First Impression That Lasts Forever

From the very first moment Alexander laid eyes on Vivian, he was captivated. If there truly was a goddess in this world, he believed she would look exactly like her. She radiated a beauty so pure, so ethereal, that even his uncle, the Pope himself, seemed to pale in comparison.

The golden light of the temple caught in her flamboyant red wavy hair, making it seem as though a halo surrounded her. Her presence was almost too much to take in, an overwhelming force of holiness and nobility that felt out of reach for someone like him.

He remembered everything about that day with perfect clarity, every detail burned into his memory.

The first thing that stood out was how the older girl beside her, her lady-in-waiting, lady Anna, had instinctively moved to shield her. It was as if she feared for Vivian's safety, as though she saw Alexander and the others as something unclean, something unworthy.

And perhaps, in some ways, she was right. They had been brought to the temple in a pitiful state, dirty, disheveled, and lost. But Vivian, instead of retreating behind the protection offered to her, had simply smiled, gently reassuring her lady-in-waiting that she wished to see them.

Her curiosity had been nearly tangible. She had peered at them with wide, shining eyes, not with disgust or superiority, but with the innocent wonder of someone who had spent her life sheltered from the harsh realities of the world.

Alexander, who had grown up knowing how cruel the stares of others could be, had braced himself for rejection. Yet, instead of cold indifference, those brilliant red eyes held nothing but warmth.

The memory of that look stayed with him for years.

Vivian had come to the temple to pray that day, accompanying his uncle is something she had made as part of her religious duties. When he and the other orphans arrived, his uncle, the Pope had stepped forward to welcome them, and she had followed behind him, accompanied by her attendants, her lady-in-waiting, maids, and knights.

The moment she appeared, time itself seemed to slow. Every child, regardless of their gender, had been struck silent in awe.

She was like a vision from another world.

Alexander had met different types of ladies before, but none of them carried the same presence she did. None of them possessed her effortless grace, her serene nobility, or the divine aura that surrounded her like a sacred veil.

And none of them had ever looked at him the way she did, without judgment, without hesitation, simply full of unguarded curiosity.

But as much as he had wanted to approach her, they had been deemed unfit to stand in her presence. The temple workers had swiftly intervened, ordering the orphans to be bathed and given fresh clothes before they could go near either the Pope or Vivian. It was a necessary humiliation, one that Alexander endured without protest.

He had grown accustomed to being treated differently, to being looked down upon because of his parents' unconventional union, a priest and a dancer. Even among other orphans and commoners, he was an anomaly.

Yet, once he had been cleaned up and properly dressed, fate allowed him a second chance to see her.

When he was finally permitted into his uncle's office, he had been surprised to see that Vivian was still there. While her lady-in-waiting was busy discussing donations for the orphans on her behalf, she remained seated quietly, waiting. She didn't have to stay. He felt like There was no reason for her to linger. But she did.

The moment he stepped inside, the Pope's composure crumbled.

Alexander had been expecting a formal introduction, perhaps some words of welcome, but what he received instead was a raw display of grief. His uncle, a man who was revered and respected by countless people, broke down in front of him.

He held Alexander tightly, sobbing openly as if mourning the years they had lost and the loss of his beloved brother.

For nearly an hour, the Pope clung to him, overwhelmed by emotions he could no longer suppress. Alexander didn't know how to react. He simply stood there, frozen, as the older man wept.

And the entire time, Vivian remained in the room, watching silently.

Alexander found himself staring at her in return, unable to look away. He had assumed that all noble ladies must be like her, elegant, poised, untouchable. But as the years passed, he would come to understand that Vivian was unlike anyone else. She wasn't simply noble; she was something more. Even among royalty, even among those born to privilege and power, she stood apart.

And on that day, she did something that changed him forever.

When his uncle finally composed himself, he turned to Vivian and asked her for a favor, to give Alexander a tour of the temple.

She agreed without hesitation.

That day became the happiest of Alexander's life. With her beside him, he felt something he hadn't in a long time: joy and freedom. He laughed freely, played without worry, and for just a moment, he forgot about the weight of his past.

Forgotten were the judging stares, the whispers of others, the pain of loss. With her, he was simply a child again.

But nothing lasts forever.

Vivian had to return home, and that marked the end of their encounter. At the time, Alexander had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that he would see her again. That they might talk once more, that he could remain a part of her world, no matter how small a part.

That hope was shattered when he accidentally overheard a conversation he was never meant to hear.

His ears had always been sharp, unnaturally so. It was a gift, or perhaps a curse, that allowed him to catch secrets others thought were hidden. And that was how he learned of the attack on Vivian.

Someone had tried to kill her.

She had survived, but everything changed after that. Her family, rightfully terrified, restricted her movements. The security around her tightened, and for months, she all but disappeared from the public eye.

The Archduke's family and the royal family had done everything in their power to keep the incident a secret, ensuring that only a handful of trusted individuals knew the truth.

By the time she finally reappeared in public, the distance between them had already grown too vast to cross.

Even though Alexander saw her from time to time, he was never granted the opportunity to speak with her. His own life had become consumed by responsibilities. Training to be both a noble and a future Pope was an arduous task.

He was required to master etiquette, politics, and diplomacy, all while undergoing rigorous religious instruction. His unusually high and pure holy power had marked him as someone special, someone destined for greatness but maybe not great enough to catch her eyes.

There was no time to think of the girl he had met only once.

And yet, he never forgot her.

As the years passed, she became little more than a distant figure, someone he could see but never reach. Even when their paths occasionally crossed, she never acknowledged him. It wasn't out of cruelty or malice; she simply didn't remember him. Their meeting had been fleeting, a brief moment in her life, while for him, it had been unforgettable.

Her life had moved forward without him.

She had her own struggles, her own ambitions. She had spent her years chasing the love of her husband, the Duke, devoting herself entirely to him.

And Alexander?

He remained a mere observer in her story, watching from the sidelines, never able to step forward, never able to reclaim the connection they once had.