<Tale of the Snow Flower> PROLOGUE

"Are you excited for your birthday, my dear Estelle?"

The words echoed in my ears as if I've been wandering an empty, endless room. What would be the point of walking relentlessly if you would reach nothing in the end; is what I thought. The chunk of meat that I had gulped down in an attempt to satisfy my father's requests of 'taking my fill' fogged my brain.

"Yes, father. I truly am excited; after all, I'll be turning 18 now."

"You ought to be, Estelle. You've grown up to be a lovely, respectable, and fine young lady. I'm proud of you."

I was rather disappointed at myself when all I could respond was a spiritless smile. I am such a disappointing child, and yet here Father is praising me for being lovely and all the sort.

"What lip service" I mumbled under my breath

"What was that, dear?" Father asked while giving a gentle smile.

My words spilled out of my head again, huh. It always comes out at the wrong time, wrong place. I just wish I could stop doing this; one day, I'll really speak a little too loud.

"I apologize, father. Just a little tipping of the teacup too much. I've been rather swarmed with thoughts this evening." I said, disoriented.

The atmosphere was stuffy for a moment. My lingering thoughts about Father's response would have overtaken me once again if he hadn't spoken first.

"I'm sorry, my dear. About your mother. I know this isn't a topic to talk to you about when your birthday is nearing, but I can't help but pity you. I'm trying my best, Estelle, for you and for Amelié."

Mother again. I wish he hadn't just mentioned her. I was to forget her in another 6 months or so. I was so young when she passed, which gave me an advantage in forgetting her. I just couldn't bring myself to, though. She had to die the day that was supposed to be my happiest. Can't these memories just fade away?

"Not at all, father. You shouldn't apologize. It wasn't yours or mother's fault on what happened that night. We should be happy that we survived, and that we didn't die that day. You're doing a great job."

"Thank you, Estelle. You're really like your mother in every way. If you're ready, you could wash up and take a rest now, hm? I wouldn't want you to spend the night before your birthday talking for hours with your old man. Run along now, dear. I love you."

I simply smiled and left the dinner table as fast as I could. I do love my father, but I can't bring myself to say such words. The fact he brought up my mother and my birthday in one conversation tired me out enough. Being emotional like this isn't good in any way for me. I'll end up getting hurt again, just like when mother told me she loved me. Just because of that simple phrase which I assume every mother would tell their child, I spend every waking hour of my day wondering if she meant it and despise her for making me like this. It's too much for me to handle, even now. It was my fault she died, and yet I blame and resent her now. What a daughter I am.

"You're a mess, and a nuisance at that, Estelle." I told myself while I was walking down the hallway to my room. Something about the cold air and my rough throat seemed comforting to me. My light yet dragging footsteps echoed around me until I reached the big oak door that stood in front of me. Turning the doorknob, I was greeted by the scent of roses and regret; my room.

As I entered and closed my door swiftly, I sat facing my vanity while combing my hair when a tear trickled down my cheek. I had no right to be crying right now. Mother could've been alive, she and father could've been happy, but instead father spends his days trying to make up for mother's presence for his good-for-nothing daughter. I wiped my face with a handkerchief on my vanity table and continued to comb my knotted hair.

Changed into my nightwear, I walked over to my bed and immediately fell once it came in contact. I held a hand over my face, trying to stop myself from crying again. This should be something I'm used to already, why aren't I yet? Maybe mother or her spirit has something to do with it. I settled in my bed and finally shut my eyes to sleep while still quietly sobbing.

"Goodnight, mother."

…

"My princess!"

"Introducing the Saintess of the Northern Empire…"

"Mommy? Why aren't you breathing anymore? Hello, mommy? Wake up!"

"Vivienne…run."

Are these my memories? Whose are these? Vivienne? Mother? What is this? Some kind of dream, maybe mom wants to tell me something. But why does this feel so real? This cold air feels all too familiar to pass off as a dream's feeling. What in the world am I even staring at? Some flower? I should know what it is, considering all my knowledge. This…this isn't normal. Mother, please help.

"Wake up and accept your fate, Estelle."

Mother…? Is that you?

"Sleep now, my child."

…

"HER HIGHNESS IS AWAKE, MY LORD! SHE'S AWOKEN FROM HER SLEEP! CECELIA, QUICK, CALL HIS HIGHNESS THE CROWN PRINCE"

What in the world? Crown Prince? What kind of dream is this…This isn't my room either. Have I been drugged and kidnapped? Am I still dreaming? God help whatever situation I'm in right now. What is all this…White hair? This is not me. I'm not myself. How is that? I'm sure I didn't take anything weird before sleeping. What if I've died in my sleep and this is some trial I have to go through before going to heaven?

"VIVIENNE! OH THANK THE GODDESS YOU'VE AWOKEN! MY LOVE LOOK AT ME PLEASE!"

Vivienne? Wasn't that the name called out in my dream? Am I her? And who is this man? Why is he so worried about me?

Who really am I?