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The little girl was probably six or seven years old. Her hair was cut extremly short and was a shade of brown that matched her eyes, and through the window he thought her the plainest thing he'd ever seen. When he brought the girl to his older friend's attention the young man shook his head.
"You may never understand this, Milliardo." The young man said, and he was just about twelve. "She's very beautiful and she's a lady. You should treat her as such."
Milliardo, who was seven, huffed and brushed back his blonde hair from his face. He observed the girl again. "She's just a street rat. That's what your father calls those people."
"My father," the young man said softly, "is wrong." He stepped away from the window and out of the room.
"Treize!" Milliardo called after him and then followed. He watched from a distance as Trieze talked to the young woman through the fence.
"And what's your name," Treize said to the little girl. She held out a small buddle of flowers to him. He'd heard of children being forced to sell flowers on the street. He took the ragged bouquet and gave the girl a half dollar. She grinned.
"I'm Josephine."
"I love flowers, Josephine." He said softly, warmly. "You remind me of a rose."
The little girl blushed.
"Where are your parents?"
She shrugged.
"I see." Treize stepped off and disappeared for a moment and then returned with a red rose from his mother's garden. He handed it to the little girl with a smile. "For you. Don't sell it, okay? Promise me."
"I promise." The little girl said.
Milliardo stepped over then and gave his friend a quizzical look.
Trieze looked at him and said, "When she grows up, Millardo, she'll be a graceful and elegant lady."
******
Josephine Une woke in the morning and crawled out of her make shift bed made of rags and cardboard. She took a deep breath and then reached down to grab her basket. She reached into it and pulled out a dried rose, settling it with care behind an ear before heading towards the lot where she picked wild flowers.
She was thirteen, and her prospects were slim.
A car drove passed her as she walked along the streets and then suddenly stopped right in front of her. It was an expensive car. The window in the back seat rolled down and a young man peered out at her and grinned.
"How much for flowers?" He asked.
"I don't have any yet." She replied, regretting sleeping in. "I can get-"
"How much," the young man interrupted, "for the one in your hair?"
She touched the rose, felt its age. "It's not for sale."
"One hundred dollars." The young man said quickly.
"No, look it's…It was a gift. It's all I have."
"Five hundred."
She shut her eyes. That was a lot of money. She could probably get back into school with that kind of money. She opened her eyes. The young man was staring at her expectantly. Her stomach growled, but she found herself shaking her head. "Sorry. I can get you fresh wild flowers if you can wait."
The young man began to laugh. She glared at him and started to storm off. The car followed her for a bit and then stopped. The young man stepped out. She started to run and then he called her name.
"Josephine!"
She blinked and turned around. She walked back up to him.
"Well," he said softly, "you still have some growing up to do, don't you?"
She nodded. She hated that she hadn't recognized him.
"You're still a rose in this god awful city," he said. "Trade me the rose."
"For what?"
"A better life, Lady, a better life."
*******
Milliardo and Lucrezia were eating lunch together on the terrace when Josephine calmly walked up to them.
"He's back." She said with a touch of excitement. "He's made it back from the war."
Milliardo glanced up at her coolly and shrugged. She narrowed her eyes and kept herself from sprinting through the house to the front. When she saw him there in his uniform he looked a little different, and yet, he was the same.
He was hugging his mother and then looked up and saw her there.
"Lady, there you are."
She stepped over to him and fought the urge to throw her arms about his neck. "Mr. Khushrenada it's good to have you back."
He tilted his head and watched her. He grinned and pulled out a dried rose from his pocket.
"It used to be red and white." He said. "They call it a fire and ice rose."
She accepted it.
"How are your studies?"
"She's top of the class as always," his mother cut in. "Your father thinks we should send her to Yale."
Trieze shook his head. "No, Harvard."
Josephine blinked and then shook her head. Of course, she thought, Harvard would be better.
******
Milliardo watched as the young woman hit the punching bag. The trainer behind it made sounds of approval and to the side, in a black suit, Treize Kushrenada sat and watched. Milliardo stepped up to him, glancing curiously at the display.
"Are these the actions of a lady?" Milliardo asked.
"Even ladies can defend themselves, dear Marquis." He said and then chuckled. He narrowed his eyes and then said softly, in the young woman's direction. "Your left hook needs work, Lady."
She stopped her routine and looked over at him. Wireless circular frames on her face and she nodded knowingly. She turned back to the bag and began again, this time with more force and equal grace.
"Are you satisfied with her?" Milliardo asked curtly.
Treize nodded. "I told you she'd become a lady. She'll probably end up taking a number before you do."
Millardo gritted his teeth and stalked off.