Chapter 74: Perfect Idol.

I think “perfection” means never straying outside what people imagine you to be.

Beautiful, lovely, adorable, wonderful, ideal.
Countless words of praise pile up inside me, bury me, and slowly crush the real me beneath them.

By the time I realized how painful that was, my feet were already sinking into the sediment and I could no longer move.

Rosette. I don’t hate my name; it makes me think of roses.
But being told “you’re just like a flower” always felt suffocating.

(…Not here this time either.)

Every time I heard new books had arrived; both in middle school and after entering high school; I came with a sliver of hope, only to leave disappointed.

The academy library boasts one of the finest collections anywhere, complete with specialized volumes in every field.
So in a way, what I want does exist.
There are excellent academic books on the same subject.

But they are academic books.
Dense research findings and hidden possibilities written in tiny print; how many people can enjoy them purely out of personal curiosity?
At the very least, I prefer pictures to text, and photographs to illustrations.

Unfortunately, in the field I love, bare explanatory text is apparently preferred over pictures or photos.

“Lady Rosette, if you’re looking for something, let us help!”

“We’d love to read whatever Lady Rosette chooses!”

“Please tell us your recommendations!”

“Thank you, everyone… but I’m fine. I just came to check the new arrivals.”

The sparkling eyes turned toward me have already decided what “Rosette’s taste” must be: sweet romance novels, beautiful landscape photography books, or; if they want to call it “unexpected”; perhaps a complicated mystery.

“Kyaa!”

“Who did that!? Who left the window open!?”

A scream rang out.
Eyes turned.
In the corner by the wall, the crowd scattered in an instant.
Beside open books and notebooks sat a tiny creature.

Judging by its size, a young lizard.

It wiggled along on four legs, radiating no threat at all.
Left alone, it would probably cause no trouble whatsoever.

But in this academy, it was a creature that would never be welcomed.

No one would kill it outright, but it would never be accepted either.
People screamed, backed away, called an adult, and waited for it to be released outside.
The reaction was never kind; far more felt unease or outright disgust.

In short, not the sort of thing a famous noble lady should like.

“Lady Rosette, are you all right?”

“…Yes, thank you.”

A student with a worried, clouded expression spoke to the frozen Rosette.
She probably wasn’t fond of reptiles herself.
And of course she assumed Rosette felt the same.
That was why she was worried.

She was a kind girl who could consider others’ feelings.
Being able to imagine not just her own heart but someone else’s was a wonderful quality.

If the someone else hadn’t been Rosette, that kindness wouldn’t have hurt.

“…”

What kind of face would she make if she knew the truth?
If I let the real me; the thing I love most; out into the open, what sort of eyes would she turn on me?

Would kindness built on the assumption that we felt the same still remain unchanged once that assumption crumbled?

Imagining the answer… Rosette quietly slipped away without speaking to anyone.

×　×　×　×

It began with my brothers, I think.

My two older brothers doted on their little sister.
When I was small, they always wanted me beside them; at meals, at play, even at bedtime we held both their hands.

That our playground became the library instead of the garden was surely out of consideration for me.
My brothers were princes and could get dirty if they wished, but a princess couldn’t very well run around covered in mud.

I loved the stories they read aloud, but children’s books quickly bored an even younger child.
Since I wasn’t naturally quiet, my brothers ransacked the library to keep me entertained, reading everything they could find: cute picture books, bittersweet romances, tales of friendship and fantasy, even poetry collections.

I don’t remember exactly when my hand reached for the illustrated guides my brothers owned privately.
Or when I became completely enchanted by their contents.

Large photographs, detailed explanations of each part.
Some creatures looked grotesque, but many were adorable or breathtakingly beautiful.
Once I could read the text myself, I grew fascinated by their ecology as well.

The three of us gathered every day, absorbed in a single guide… though perhaps my brothers were only indulging their little sister.
Even so, not once did they ever call it strange.

They never scolded me, never looked down on me, never showed disappointment; not even once.

I simply sensed, somehow, that a princess who loved reptiles would not be liked.