The Flower And The leaf

The ball was finally over.

Cleori was asleep standing up. Ria had frosting in her hair. And Lily had exactly two brain cells left.

They stood near the ballroom entrance, surrounded by yawning nobles, carriages, and children who had somehow lost a shoe or a sibling.

"I think my soul left my body back when Lyra gave that thirty-minute speech on embroidery," Ria groaned.

"You snored during it," Lily muttered.

"I WAS MEDITATING!"

Lily frowned. "But wasn't it her mother's birthday?"

"Exactly! Why was she giving the speech? I was waiting for someone to throw a shoe."

Cleori wobbled beside them, blinking slowly. "If I die, tell the desserts I loved them."

"Tell the desserts they betrayed us," Lily added, holding her stomach. "I can't feel my ribs."

Ria squinted. "Wait, how old are we again?"

"Seven," Lily and Cleori said in unison.

"And I'm eight," Ria puffed proudly.

"Close enough," Lily shrugged. "We're still kids. That means we can eat what we want."

"Exactly," Cleori said with a smirk. "Our metabolism is invincible right now."

"Until we pass out from sugar poisoning," Ria yawned.

From the far side of the hall, three pairs of parental eyes locked onto their children like trained hawks.

"Oh no," Lily shouted. "Scatter!"

Too late.

"Cleori, time to go," her father called out. "Now!"

"Ria," came her mother's clipped voice. "You're limping. What did you do this time?"

"Mother, I fell with style."

And Eleanor, Lily's mother, smiled at her daughter with gentle menace. "Lily, don't even think about sneaking another tart. Carriage. Now."

The girls gave each other a last dramatic group hug like they were being drafted into war.

"Lily," Cleori whispered, clinging to her, "If I don't survive bedtime tea, remember me–"

"–as a legend," Ria finished solemnly.

"You're both idiots," Lily said fondly, then added, "Visit me sometimes, okay?"

"Only if your maids let me near the pastries."

"I'll hide some in the garden."

They giggled, curtsied like noble ladies should, and were ushered off by their families, disappearing into the swirl of cloaks and lantern lights.

Cleori's parents had already summoned their carriage, and her mother was muttering about bath time and posture again.

Ria gave one last salute as she limped away, her mother clicking her tongue behind her.

Eleanor turned to her children, holding up her skirt with one hand and sighing softly. The weariness in her eyes was only half from the ball her children, as always, made up the rest.

"I'll go check if your father's finally called the carriage," she murmured.

Then she leaned down, kissed Lily's forehead, and then Clarenz's.

"Stay right here. Don't go anywhere, alright? I mean it."

Lily and Clarenz nodded innocently.

still clutching her sleeve like a sleepy ghost. "Good," Eleanor said, straightening up. "If I come back and either of you is missing, I'm feeding you cabbage for breakfast."

She swept off toward the courtyard, graceful even in fatigue.

But no sooner had Clarenz blinked and turned to rub his eyes–

Lily was gone.

Slipped into the lingering crowd like a wisp of perfume.

She wandered through the soft-lit hall, glancing around as nobles exchanged farewells and servants swept the remnants of the ball into neat trays and cloth bundles. She wasn't looking for more cake. Not this time.

She was looking for her.

Brielle.

That girl from earlier. The one who shouldn't have been there.

The one who was supposed to be dead.

Lily had watched her vanish into the crowd after their strange eye contact. Had she imagined it? Was it a ghost? Or worse... was it another reincarnator like her?

Her steps quickened as she glanced behind pillars, peered past curtains, even checked by the dessert table again just in case. But there was no pink-haired girl in white.

"Ugh," Lily muttered. "Classic mysterious plot twist behavior. Show up, stare mysteriously, then disappear."

She sighed, fingers tugging at the loose ribbon on her sleeve.

Fine. No answers.

But just as she turned to leave, her eyes drifted to the nearby plates of leftovers being tidied up.

She thought of Clarenz how quiet he'd been, how he kept smiling even when no one offered him another plate.

She wrapped up two soft rolls and a bit of custard tart in a napkin and tucked it into her sleeve like contraband. Not because he asked. Just because he never did.

And then it was quiet.

Lily stood by the palace steps, the stone cold under her slippers, watching her breath fog in the night air. The stars shimmered like frost caught in the sky.

"Lily."

She turned.

Clarenz stood nearby, arms tucked around himself, eyes downcast. He looked smaller under the moonlight, like a shadow of the confident little prince he tried so hard to be.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Why did you go back?" Clarenz asked

"Oh, nothing. I just went back for a tart," Lily answered.

"Is that so?... Anyways why are y-" He hesitated.

Then, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, he said, "...You looked really happy with them."

Lily tilted her head, unsure. "I was. Why?"

Clarenz's fingers tightened around his sleeves. "It's just… you laughed a lot. And I was standing at your side, and it felt like… like I wasn't part of it. Like I don't belong with you anymore."

Lily's breath caught. "Clarenz…"

He looked up, eyes glassy and honest. "Do you really love me, Lily?"

There was a tremble in his voice. Not anger. Not jealousy.

Loneliness.

She stepped forward, kneeling slightly so they were eye level. "Clarenz, you're my brother. Of course I love you."

"But you're growing afar," he whispered. "You're like a flower. Everyone wants to see you bloom. But what if I get left behind in the soil?"

She smiled, soft and radiant. "Do you know what helps a flower grow?"

He blinked.

"The leaves. The ones who stretch toward the light with her. The ones who shelter her when it rains, and who helped her stand straight confidently."

She took his hand gently.

"You're not left behind, Clarenz. You're growing with me. I can't bloom without you."

He stared at her for a moment longer, then slowly leaned forward, hugging her tightly. Not with the strength of a clingy child but the desperate hope of someone who didn't want to be forgotten.

"You'll always be here?" he whispered.

"Always" Lily answered

"Just don't leave me behind."

"I won't," she said.

But even a flower doesn't know when its leaves will start hiding the sunlight.

They stayed like that for a moment longer.

Then Lily ruffled his hair and stood. "Come on. Let's go home, I heard father's voice."

He nodded, slipping his hand into hers.

As they walked toward the carriage, Lily glanced up at the stars again.

Her mind wandered to her friends. To this world. To the plotline she was about to rewrite.

And to the quiet truth blooming slowly in her heart

I'm not just trying to survive the story anymore. I'm building a new one from the roots.

Clarenz hesitated at first, his small feet shifting uncertainly beside hers. Lily turned, blinking when she realized she could see the top of his head so clearly.

"...You're so small," she said without thinking, then quickly added, "But like, in a cool, compact way. Like a limited edition snack."

Clarenz pouted, puffing his cheeks. "I'm growing, okay? I'm gonna catch up soon! And then you'll see."

Lily grinned, crouching a little to ruffle his hair. "Sure, tiny leaf."

He huffed but leaned into the gesture, cheeks warming.

From a distance, the adults stood quietly, cloaks draped and voices hushed. The Duchess watched her children with a soft smile, her hand resting lightly on her husband's arm.

"They've grown so much," she murmured.

Duke Alexander chuckled under his breath. "They're still little sprouts."

"But our little sprouts are starting to look like a garden," she replied, warmth in her voice.

Their eyes followed Lily and Clarenz, the way the two small figures stood in the cold night, smiling and leaning close. Despite the exhaustion clinging to their frames, there was a quiet glow between them unspoken affection, budding trust, and the tender resilience of siblings bound by something deeper than blood.

The coachman appeared at the edge of the courtyard, bowing. "The carriage is ready, my lord."

The Duke nodded, then stepped forward. "Lily. Clarenz. Time to go home."

Lily perked up immediately. "Papa!"

The shout startled him.

He blinked as his daughter who normally curtsied and said "Yes, Father" with perfect grace dropped all traces of nobility and ran full-speed toward him like a loose cannonball in slippers.

"Lily?" he said, catching her just in time.

She flung her arms around his waist, burying her face into his coat.

"Papa, my feet hurt, I can't feel my spine, and if I see another tart, I might cry."

Alexander looked down at the tiny, dramatic heap clinging to him and let out a stunned laugh.

"Well… that was unexpected."

"She's broken," Clarenz said solemnly as he caught up, far more composed but clearly wobbling on his own two legs. He hugged them both. "We all are."

The Duke looked over their heads at his wife and smiled.

And then, with a wave of his hand, soft gold light bloomed in the air. Magic shimmered gently around the two children like a bubble spun from warmth and lullabies. The transparent sphere lifted them lightly off the ground, rocking slightly like a cradle.

Inside, Lily and Clarenz had already surrendered to sleep, heads leaning together, tiny fingers still loosely intertwined.

Their mother sighed in fond amusement. "You spoil them."

"Of course," said Alexander. "They're our flower and our leaf."

The carriage doors opened.

The magical bubble floated gently inside, settling onto the cushioned seat like a dream being tucked into bed. The Duke stepped in next, followed by his wife, the door closing with a quiet thump behind them.

Outside, the palace slowly dimmed as the ball's final lights were snuffed out. The night resumed its quiet hush.

And inside the carriage, beneath flickering lanterns and the gentle hum of wheels, two small souls slept, curled together in golden light.