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You go outside on sunny days, when the work for the day is done, to admire the roses. They belong to people far more fortunate then you, people who have the money to cultivate delicate flora for the sole purpose of looking nice. You'd like to be one of those people, one day. You're not sure how it would happen, but it could.
Perhaps you're secretly the daughter of a wealthy lord and lady, and we're kidnapped as a child. Perhaps a dashing prince falls in love with you at first sight and sweeps you off your feet. Anyways, you'd be swept up into a life of pampered luxury, adored by those around you. Most people say you live in delusion, though you can't see the problem in hoping. Others can.
No matter what you do, or how you do it, it's wrong somehow. Everytime you open your mouth you say something wrong, yet keeping it closed is so dreadfully dull. Not that they would be satisfied with that, even. You think they'd much prefer if you didn't think at all. If you just farmed rice contentedly for the rest of your days, married an average man and had average children. Instead of...what did they say? Oh, right. Chasing fantasies of grandeur.
Maybe something is wrong with you. But would you even change it if you could? Everyone you know shoots you disapproving looks as you pass by, whispers to friends about what your wearing, what you said, where you're going. Surely, something is very clearly wrong with you. Even your adoptive parents think so. The love that was oh so plentiful in your childhood is long gone now, replaced by mistrust and derision.
But why would you wish to give it all up? Your fantasies are your safe haven, the only shelter you can find from the overflowing malice if your everyday world. They are what keep you sane, though the villagers seem to believe you aren't, were never very sane in the first place. Your only other companion is your doll, a gift from loving parents who have longsince changed their minds. Still, she is there, in the corner of your room. You tell her all about everything that happened at the end of the day, and she listens. Without a hint of exasperation, she listens, a very rare thing in your world.
You continue towards the roses, the smell permeating the air, till everything else is drowned out by the smell of delicate petals. You have never touched one before, but you wonder what they would feel like. For a moment you close your eyes and it's almost as if you are holding one yourself, a gift from a lovestruck suitor, a bouquet given as a reward for some great deed. The illusion is shattered in moments as you hear footsteps drawing near. Looking up, you see the most beautiful man you've ever seen in your life.
His hair is the color of lapis lazuli, his eyes bright as the blue sky. Maybe you were wrong, and you are the lovestruck suitor. And perhaps you don't entirely mind this, as your paths converge on the road past the roses painted baby pink. He's dressed fancily, like a noble man from a fairytale. Like a prince. And you are not in your best dressed, less of a princess and more a peasant. You don't know quite yet of the stories that will start just like this, with a fated meeting between a poor girl with a gentle heart and a dashing young prince. And yet the whole thing is terribly poetic, so much so you feel it must be fate before he even opens his mouth.
"Hello! How can Mikulia help you?" You'll give this man directions this once, and you'll never see him again. You don't know it, of course, so you'll still hope for a happily ever after that is just as far out of reach as it always has been. He was sent as diplomatic envoy from Marlon, and got lost on the trail. He'll come back, but by then it won't matter and his heart will be someone else's, and your heart will be forfeit as well. You won't even catch another glimpse of him as he stabs the man for his lover. Not that he'd pursue you either way. She's the queen of Marlon and you're just some girl from a small farming village. She's his true love and your just some girl he met once upon a time.
But someone will see the two of you, as you take him to where he needs to go, and they'll have an idea. And that idea will be turned into writing, and then it will be published. The names will differ, especially as it gets retold over and over. As will the ending. But it's still you, and it's still him, and it's still how you felt that one warm summer day that could've changed your life, but didn't. And that story is immortalized, and you with it. And maybe it's no fairytale ending in real life, maybe not what you had dreamed of. But it's something. Something of yours that left it's mark long after your passing. And perhaps that's enough.