Chapter Text
The garden was in full bloom, a sea of colors stretching far beyond Rui's line of sight. Roses, peonies, and violets danced in the afternoon wind, their petals swaying with a delicate rhythm. The palace grounds were a paradise to many—meticulously maintained, each flower bed arranged to form a picture of perfect harmony. But to Rui, it was suffocating.
The air was thick with fragrance. The scent clung to him, wrapped around his throat, coiling in his lungs until he felt lightheaded. Sweet, heavy, cloying—it was unbearable. He walked with his head slightly turned away, trying to avoid inhaling too deeply. He had long since learned that it was futile; the scent always found him, no matter how much he wished otherwise.
From the moment he was old enough to toddle through the garden paths, Rui had despised flowers. It wasn’t that he found them ugly—if anything, their delicate petals and rich colors were objectively beautiful—but something about them unsettled him. He had never been able to place why. All he knew was that the more he was surrounded by them, the more he wanted to escape.
Nene often laughed at him for it. “You live in a palace filled with flowers, and yet you act like they’ve personally wronged you.” She teased, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger.
“They have,” Rui muttered, kicking a stray pebble from the garden path. “They exist just to bother me.”
Nene sighed, her usual exasperated but fond expression on display. “I don’t get you at all.”
The two of them had been friends for as long as Rui could remember. Nene, the daughter of a noble family closely allied with his own, had spent most of her childhood in the palace. While he disliked the suffocating presence of the gardens, she found them enchanting. She often dragged him along to pick flowers, weave crowns, and admire the delicate craftsmanship of nature—much to his chagrin.
“You’re exaggerating again,” she added, plucking a daisy and holding it up to his face. “They’re just flowers, Rui.”
He scowled and leaned back. “Keep them away from me.”
The worst, however, were the lilies.
They lined the outer edges of the garden in pristine, carefully curated rows. White ones stood in elegant clusters, their petals curving with a near ethereal grace, while black ones grew deeper within, their dark hues striking against the otherwise vibrant array of colors. The black lilies, in particular, unsettled him the most. There was something eerie about them, something unnatural. Even as a child, he had felt their presence looming in the garden, waiting, watching.
He didn’t realize he was staring at them until Nene spoke. “You really hate them, huh?”
Rui blinked and tore his gaze away. “Of course. They’re the worst.”
She hesitated for a moment before lowering her voice. “There’s a legend about them, you know.”
He raised a brow. “Oh? Do tell.”
She looked around, as if checking for any listening ears, then leaned in slightly. “The black lilies are cursed.”
Rui let out a sharp laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
Nene frowned. “I am. The legend says that those who are drawn to black lilies are bound by fate to sorrow. No matter how much they try to escape, misfortune will follow them until the end.”
Something cold settled in Rui’s stomach. He ignored it. “What nonsense. People always make up ridiculous stories about things they don’t understand.”
Nene didn’t respond right away. Instead, she reached out and plucked a black lily from the flower bed. Rui stiffened as she held it out to him. “Then, if it’s nonsense, you should take this.”
He stared at the flower, at the way its dark petals curled slightly at the edges. His fingers twitched at his sides, an instinctual hesitation rising within him. The scent, heavier than the others, drifted toward him.
Rui shoved her hand away. “I said keep them away from me.”
Nene studied him for a moment before dropping the flower onto the ground. “Fine. But you can’t ignore something just because you don’t like what it means.”
He turned away from her, ignoring the way the black lilies seemed to rustle in the wind, whispering secrets only they could hear.
The flower landed softly on the stone path, its dark petals stark against the pale ground. Rui refused to look at it. The mere thought of touching it made his skin crawl, an irrational shiver creeping up his spine.
Nene, however, was undeterred. “You didn’t let me finish,” she said, crossing her arms. “There’s more to the legend.”
Rui exhaled sharply. “Of course there is.”
“The curse isn’t just about sorrow,” she continued, voice dropping to a hushed whisper. “It’s about love, too.”
That caught Rui’s attention, though he didn’t let it show. He kept his expression carefully neutral, tilting his head slightly as if bored. “Go on.”
Nene glanced at the lilies again, as though afraid they might be listening. “They say the black lily chooses its own,” she murmured. “Once someone is drawn to them—truly drawn to them—it’s already too late. The flower will tether them to another, someone who is their fated other half. No matter how much time passes, no matter how much they fight it, the bond will pull them together.”
Rui scoffed. “You make it sound like the flowers have a will of their own.”
Nene didn’t smile. “Maybe they do.”
He rolled his eyes. “And let me guess. This is supposed to be romantic?”
“No,” she said quietly. “It’s a tragedy.”
The wind rustled through the garden, carrying the thick scent of lilies with it. Rui shifted uncomfortably, resisting the urge to cover his nose. He had never cared for legends or curses, never put stock in the stories the palace staff whispered amongst themselves. And yet, something about Nene’s words burrowed under his skin, unsettling him in a way he couldn’t explain.
“A tragedy,” he repeated.
Nene nodded. “The one chosen by the black lily will always meet their fated person, but their love will never last. No matter what they do, no matter how hard they try to defy fate, it always ends the same way—separation, sorrow, loss.”
Rui let out a sharp laugh, though it sounded more forced than he intended. “How convenient. A love story with no happy ending.”
“It’s not a love story,” Nene corrected, shaking her head. “It’s a warning.”
He frowned at her choice of words. A warning. Against what? Against love itself? Against the idea of fate? Or was it something worse—something lurking beneath the surface of the legend, something no one truly understood?
For a brief, irrational moment, he thought of his own family. The cold halls of the palace, the way his parents carried themselves with quiet distance. Love was never spoken of within these walls. Affection was something theoretical, detached, meant to be observed rather than felt. If this legend was true, if love itself was a curse bound to end in suffering, then perhaps that explained why the people around him never seemed to seek it.
Perhaps that was why he never felt the need to, either.
With a quiet scoff, Rui turned away. “It’s just an old tale,” he said dismissively. “People love making up stories about things they can’t explain.”
Nene watched him carefully, as if trying to read the thoughts he refused to voice. Then, slowly, she bent down and picked up the fallen black lily. This time, she didn’t try to hand it to him. Instead, she held it between her fingers, twisting the stem absentmindedly.
“…Maybe,” she murmured. “But you’ve always hated these flowers, haven’t you?”
Rui hesitated. “…And?”
“And yet, you can’t stop looking at them.”
He stiffened, mouth pressing into a thin line. That was nonsense. He didn’t care for these flowers—didn’t care for any flowers, in fact. They meant nothing to him. Just a nuisance, a presence he tolerated simply because he had no choice.
Even so, when he finally turned to leave, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unseen eyes watching him.
The black lilies swayed gently in the wind.
. . .
The seasons shifted, years slipping by like feathers caught in the breeze.
Rui and Nene remained constants in each other’s lives, their friendship woven between countless afternoons spent in the gardens, bickering, teasing, and indulging in trivialities neither of them would remember when the day ended. They grew, but the core of their dynamic remained unchanged. Rui still loathed flowers, and Nene still found amusement in his distaste.
Now, at fourteen—perhaps fifteen, neither of them had cared to keep track—Rui sat beneath the shade of an old willow tree, one leg bent, the other stretched lazily across the grass. Nene lay beside him, idly plucking blades of grass and letting them slip through her fingers. The garden was in full bloom once more, but he kept his distance from the flowers. The black lilies were there, lurking at the edges of his vision, but he refused to acknowledge them.
A comfortable silence had settled between them, the kind that only came with years of familiarity. It was Nene who broke it first.
“Did you know the curse passes through blood?”
Rui, half-lost in thought, barely glanced at her. “What?”
“The legend.” She sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. “The one about the black lilies.”
He groaned. “Again with that nonsense?”
She ignored his exasperation. “I was talking to one of the maids the other day. She said the curse isn’t random—it runs in families.”
Rui’s fingers twitched against the grass. “And?”
Nene sighed, exasperated. “And? Doesn’t that sound cruel to you? Imagine inheriting something like that. Being doomed to love someone only to lose them.”
He clicked his tongue. “That’s assuming the legend is real.”
She huffed, giving him a pointed look. “You never take anything seriously.”
“And you take things too seriously.”
“I just think it’s sad.” She toyed with the hem of her sleeve. “If it’s really passed through bloodlines, that means there were entire generations of people who—”
“Who what?” Rui interrupted, his voice sharper than intended. “Sat around waiting for some invisible force to ruin their lives? Doomed themselves just because someone told them a bedtime story about flowers? That’s pathetic.”
Nene frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what do you mean?”
She hesitated. “...Wouldn’t you want to know?”
“Know what?”
“If you had the curse,” she said quietly.
Rui finally turned to look at her, but she wasn’t meeting his gaze. Her fingers were restless in the grass, plucking and discarding tiny green strands. There was something oddly serious about the way she spoke, something unlike her usual teasing remarks.
He leaned back against the tree trunk, exhaling slowly. “Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
She glared at him. “Rui.”
He glanced skyward. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling his skin in shifting patterns of light and shadow. He didn’t want to entertain this conversation, but Nene wasn’t going to let it go.
So he answered, honestly.
“I don’t care.”
She stared at him, searching for any sign of hesitation.
“Even if it was real,” he continued, “even if I was cursed, what difference would it make? I have no intention of being tied to some tragic fate.”
“But—”
“I don’t believe in fate,” he cut in. “And I don’t believe in love, either.”
Nene flinched slightly, as if she hadn’t expected him to say it so bluntly.
Rui tilted his head toward her, smirking. “What? Surprised?”
She averted her gaze. “Not really. Just…” She sighed. “You don’t have to sound so sure about it.”
He scoffed. “If it makes you feel better, I do believe in one thing.”
She perked up slightly, cautious but curious. “And what’s that?”
Rui’s smirk widened, sharp and mischievous. “That black lilies are the worst flowers to ever exist.”
Nene groaned, throwing a handful of grass at him. “You’re insufferable.”
He laughed, dodging the attack with ease. “I’m being serious! If there’s any real curse, it’s having to see those things every time I step outside.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible to have a real conversation with.”
“Because it’s pointless,” Rui replied breezily. “People let superstitions control them. If they believe in a curse, then they bring misfortune upon themselves. It’s not the lilies. It’s not fate. It’s just weak-minded people convincing themselves they were doomed from the start.”
Nene fell silent for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, softly, she asked, “And if it were real?”
Rui stilled.
The wind whispered through the leaves, carrying the scent of the flowers with it. He breathed in—sweet, heavy, cloying. Always suffocating.
“If it were real,” he said, quieter now, “then I’d still hate it.”
Nene didn’t push further. Maybe she saw something in his face that told her not to. Maybe she didn’t want to know his answer after all.
The conversation drifted elsewhere, dissolving into the usual meaningless chatter that filled their afternoons. But the words lingered, tucked away between the spaces of their laughter, between the rustling petals and the ever-present scent of lilies.
It was just a legend. Just an old tale passed down through generations.
And yet—
That night, Rui dreamt of black lilies.