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EPILOGUE:[break]
"Laisse le chat tranquille"

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A Vivillon with a letter tied to its leg wings off to Kalos, vanishing on the spring breeze with a clandestine missive.



To whom it may concern,[break][break]

It seems I must remind you, again, that Bortiforte Industries is no longer a corporate entity available for purchase. [break][break]

Upon my inheritance of my late husband's shares, I made the executive decision that the role of chairwoman was one I neither desired nor was suited for. [break][break]

Security and asset management technology, particularly for the military sector, is understandably a valuable resource in a time of such global unrest. The dissolution of the company resulted in each branch finding a home in umbrella corporations, rather than a singular buyout. The fact that you find this decision shocking on my part does not change the fact that this decision was taken.[break][break]

As much as Édouard would have appreciated seeing you take such a keen and enthusiastic interest in his work, I fear there is a small matter that is not being addressed by your repeated inquiries, and your increasingly absurd bids.[break][break]

You cannot seek to buy something which no longer exists.[break][break]

Do not seek to contact me again at this address. My next response will hold less restraint, and come with a lawyer's cease and desist.[break][break]

Sincerely,[break]
Elisabeth Fiorelli[break]
Dowager Countess Bortiforte

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EPILOGUE:[break]
"Cauchemar"

[break]
Nightmares plague the florist of Petalburg Cottage, whispering of another place that forever haunted her whether she was awake or dreaming.



Exhaling, Elisabeth picked up the glittering vial by her dresser and stared at it. She hated this, using a sleeping draught. It wasn't the same as poison, exactly, but it was an elixir all the same, conjured by her Vivillon's sleeping powder into a mixture that ensured hours lost to sleep for anyone who drank from it. [break][break]

Was this what Elisabeth was reduced to, now? Subduing her mind with her own drugs?[break][break]

What pathetic weakness.[break][break]

Her Leafeon nuzzled up against her, curling up beside his mistress to enter a light sleep as he snored gently. The blonde shut her eyes, threw back the vial, and waited for the heavy hammer of sleep to likewise descend upon her.[break][break]

When it did, the impact hit her swift and hard.



"I hate what you've done with your place. Insipid little fairy tale cottage. Something a little girl would think up."[break][break]

The florist recognized the slow, gravelly way that the Dowager Countess spoke before her figure came into view: seated in a plush, velvet armchair that dominated the room as a Salazzle leisurely rested at the older woman's feet. [break][break]

The cloying scent of Casablanca lilies, as always, suffocated the interior of her mother-in-law's parlor, strangling all other senses in its heady intoxication. It wasn't that Elisabeth disliked the flowers.[break][break]

Their fragrance merely erased the scent of everything else.[break][break]

"I imagine you don't hate or feel much of anything anymore, Dowager Countess," Elisabeth replied coolly, leaning back in her own seat, "considering that you're dead."[break][break]

A wheezing cackle answered, the wrinkles around the crone's eyes crinkling with amusement. "Dead, am I? Then I suppose I have you to thank for my immortality, girl. I can't think of anyone else living who would let me live in the cobwebs of their mind, as you do."[break][break]

"You were hardly invited in."[break][break]

Elisabeth was beginning to get better at this, piecing apart which nightmares were real and which were not. Although this didn't accomplish much of significance, truthfully. Her lucid dreaming granted her no power over the looms of her nightmares; the shadows of her past were plucked and re-woven into whatever ghastly recollections her subconscious saw fit to show her.[break][break]

The dowager's squinty eyes fell to the untouched cups and saucers upon the table, then flitted up to meet Elisabeth's icy stare. "Is my tea suddenly not to your liking?"[break][break]

"I prefer to prepare my own food and drink now, thank you," she replied simply.[break][break]

"Hah!" The loud sound startled the Salazzle into letting out a low hiss of irritation at its mistress, who grinned wickedly, showing a mouth of tea-stained teeth. "Not as stupid as you look, then. Good, good."[break][break]

Bracelets jangled on the noblewoman's wrists as she reached down to scratch the Salazzle's long neck, soothing the creature as it thumped its tail with delight.[break][break]

"I take credit for that, you know. This hardness in you."[break][break]

Whatever reaction that the statement was meant to invoke in Elisabeth, she refused to give it. Her gaze remained blank, her expression devoid of emotion. "I owe nothing to you or your family."[break][break]

"Oh that's not true, is it, dearie? We're alike, you and I, in so many ways." A withered hand reached forward to touch Elisabeth's cheek, the touch earning a brief flinch from the florist and nothing more. "I always thought my son would be my greatest achievement. Ironic that it was you, the daughter I never wanted."[break][break]

Elisabeth pulled away, the faintest hint of disgust ringing through her words: "I already have a mother."[break][break]

"And we're both dead, but I'm the only one your mind is reviving, aren't I?" The older woman's lips twisted into a terrible mockery of a grin. "Are you certain that you're not grateful for all those books I left behind for you to find? Your little basement filled with the knowledge I bequeathed you?"[break][break]

Her voice lowered, its cadence almost menacing.[break][break]

"Did your own mother teach you what you needed to survive in this world? Or only how to grieve it with pretty flowers?"[break][break]

Silence descended like a guillotine as Elisabeth directed a glare at the ghost so frigid, it could freeze her blossoms dead in the heat of summer.[break][break]

The old woman's grin widened, her mouth splitting apart into maddened laughter. "Oh, that stoic act of yours doesn't work on me, girl. I knew you before you learned how to wear a mask, remember?"[break][break]

"Neither you nor Édouard ever knew me," the blonde said, the words at once soft as a whisper and hard as steel.[break][break]

"No? But I know that I frighten you."



A plaintive mewling stirred Elisabeth awake, her braid coming undone as her Leafeon batted at it in an impatient bid for his mistress's attention. She rubbed the sleep from her tired eyes, the residual dizziness of the draught leaving her body aching. [break][break]

"Vile creature," she muttered, only for Clover to pout indignantly. "Oh, not you, Clover. You're lovely. Thank you for waking me."[break][break]

Outside the window, the dim final hours of night remained in full effect, although some of her Pokemon had already begun to tend to the gardens. Her Scizor, Amaranth, was pulling at the weeds, while her Goodra splashed water from her tail on the budding gardens. The flash of scales in the starlight revealed the florist's own Salazzle slithering through the tall grass, prepared to scare away any pests that dared to intrude on their solitude.[break][break]

Elisabeth's eyes followed the lizard Pokemon for a moment, lost to contemplation.[break][break]

"You don't frighten me," she murmured, resting her forehead in her hands. A throbbing headache had begun to form, exhausting her beyond the point of slumber. "None of the dead frighten me anymore."[break][break]

I frighten myself.

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[break]
A book clatters to the floor as Elisabeth's Leafeon and Sylveon chase one another in her bedroom, knocking her bookshelf so that a piece of yellowed paper flutters out from the upturned book.



DEAR COUNTESS ELISABETH BORTIFORTE,[break][break]

This is an acknowledgement and receipt of your approved application to the Botany & Plant Physiology program at the University of Southern Kalos on behalf of our Biology Department.[break][break]

We have yet to hear from you regarding your intention, however, to enroll in the fall semester. Please be advised that if you do not reply in a prompt manner, your slot will be given to one of the students on our waiting list.[break][break]

This will be our last attempt to reach you. If you do not reply by the period of enrollment, we will assume that you have chosen another course for your future path of study.[break][break]

You were one of our more exceptional applicants this year, and I hope to see you on campus this autumn.[break][break]

Best regards,[break]
The Director of Biology[break][break]

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[break]
She sleeps alone in the centre of her bed, the cottage's vast space emphatic in its solitude. Between the sheets are whispers of other nights in another bedroom, a canopied bed covered in ostentatious trappings with blankets stitched in ornamental flames. Unlike then, the only company she requires here is her own -- save for a Beautifly that flutters in the windowsill, keeping silent vigil.


[break]

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Shaped like a rosette, a plush crimson pillow rests on the reading nook of the cottage bedroom. A Roselia sometimes sits here, although it seems entirely too small for her to rest -- shaped, instead, for cradling a far smaller Budew. Most nights, however, Primrose rests here in her Pokeball, given a place of prominence in her mistress's bedroom.


[break]

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[break]
The florist of Petalburg Cottage carries herself with an impeccable composure, one that manifests itself in the distantly polite manner with which she greets her clients. For most individuals that enter her little flower shop, her tone of voice conveys nothing of the emotional state of the woman speaking, nor does her behavior betray much trace of her private inner life.[break][break]

She moves through rote motions with the grace of a Beautifly, repeating a script that she has meticulously prepared for herself to survive her civilian life. There is precious little trace of the young woman who wed her husband almost ten years ago, her heart worn openly on her sleeve.


"She's so young. Barely nineteen. Almost ten years his junior."[break][break]

Gossip traveled like wildfire in Elisabeth's new home after her arrival -- a fitting simile given the Emboars that patrolled Bortiforte Manor at every turn. It didn't matter where she wandered, or how she attempted to deafen herself to the whispers: they echoed in the halls, whether she wanted them to or not.[break][break]

"At least the children will be handsome, I suppose. Beyond that, what does she bring to marriage?"

[break][break]

"Noble blood, but no noble purse to go with it. Didn't you hear? The Fiorelli winery is going under."

[break][break]

"Well that explains her motives, then, doesn't it? What an ill-fated union."

[break][break]

"I always thought the master was smarter than this, but I suppose a pretty face ruins even clever men."

[break][break]

"Thank Arceus the Dowager Countess is here to be lady of the household. Imagine answering to a literal child."

[break][break]

The wagging tongues ceased abruptly at the looming silhouette that darkened the corridor, Lord Bortiforte's displeasure emanating like a shadow as he walked past. The way that Elisabeth clung to his arm felt timid, her eyes dutifully averting the forced veneer of politeness that stared back at her as the maids curtseyed.[break][break]

"Don't do that." Her husband's reprimand was firm, but not unkind as they walked away. "Don't give them the power to frighten you. Servants are beneath your notice, as my wife. If anything, you should frighten them."[break][break]

The young woman bit her lip, thoughts of her home in Camphrier Town rattling in her mind -- tending to roses with the gardener, assisting the cook in the kitchen, hiding Spinaraks away from the maids. It had all felt so different, so much less... oppressive, than here. [break][break]

"I'm sorry. I knew the names of everyone who worked in my parents' household." Elisabeth searched for her next words, an unease settling in as she found them wanting. "I suppose I'm not... used to thinking that way, about other people," she managed at last.[break][break]

"Then start. I won't tolerate this behavior, Lisa. Bortifortes do not yield, and you wear my name now as your own."[break][break]

Shame pressed against her chest as Elisabeth nodded, exhaling as she lifted her head high. "Forgive me, Édouard," she said, turning to look up at him with genuine apology in her eyes. "I will do better for you."[break][break]

She'd meant it, back then. With all her heart.[break][break]

And in that moment, Elisabeth even believed it, too.

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[break]
Even as the windows remain open, the transparency of the cottage stands in stark contrast to the guarded poise of the woman who lives inside. There are few visitors that see the version of her that is hidden in the darkness, solitary in the insomnia of her own thoughts.



[break]

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[break]
Flowers hold ancient expressions of love and sentiment. The florist of Petalburg Cottage deals in them often, the petals of her trade speaking sweet nothings that she translates on behalf of her clients. And although romance is a topic often found within her home, it is one that does not translate to the woman who oversees its sale.


"I wonder how clearly you see me." [break][break]

Édouard's words carried to Elisabeth as she rested her head in his lap, the gentle warmth of his proximity suffusing her with a soft, contented pleasure. His fingers found themselves in the curls of her long blonde hair, caressing it with all the care of one treasuring a fragile, precious thing.[break][break]

"How do you want me to see you?" Elisabeth murmured in reply, looking up at him. Her guileless green eyes met his, their coal black stare impassive and distant. She longed to know what thoughts invoked such strange worries in him.[break][break]

"Now that is a dangerous question." He chuckled, the sound darkly rumbling and resonant within his chest. "Lisa, you are the only person who has ever called me kind."[break][break]

This confession stirred something deep in her, an ache of pathos that led to her own emotional answer: "Then others do not know you as I know you."[break][break]

"Perhaps. Or you are the only one who doesn't know me."[break][break]

His resignation spoke of something additionally unspoken, a sort of guilt that Elisabeth couldn't place. She tentatively reached upwards to cup his cheek, rising up from his embrace to hold his face tenderly in her hands.[break][break]

"I do not accept that." Her lips met his, soft and sweet, pulling him close to her with a sentimentality born of idealistic conviction. "You," she said between breaths, "are perfect to me. And I love you as you are."[break][break]

"Are you a fool, I wonder?" he said, studying her as if searching for a hint of dishonesty. Finding none, he laughed, as if disbelieving. "You make me want to be the way that you see me, at least."[break][break]

"Then merely stay as you are," she said, and smiled at him as if all of life truly were that simple. "And I'll do you the same courtesy."[break][break]

He didn't change, in the end. She'd learn that soon enough, after an exchange of vows and the shackle of a ring on her finger. He always was what he warned her he would be; her eyes had merely been blinded by the dream of what he could have been.[break][break]

But she would change. [break][break]

For better and for worse, she would change.

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[break]
In the basement of her cottage, guarded by her Ariados, countless jars and vials of poisons await use -- intricately labeled and impeccably arranged. An elaborate series of locks prevents entry, the master key the very rosette ring that the mistress of the house wears on her left hand.

[break]

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[break]
Sometimes an uncharacteristic sharpness enters the florist's voice, the pleasantries that normally occupy her in the shop turning ominous with warning. Like a Seviper hidden among her rose briar bushes, that's always coiled and ready to strike.

They'd scarcely been married a year, and the events she was expected to attend as Lord Bortiforte's wife had already begun to blur into one another. Obligation after obligation. Lonely outing after lonely outing. Conversations that felt like a form of social combat, rather than genuine human connection.[break][break]

Elisabeth privately loathed them.[break][break]

Her mother-in-law's approach startled her, the stench of Casablanca lilies wafting from the older woman's form as she stood beside her unwanted daughter. On the outskirts of the ballroom, her husband stood in plain sight across the way: a tall, looming figure, caught in conversation with other imposing Kalosian titans of industry.[break][break]

"Free advice for you, pet." A withered hand bedazzled in rings squeezed the blonde's shoulder. "Don't pity yourself so much. It's an ugly look on such a pretty thing."[break][break]

She blinked, turning her bright eyes up to the Dowager Countess. "I don't understand your meaning," the younger woman replied slowly, carefully.[break][break]

"Play dumb, then. Someone has to look out for you, little lamb, and here I am being generous. Take my advice or leave it." The sharp bite of the Dowager's words lessened slightly, becoming a sort of purr. "Let's try this, then. What do you think separates you from everyone here?"[break][break]

The blonde swallowed, looking about herself as if searching for an answer in the crowd. "I'm younger," she attempted, looking for approval that she did not find in the matriarch's eyes. "I'm only here because of who I married?" she tried again, and this elicited an irritated sigh.[break][break]

"Everyone else here knows what power they control. You like chess, don't you?" A thin smile cracked the older woman's wrinkled visage. "You're the only one moving a pawn on the chessboard. That's why no one respects you, dearie."[break][break]

Elisabeth wrung her hands before her, eyes lowered. "I don't know what you expect me to say to that," she murmured.[break][break]

"You married a King, didn't you? And yet you aren't playing moves like a Queen. You have many more maneuvers available to you than you realize." The Dowager clicked her tongue. "You focus instead on what you do not have. My son doesn't love you anymore, and so? You don't need his love. It's a fickle emotion to begin with."[break][break]

Something in Elisabeth tightened at this unexpected attack, springing a defensive retort: "That's not true--!"[break][break]

The Dowager's voice became sharp, cutting her silent: "I'm not blind. I see what goes on in my own home. And I repeat, you do not need his love." Suddenly she seized Elisabeth by the chin, bringing the startled girl's eyes to meet her own glittering black gaze. "So here is my advice. Earn his respect. It will last your marriage longer than any silly romance will."[break][break]

Abruptly the Dowager released Elisabeth from her grip, vanishing once more into the miasma of the Kalosian upper class in a swirl of lavender skirts.[break][break]

"If you want to be taken seriously, stop playing like a pawn, child. That's all."

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[break]
The gardens outside flourish with countless Bug-type Pokemon, flocking from flower to flower as the florist allows them to stay awhile. She seems unbothered by the Wurmples, Weedles, and Caterpie that linger here, finding comfort in their company.

Elisabeth peeked an eye through the pantry door, the tiny Wurmple in her arms cradled protectively close. She pressed a finger to her lips, shushing the Bug-type Pokemon as they hid from the maids. [break][break]

"You're safe with me, Daisy," she whispered, crouching in the shadows. "They won't look for us here."[break][break]

Though of course, they would eventually. Children were the worst judge of their own cleverness.[break][break]

"...I don't see why you're being so stubborn about this, Francis."[break][break]

The child's ears perked up at the familiar voice. Mère? [break][break]

"Don't you?" came her father's indignant retort. "Haven't you seen what happens to those girls when they go off to Lumiose City? They change, Gigi. The city warps them."[break][break]

"You can't hide your daughter from the world forever. Nor should we. She doesn't have friends here, mon amour. Don't you think she'd benefit from schooling with others?"[break][break]

"Are they... fighting?" The blonde huddled lower, burying her face into her knees as the Wurmple snuggled up to her. "Did I make them fight?"[break][break]

When her father spoke next, it was pleading: "She's a gentle and kind soul. You yourself know how cutthroat the higher echelons of Lumiose City are. Would you really subject her to that?"[break][break]

But her mother's voice only became sharper: "Yes. Because if we don't now, Francis, then by the time she needs to be ready for it, such learning will be long overdue."[break][break]

The pause that lingered was so heavy it made shivers crawl up and down Elisabeth's spine, and she clapped her hands on her ears, trying in vain to tune them out.[break][break]

"You act as if we're raising a lamb for slaughter," her father pouted.[break][break]

"And you act as if boarding school is a death sentence," her mother coolly replied.[break][break]

Here, something like shame settled in the silence.[break][break]

"...Be that as it may, it's one we can't afford, Gigi. The debt is worse than you know."[break][break]

A low hiss exhaled through clenched teeth. "Merde, Francis. Again?"[break][break]

Daisy the Wurmple crawled up her mistress's arm, tickling her as she nestled up to her neck. The sound made Elisabeth laugh despite herself, and the arguing came to a complete and abrupt halt.[break][break]

And slowly, the pantry door opened, and a sliver of light revealed the young girl hiding in the cupboards.

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[break]
Exactly three Pokémon joined the florist upon her arrival in Hoenn: a Roselia, a Vileplume, and a Misdreavus. None of which were her first Pokémon: a wild Wurmple raised from childhood onward into a stunning Beautifly.

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[break]
The florist of Petalburg Cottage takes a silent pleasure in sharpening the blade of her wit against worthy opponents, though precious few present themselves in her flower shop during daytime. It's in the hours of night, where crime and passion flourish most, that she often finds herself able to relish in such dark-sided revelries.

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