans herself from head to toe. "I... I don't know, Milly," she stammers. Pretending to be a member of the upper class in no easy feat, and Shirley might look the part, but then there was her persisting awkwardness and timid nature. Milly, on the other hand, knew just how to talk, just how to laugh, and would have no problem conversing with crown prince himself.
Milly appears to have read Shirley's mind, because she then walked away from the mirror, making Shirley follow her, as she started speaking.
"It's not that hard, you know," Milly shrugs. "Just accept compliments and melodramatically laugh at anything you hear. And try to keep a full glass in your hand, to try and take a sip when you don't know what to say."
Milly turns to look at Shirley and, after seeing the ginger's agitation prevail, struts over to Shirley and hooks their elbows together.
"And remember the most important thing; you're my plus one," Milly says with a wink. "Anyone who deals with you has to deal with me."
Pianos.
Violins.
Endless chatter.
Shrilly laughter.
Clinking glasses.
Too many sounds to take in at once Lelouch can barely hear his own thoughts. It's hard to tell if it's bothering him; as much as the prince attends to his thoughts he is not doing much thinking at the moment. His mind is void as he saunters around the ballroom, cocktail glass in hand.
More than once or twice did a princess or noblewoman strut over to him, deluge him in sweet words, swear their hearts to him. Lelouch might as well be walking around with a sign that says "Currently in Need of a Lover". Walking around the emptiest corners of the room, distancing himself from the dancefloor, and cutting down the chatter are apparently not enough indications that he is not interested. The only omissions to his solitary are a few of his sisters whom he danced with to kill some time and, of course, his knight, who is always following him at a respectful distance.
Lelouch has little sense of purpose walking around, and abruptly decides to stand by the window for some time. He can see the vast land beneath, illuminated in the light of the full moon and cascade of stars surrounding it. He does his best to focus on the scenery, but it's hard with the very colourful reflection of the ballroom on the polished glass. With a soft sigh, Lelouch turns to lean on the window, and scans the ballroom. Nothing out of the ordinary; people chatting, dancing, drinking—
Lelouch's heart leaps out of his chest.
And he can't describe the marvel that falls upon his eyes. Maybe it caught him by surprise, being the only eye-catcher in what's a mundane scene to Lelouch, being out of the ordinary, standing out from everyone and everything.
Her flamingo dress was rather unembellished, flowing in a somewhat strait line rather than in frills that made the wide skirts the other ladies were wearing. It was quite elegant despite its simplicity, and Lelouch sincerely believed its elegance came from the person wearing it more than anything else. Her ginger hair, Lelouch could tell, had once been tied in a bun. Though still shaped like a bun it fell down to her nape, with a few curls arbitrarily sticking out.
She still looked breathtakingly beautiful.
Still, it was hard to take notice of her beauty when her face wore an agitated expression. Her green eyes were frantically moving around the room, like she was searching for something or someone of great importance. She looked on the verge of tears, and Lelouch desperately wanted to make his way to her, to help her, but his body seemed to have turned to stone.
He searches for his voice, and it takes his several attempts to find it. He beckons for his knight, and his voice sounds so distant, even to his own ears.
"Suzaku," he calls.
"My prince."
"Suzaku... Who..." Lelouch takes a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. "Who is this?"
Suzaku follows Lelouch's gaze, but Lelouch doubted it would take much for him to know who he meant; she still stood out, and it was no hindrance that everyone stayed a distance away from her at all points, making a circle of emptiness surround her wherever she went.
Suzaku clears his throat. "I am not familiar with many of the guests, Your Highness, but if I am correct, this is Shirley Fenette, a mate of Milly Ashford's, who is a close relative to Lady Marianne's associates."
Only when Lelouch gives an elongated exhale does he realise he's been holding his breath. "Why is everyone distancing themselves from her?"
Suzaku is quiet for a moment. "She is a commoner, Your Highness."
Lelouch shuts his mouth rather tightly. He feels something in his chest twist vigorously, though he can't tell what had sparked that feeling. Maybe he was angry, but antipathy towards the lower classes was nothing unfamiliar to royals and aristocrats. He is hardly surprised by the treatment, given the many judgements he receives for getting visitors who are commoners. But it was still stupefying, how everyone stayed away from the ginger-haired girl even though, just by merrily looking at her, one could easily tell that she bore the biggest heart in the world, not to mention that at the moment she seemed to be in great need.
The longer Lelouch stares the severer the heaviness in his chest becomes, and he wants—he tries—to make himself turn away but he can't. He only stood in place, his agony escalating, before the girl traipsed away, and it was only then that he chest became lighter, even if a little bit.
He turns back to face the window, though the scenery seems to be more blurry than it had earlier.
"Is something the matter, Your Highness?" he hears Suzaku ask.
Lelouch presses his hand against the glass, feeling its cold and smooth surface. "No," he says. "Everything is fine."
Though for the rest of the night, his chest kept paining.
The late hours of the night find Lelouch and his siblings walking through the now empty halls of the palace. The princes and princesses seem to have not consumed all their energy, continuously chatting, sharing their favourite parts of the day, some of them even drinking. This, of course, leaves Lelouch the only one barely awake and able to drag his own feet to his room.
"I might have outmanoeuvred myself today," Clovis says imperiously. "As impossible as it seems, even my perfection can be surpassed—only by myself, of course. They loved me."
Cornelia rolls her eyes. "Only because you drank so much you couldn't be the dumbass you actually are."
"They loved me."
"I think you've drank enough for today," Schneizel says, reaching over and taking Clovis's glass from him, "and many more days to come."
Lelouch could hear Clovis whining and bickering as the glass was passed as far away from him as possible, and Cornelia was the one to end it by taking the pleasure of emptying the glass in one big gulp.
"What about you, Lelouch?" Cornelia says, looping her arm around Lelouch's shoulders and letting him drag her along. "You're the only one who hasn't shared anything about their day." Her breath smells of alcohol and her cheeks were a light shade of red.
"That's because I have nothing worthy of sharing," Lelouch simply states.
"Are you suuure?" Clovis joins, also leaning against Lelouch and the extra weight almost makes the violet-eyed boy stumble.
He only spends a moment to ponder on Clovis's question. He lazily sorts through his memories and indeed finds that nothing remarkable has taken place today. There were the short conversations he had with some aristocrats, the dancing with his sisters—
The twists and turns in his chest when he saw her.
Lelouch barely manages to restrain a shudder and is thankful his siblings are too drunk to notice how jumpy he became. He knows himself better than this; he shouldn't let his guard down and especially not concerning a topic like this. The prince wiggles his way away from his Cornelia and Clovis and his other siblings catch them in time.
"The only thing I'm sure of right now is that I have done my part for today and need to attain the rest I so rightfully deserve," Lelouch says, glad that he was easily able to take on his haughty tone though some part of him notices that the abrupt patronising was rather deliberate. "I'm also sure that you need to stop drinking," he closes off as he continues his way to his chambers by himself, his steps rushed.
He only dares to let out a soothing sigh once he reached his private quarters, where a servant awaits him. Lelouch had already removed his jacket by the time he reached her and told her that he won't need any assistance for the night. Though she seemed reluctant about it, the servant took his sable jacket and went away, bidding him a good night. He made his way to his room, undoing the buttons on his vest and cuffs, eager to get into his sleeping robes—
Lelouch freezes in his tracks.
He feels as if thorny vines have wrapped around his chest, his throat, constricting so tightly he can barely breathe. He frantically moves his hands around his chest, trying to search for the vine to cut it but he just can't seem to find it.
He falls to his knees.
A passionate horde of coughs bubble out of his throat, making him doubt his oesophagus is still intact. He can feel the taste of blood on his tongue before he can see the droplets on the floor in his blurry vision.
The vines wrap more tightly.
Lelouch screams in pain, his hands clawing at the buttons of his shirt. He is keenly aware of the servant running towards him, screaming his name. He barely feels the hands as they ease him into a laying position. He lets out another scream, his back arching, blood rushing in his ears as he coughs and coughs and coughs.
So much blood, so much pain, so much agony.
At the back of his mind he registers the servant calling for someone, and soon enough more people are rushing to him, though now his vision is so blurry he can't tell who they are. He twists and turns, feeling like his whole body has been set ablaze. His vision becomes dimmer and dimmer and dimmer.
Lelouch lets out a single, final, excruciating cough that makes him feel like his very soul exited his body...
...and a flower petal comes out.