Chapter 11: Weight of a heart

As Rosellene turned away from the balcony, she found Celestine standing behind her, arms crossed, an amused glint in her eyes.

"You've been standing here for quite a while," Celestine remarked, tilting her head slightly. "Don't tell me something caught your eye."

Rosellene, still holding her fan delicately, let out a small, knowing smile. "Of course not," she replied smoothly. "I was merely looking at… a man."

Celestine blinked, momentarily taken aback. "A man? And you?" A teasing smirk played on her lips before she added. "Surely, you haven't fallen for a monk, have you?"

A soft chuckle escaped Rosellene's lips. "Don't be absurd," she dismissed lightly, but her gaze wavered faintly, betraying her indifference.

Celestine narrowed her eyes, unconvinced but intrigued. "Absurd? Perhaps. But your expression just now suggests otherwise."

Without another word, Rosellene gracefully turned and walked away, leaving Celestine momentarily stunned before following.

The two rejoined Elizabeth, who had been impatiently waiting near the entrance, tapping her delicate shoe against the polished floor.

"Took you long enough," she huffed, but the curiosity in her gaze was unmistakable. "What were you two whispering about?"

"Men," Celestine answered casually, earning an unamused glance from Rosellene.

Elizabeth's lips parted in shock before she whispered. "You were talking about men at the temple? Should I be scandalized?"

Rosellene merely chuckled. "It was nothing of importance."

With that, the three young ladies, followed by their maids, made their way toward the prayer hall, and a hushed reverence settled upon them.

The Hall of Devotion was solemn and vast, its towering pillars stretching towards the heavens as intricate gold engravings shimmered under the glow of countless candle flames.

The air carried the faint scent of burning incense, mingling with the cool stone walls, giving the entire space a transcendent serenity.

Their footsteps echoed as they entered, their heads bowing deeply in respect.

As they knelt upon the prayer cushions, a stillness washed over them, each lost in their quiet reflection.

The soft murmurs of distant chants filled the chamber, a gentle hymn of devotion carried by the temple attendants who moved gracefully between the worshippers.

Rosellene exhaled softly, dismissing any thought. 

Her eyes remained closed as she clasped her hands together and she whispered a silent prayer.

The air felt heavy yet serene as if the presence of the divine enveloped the space around them.

After their quiet prayers, the temple attendants respectfully guided them to their respective rooms for the duration of their stay.

The guest quarters, though simple in design, carried an air of tranquillity. The wooden walls gleamed from careful upkeep, and the crisp scent of freshly polished cedar filled the space.

Though well-maintained, the ladies' personal maids swiftly went to work, ensuring the quarters met the refined standards of their mistresses.

Millie, along with the other maids Rosellene had brought with her, wasted no time.

They dusted the furniture with swift efficiency before replacing the quilts and sheets with the finest linen they had prepared, and carefully infused the room with a delicate floral scent.

The lingering scent of gardenia and white tea replaced the faint mustiness of the temple's ancient wood.

"My lady, everything is in place," Millie said, smoothing out the last wrinkle on the bedding. "The room should feel more like home now."

Rosellene sat gracefully at the edge of the chaise lounge, watching her maid's efforts with amusement. "You spoil me too much, Millie."

Millie lowered her voice, "I doubt you'll rest well in an unfamiliar place. It's best to have some comforts."

Rosellene's lips curled slightly. "You know me too well."

Elizabeth, lounging at the doorway, watched the careful preparations with mild amusement. "I swear, Rosellene, if you ever found yourself in exile, you'd turn even a prison cell into a palace," she teased.

Rosellene lifted her gaze from where she was delicately adjusting the positioning of a flower vase. Her lips curled into a faint smile. "Is that a compliment or a critique?"

"A bit of both," Elizabeth admitted with a grin. "But I suppose it's impressive."

Celestine, seated gracefully by the window, chuckled "It's simply the way she is. Rosellene will never be anything less than a lady of refinement."

Rosellene merely laughed softly, saying nothing more as she dismissed the maids with a flick of her fingers, satisfied with their work.

The evening deepened, and the once-clear sky had grown overcast, thick with heavy clouds with the promise of rain, yet not a single drop fell.

The wind howled through the trees outside, rattling the wooden windows with an eerie creak. Shadows flickered along the candlelit walls, their movements unsteady, wavering.

Rosellene lay on the silk-lined bedding, her body enveloped in warmth, yet sleep would not come.

She turned onto her side, then her back. Shifting restlessly.

Her fingers smoothed over the soft fabric of the quilt, tracing invisible patterns against it. Perhaps it was the unfamiliarity of the place or perhaps it was simply the weight of her thoughts.

She turned onto her side, eyes drifting toward the wooden beams of the ceiling.

The wind howled faintly, sending a shiver through the air. Rosellene looked at her surroundings mindlessly before her lashes fluttered shut.

Even if sleep would not come, she would close her eyes for now.

Her mind wandered, weaving through memories she had long thought buried.

In the midst of her tangled thoughts, a familiar silhouette surfaced from the depths of her mind.

A vision blurred by time yet still achingly vivid.

The warmth of the setting sun bathed his face, his silhouette firm yet hesitant, as if carrying the weight of a decision that could not be undone.

His golden eyes held an emotion he had never allowed himself to voice before until that very moment.

His voice, usually composed and resolute, carried an unfamiliar vulnerability and tenderness she had only heard once. The first and the last time.

For once, he was not speaking as a man of duty or nobility, but simply as someone who wanted her.

"My dear Rosellene, wait for me. This time, when I return, I will stand before His Majesty and claim what is mine…Will you allow me that?"

His words wove through the air like an unfulfilled promise, gentle yet desperate, filled with emotions he had long suppressed.

A man bound by duty, yet standing before her as nothing more than someone who wished to choose her, if only she would allow it.

Rosellene wanted to nod, she wanted to reach for him, to tell him she would wait, that she would choose him even if it meant going against everything she had been raised to uphold.

Yet, just as it had been in reality…she remained silent.

Fate, like an invisible force, sealed her lips. Perhaps the weight of her upbringing held her in place. She could only watch, helplessly as his expression shifted, the quiet flicker of hope in his gaze dimming into disappointment.

Then, he turned away.

His disappointment was unspoken but heavy in the air.

And that was the last time she ever saw him…before they were separated for eternity.

Rosellene jolted awake, her breaths uneven, her fingers trembling against the sheets. Her hands were cold, her skin damp with sweat.

The room was dark save for the dim glow of the candle still burning on the bedside table. It was silent except for the faint rustling of the wind outside.

She pressed a hand against her chest, where her heart pounded with a force she had never acknowledged before.

It had been a dream.

A dream of the past.

Yet why did it feel as though her heart had just been shattered anew?

She despised herself…despised her cowardice, her silence, her inability to defy what had already been laid out for her.

Had she truly believed she never loved anyone?

Then why did it hurt so much?

Why did her chest ache at the memory of him…at the thought of what could have been?

She had always believed and spent her life convinced she was incapable of love, that she had never given her heart away.

But now, for the first time, she questioned that belief.

Had she loved him before she even realized it?

And if she had… was it too late to admit it?

Bound by duty and decorum, she had convinced herself she was untouchable, immune to the foolishness of love.

She had already been engaged to another, her life dictated by rules and expectations.

She had never allowed herself to entertain the thought that she could want something for herself.

Love, for her, was an unforgivable indulgence.

And perhaps…She had once loved him.

Perhaps she always would.

A bitter ache settled in her chest as she curled beneath the covers, her hands gripping the fabric as if trying to grasp onto something already lost.

The wind outside had settled, yet the lingering scent of gardenia clung to the air…a reminder of something fleeting, a moment that had passed yet refused to fade.

Even if she closed her eyes, it would still be there.

Just like him.