The Flower Dances and the Wind Sings

Chapter 1

Her life drained from her soul with each ragged breath she sucked in. Lying deathly still on her bed, she peered around with her peripheral vision to see everyone with their eyes downcast, preparing for her demise. Her husband, Harzen, who had remained by her side in his makeshift chair for days, kept his eyes focused on her.

He was by no means a doting husband. But while he was a hardy man from a military family, he had always been loyal and kind to her. The way he would sometimes gift her flowers touched her heart. Though they were not an affectionate couple, they had each served their role faithfully. She could surmise that it had been a pretty good marriage.

She gave her husband a faint smile and let her gaze trail toward the boy behind him. She stayed fixed on him.

It was her son. He was just growing out of his boyhood, his delicate beauty maturing into that of a man. Though his dull blue eyes were trained on her, they were dry and devoid of any emotion.

It’s my fault, she thought with a sad smile.

Her name was Ersella. Born into the House of Marquess Pisarde, she had become a duchess after she married into the House of Bernhart, the most esteemed military family of the kingdom.

Everyone looked up to her and praised her beauty. She lived a life of splendor, drawing all eyes to her wherever she went. She herself had nothing bad to say about her life until she fell ill and death came knocking on her door. Only then did she begin to regret her past actions, especially that of not caring enough for her only son.

She found it difficult to feel affection for him. She’d birthed him at the age of seventeen, having married as soon as she reached maturity at sixteen. Becoming a mother at such a young age and finding herself pulled away from the life her peers enjoyed by child-rearing had made her resent her son. Like he had ruined her life.

As a result, their mother-son relationship became cold and strained. By the time she realized something was wrong, nothing could be done.

Despite having grown up as a beloved daughter of a marquess, she struggled to love her own son—even though she was kind to others—and her pride prevented her from taking the first step.

This is the end…

Feeling the urge to tell her son she loved him, she tried to call out his name, only to find herself silenced by his icy stare. He appeared ready to shoot cold retorts as soon as she made any attempt at kind words. No, the boy wouldn’t even bother to criticize her. That child would just sit quietly, thinking about how his mother was uttering silly things now that she was on her deathbed, before going through with the funeral and returning to his normal life.

Her smile was bitter. The lack of tears made her realize once again how heartless she had been. Her body had been barely hanging on. She was growing weaker by the second. Sleep washed over her slowly.

So, I’m finally dying. Ersella closed her eyes, unable to utter words of love even at the end. I suppose I will forever be a heartless mother to you… she thought as death embraced her.

***

“Oh my, look at how beautiful the daughter of the marquess is,” people commented affectionately.

“With her beauty and a perfect pedigree, she could rule the high society one day,” others agreed with awe.

“Lady Ersella, would you grant me the honor of your first dance?”

“I can’t help but find myself drawn to your beauty.”

“My lady, I love you.”

Among such people she stood, taking their love for granted.

“Sella, we got a proposal from the House of Bernhart.”

“How wonderful, Ersella. You’re going to be a happy woman.”

“I knew you were going to be married to a good family, Ersella.”

Everyone looked at her with admiration. Her smile implied she was accustomed to such praise.

Her father stroked her head gently, telling her how she would be the happiest woman in the world. “I’m so in awe of you Ersella. You’re loved by everyone.”

People began to tell her about how wonderstruck they were.

“Be happy,” they wished. Their eyes sparkled.

Smiling joyfully, she replied, “Thank you, everyone.”

Time passed, and she had a baby.

“Congratulations, Your Grace! It’s a boy!” a maid exclaimed.

“Congratulations, Ersella! To imagine you’d have a son right away!”

“How lucky! His Grace will be delighted as well!”

“You’ve done well.”

“Your Grace, would you like to hold him?” another maid asked.

She teared up as the weight of the small bundle of life was pressed against her bosom. “Oh… it’s a son. It’s a son.” She was so proud of her accomplishment.

A few years later, she had come into her husband’s study to ask a question.

“A ball?” Harzen’s voice was sharp. “Is that more important than your own child?”

“But I’ve been looking forward to this day,” she said. “All of my friends are going. I can’t be the only one left out…”

“They’re yet to be married, unlike you. How can you expect to be the same? I wish you’d take care of the home more now that we have a child.”

“But Harzen!”

“We’ll talk again when the child is older. Or we can host our own party at home.”

Her tone changed. “But you always come home late.”

Harzen pinched the bridge of his nose. “It hasn’t been long since I became a duke. We can take a trip somewhere once things are settled. We can also go to more parties.”

At this, Ersella perked up. “Really?”

Harzen nodded. “Yes.”

Good. She smiled, quietly telling herself that this was fine. After all, some husbands stopped their wives from going out altogether, and Harzen was busy after inheriting the title.

She obeyed her husband and waited. Once she was finally allowed to attend a ball, her friends gathered and were all excited to see her.

“Ersella. Are you coming to parties again?”

“Oh my! It has been so long! You’re still as beautiful as ever!”

Being patient had been worth it. Ersella smiled to herself, feeling like she had gained a bit of her old life back.

“Are you okay if you don’t go home though?” her friend asked.

Ersella shrugged. “I’m fine. Harzen said he’d be late tonight.”

Her friend shifted uncomfortably. “But… what about your son?”

Ersella remained silent.

“Yes, is it okay if you don’t go to see your son? He’s only five,” another friend said.

Ersella was curt. “The nanny is taking care of him…”

Her friend blinked at the blunt response. “What? Aren’t you coming to parties too often, though? I feel like you’re handing off your son to your nanny too much.”

Another friend nodded in agreement. “She’s right. Neglecting the child is not motherly.”

“Why don’t you go home now?”

Esrella studied her friends’ faces. It appeared as though the words were not an attempt to get rid of Ersella, but rather they came from a place of true concern for her son.

But... she had been looking forward to the party so much. Socializing with her friends under the opulent chandelier, hearing various stories, talking and laughing as they had friendly conversations; that was all Ersella wanted.

“But I…” she started. She was just twenty-two years old. However, she could not say the words out loud, fearing that her friends would look at her as if they didn’t matter. “Yes, I should go. See you later,” she said.

How bitter she had been when she had to turn away from the peak of the party.

“You’re back, Mother!” Back home, her child greeted her with a cheerful smile. When she didn’t reply, his face clouded with concern. Mother? he thought.

“I’m tired. We’ll talk tomorrow,” she said.

She hated him. Meanwhile, her maids and servants always complimented her son.

“Your Grace. Lord Vicente is just as handsome as His Grace.”

“My, how mature he is for his age. He’s already so smart, but they say he’s a talented swordsman like His Grace as well. He will be a great heir to the house in the future.”

“You are surely blessed, Your Grace.”

Their son grew up without any issues, even in her absence.

One day, when Ersella was alone with her husband, he asked, “Do you even care about our son?”

She puffed out her cheeks. “How could you ask such a thing?”

Harzen gave in immediately. “Sella… no, I apologize. I just wish you’d care more.” He sighed.

“All right…” Her voice came out in a resigned tone.

“How about you two dine together tonight?”

Just by themselves…? She felt a strange resistance to the idea. She wondered if eating dinner with her son was supposed to be this awkward. When she was young, she ate with her parents without any problem. Then why was it awkward to think about doing the same with her son?

But when the time came, she was utterly disappointed. “Your Grace,” the butler spoke softly. “Lord Vicente says… he wants to skip dinner tonight.” He shifted nervously when delivering the bad news.

Ersella’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Call him in.”

She couldn’t believe her son had refused her invitation. She despised those blue eyes—just like hers—that stared back at her as he sauntered into the room in response to her call.

“Vicente.” Ersella’s voice was cold.

Why did it feel so strange? She had merely uttered his name, but the ring of the word, and its tone and its sound, felt dead.

“You called for me?” Vicente asked.

Ersella was furious. She hated how her son looked back at her. She was his mother! His mother!

“The butler must have made a mistake.” She spoke like it couldn’t matter less to her. “You can go back to what you were doing.”

“Yes, Mother,” Vicente said. His eyes looked emotionless, even as he called her “Mother.”

Then, one day, she fell ill.

“Y-Your Grace! Blood—!” The butler’s voice was shrill as he noticed the duchess had coughed up blood.

Meanwhile, the icy relationship between mother and son continued until her death. When she became bedridden, she had felt an urge to relay a message to Vicente. Oh, I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Ersella wanted to shout. But her voice seemed to evaporate as soon as it left her lips. Nobody heard her screams.

If I could… If I could see you once more…

As her life left her and went into the void, she made a dear wish. If she could go back, she would not be so uncaring. She would be a kind mother. If she could see Vicente just one more time.

Perhaps because she was so desperate in her desire to be given a second chance...

It was granted.