Chapter 83: Just subtract one thing from happiness.

When one topic ends, another begins.
By the time I realized that this simple repetition was what people call “small talk,” a considerable amount of time had already passed.

The person I had believed stood on the complete opposite shore was actually breathing quietly in a place far closer than I thought.
The more Violet and Rosette spoke, the more they felt their inner selves resembled each other.
Even though no one; not even they themselves; had ever imagined it.

But upon reflection, it was only natural.

Violet, who had spent the years when a child absorbs everything as a boy.
Rosette, whose tastes and hobbies were far removed from the ideal princess.
Both carried something that fell outside the frame of “proper lady.”

Their hobbies weren’t exactly the same, yet the paths their conversations took somehow aligned.

“I always have the most trouble when a new dress is being made. Whatever I like apparently shatters everyone’s image of me…”

“I know exactly what you mean… What I like and what I like and what suits me are completely different.”

“When that happens, do you still choose what suits you?”

“It’s the option that keeps me from standing out in a bad way.”

“That’s true…”

Even though the images forced upon them were polar opposites, both knew the suffocating feeling of a self completed inside other people’s heads that they could never escape.
A pure, immaculate lily or a gorgeous, bewitching crimson rose; if neither contained a single fragment of truth, the praise meant nothing.

Because they had walked the same road, the hardships they faced and the walls in their way were identical.
Since they normally had no one to tell, it was only natural they grew talkative in front of someone who understood.

“I’m happy when people say pale colors suit me, but… I end up so focused on not getting them dirty that the exhaustion multiplies.”

“They do stand out…”

Rosette smiled with distant eyes, perhaps remembering the past, and all Violet could do was give a wry smile in sympathy.

These exchanges felt fresh, and therefore precious.
They were conversations she could never have had before.
Back in middle school or right after entering high school, countless people had surrounded Violet, but if she had spoken like this then, what kind of uproar would have followed?

People who have built an image feel betrayed the moment it cracks.
Those who dreamed of Violet as an empress lounging atop power would never tolerate even a speck of weakness.

And that had felt comfortable.
When she lived inside the dream of strength, she could believe she was truly strong.

Only now did she realize how cornered she had been to cling to such a thought.
Not only those around her; Violet herself had embraced the ideal and been swung around by it until the end.
At this point it was beyond mere black history; it was a dark age she wanted erased from memory, leaving no room even for embarrassment.

“I’m the opposite; pale colors don’t suit me at all, so I’m spared that worry… but corsets can be agony.”

What people demanded of Violet was refined sensuality and splendor.
A presence that drew every eye simply by existing.
That presence rarely turned into affection, and the people around her never wished for a Violet who inspired affection.

So she moved through the world in a way that both attracted and avoided attention.
She didn’t want to stand out, but embodying plainness would only make her conspicuous in a worse way.

She had never once liked her own appearance.
She had hated it.
There was a time she refused even to look in mirrors; she had loathed every part of herself, from blood to genes, without exception.

When had she become able to accept it?

This face she had hated so much, this obstructive hair, wearing dresses she didn’t like;
when had they stopped being pure hell?

(…Because Yulan praised me.)

The boy who was always smiling by her side floated into her mind.
The boyish formal wear, the awkward half-grown hair paired with dresses, even the clothes she liked that everyone else said didn’t suit her;

“You’re beautiful. You’re cute. It really suits you.”
“Vio-chan looks wonderful in anything.”

With a smile bright enough to drown out every other voice, he praised her.
Even when she stood in a form far removed from the ideal Violet, he had never once made a displeased face.

That was why she could finally feel pride.
She could think, This is me.
She still didn’t like a single thing; her hair, her eyes, the blood flowing through her, the cells that made her; but she could think, Even so, it’s all right.

Because Yulan had cherished even the parts of Violet she hated, the parts she wanted to discard.
If Yulan said he liked them, then the self reflected through Yulan alone; perhaps she was allowed to love that self.

“…Violet-sama?”

“…! S-sorry, I was remembering something nostalgic…”

“Please don’t worry about it. It must be a good memory?”

“Eh…?”

“Fufu, I could tell just by looking; you had such a happy expression.”

Rosette’s gentle smile stopped Violet’s words in her throat.
Even the faint sound of the wind felt far away; only Rosette’s words rang clearly, taking on color inside her mind.

Had she really looked that happy?
Just because Yulan was in a memory that was by no means beautiful.

In a world twisted enough to turn her into a sinner, when she had wished for people’s unhappiness, even their deaths;
in an environment where she could have abandoned ethics, morality, even law;
the memory she recalled was not ugly through and through.

“Yes… a very… very happy… happiness.”

The words she forced out between broken breaths and soundless tremors were unmistakably Violet’s true feelings.

It was only natural that Rosette panicked at the sight of Violet bowing and covering her face with both hands.
All Rosette could do was gently stroke her back; it looked as though she were crying.

There were no tears in Violet’s eyes.
Yet the happiness of everything she had only just realized was enough for her to shamelessly lean on Rosette’s kindness, who asked nothing, simply stayed by her side.

Happy, joyful; and precisely because of that, painful.

She hadn’t known.
She hadn’t noticed.
She had refused to see anything.

She had wanted to be happy.

Yet Yulan had always, always been smiling right beside her.