18 : Snapdragon

I stop and cast a glance at the snapdragons. They look beautiful and innocent, perhaps due to their color. People perceive white as a symbol of purity. I'm about to touch one when I hear someone speak behind me. I turn around and see Prince Fraser walking towards me.

Standing beside me, he also stares at the snapdragons. "Have you ever heard the story of Princess Celestine? She was the former Princess of Vrawyth a thousand years ago."

I tried to recall from the memories of Csille. And yes, there is really Princess Celestine, the unfortunate Princess of Vrawyth. I nod in response.

Who wouldn't know her name?

"She is loved by the people of Vrawyth. She's nice and warm to everyone. Everyone thought that she'll be a great Queen someday. However, that day never comes. The Crown Prince Theodore of the Aeslaerean Kingdom and the endowed fiancé of Princess Celestine. He cheated on her with her best friend, Aurora. The royal guard of Princess Celestine tried to warn her by giving Snapdragon to her every day. Hoping that the Princess will realize the meaning behind the flowers.Yet, the Princess remained oblivious. It wasn't until she discovered Prince Theodore's betrayal with Aurora that she took her own life."

Prince Fraser brushes his fingers against the snapdragons. "Following her demise, tensions between the two kingdoms, Vrawyth and Aeslaerean, reached a boiling point. Prince Theodore ascended to the throne and made Aurora his Queen, further incensing the people of Vrawyth, as it appeared the Prince showed no remorse for Princess Celestine's death."

Snapdragons? The flower of deception. That's why the guard gave Snapdragons to the Princess to warn her about the illicit affair of Prince Theodore. It's to expose Prince Theodore's deception.

I look at Prince Fraser. "Deception," I mumbled.

Prince Fraser gazes back at me, surprised. "You really do know the language of flowers," he turns his attention to the snapdragons once more. "Since then, people have avoided this flower, fearing it will bring them misfortune."

Prince Fraser paused for a moment, seemingly about to say something, but a royal guard emerged from the entrance. "Your Highness, Prince Fraser, tea is ready," he announced.

    I glanced back at the snapdragon before walking away. This snapdragon would hold special significance in the future.

Prince Fraser guided me to the center of the garden where a table and chairs were set up. On the table were puddings and marzipan almond cake.

Prince Fraser courteously pulled out a chair for me to sit, displaying his gentlemanly manners. As we both settled down, he served tea before broaching the topic he had in mind. Despite the familiarity of the scene, I tightened my fist, knowing the purpose of my visit—to warn the Prince about the impending dangers in the western region.

   "I would like to ask you about your decision."

    He's inquiring about the same decision he brought up at school regarding my stay with my parents in the western region. He's urging me to decline and remain in the capital. But I can't do that. I want to prevent the impending danger in the western region.

    I look at him. I am about to talk about the dangers, when my mouth moved on its own. "Your Highness—" I was immediately cut off by him.

   "Fraser. It's Fraser!"

   "Prince Fraser, you understand that I cannot refuse, don't you? The Lauretré family was ordered to accompany you in your training in the western region. To decline would be a grave act of disobedience against His Majesty." My words spilled out before I could stop them.

    Prince Fraser sets down his cup of tea, visibly dissatisfied with my response. "As the Crown Prince of the Vrawyth Kingdom, I order you not to participate in the training in the western region. I don't require your presence."

    I attempted to voice my concerns, but my lips remained sealed. Come on, Csille, speak up! You must inform the Prince about the perils awaiting him in the western region. You need to convey that his life will be at risk. Speak up! Yet, despite my efforts to coax my mouth into action, it remained firmly shut, refusing to utter any word.

   In a panic, I frantically searched for something to write on, but my head remained immobile, fixed on Prince Fraser. Desperately, I placed my hand on the table, attempting to convey the word "danger" through hand signs. However, in this world, sign language does not exist, rendering my efforts futile.

     "Csille?"

    My hand moved seemingly of its own accord, reaching for the cup of tea and taking a leisurely sip. Afterward, my eyes met Prince Fraser's as I spoke once more, "I'm sorry, Prince Fraser, but I couldn't disobey the King."

    Prince Fraser gazed at his cup for a moment, then shook his head in resignation. "Okay, I won't force you anymore. But please, try not to go out often once we're already there."

   The dialogue is identical to what I've written. Every word spoken matches the lines written for Prince Fraser and Csille in the novel. Suddenly, a warm sensation fills my heart, and my pulse quickens. I gaze at Prince Fraser with admiration. It's truly remarkable!

  I shake my head, attempting to compose myself as I fight against the warm sensation flooding through me. I strive to regain control of my body, but it feels as though someone else has taken over, manipulating my movements according to their will.

    The conversation proceeds, with Prince Fraser advising Csille to remain indoors but not forcing her to stay in the capital. Despite wanting to warn Prince Fraser about the dangers, I found myself unable to move or speak freely. It's as if I'm an observer trapped within my own body. This loss of control is unsettling and frightening, leaving me wondering if it will happen again and if I'll lose autonomy over my body entirely.

_____________

As I stare out the window at the Lauretré residence, a sense of unease gnaws at me. The feeling of being trapped in my own body still lingers, even though I've regained full control.

    I tried to recall all those times when my body moved on its own. But all of them were different from what happened to me this morning. Before, I could only lose control for a minute or two, and I could move it after.

The incident this morning was different. I couldn't control my body throughout the entire conversation with Prince Fraser.

    The novel! The whole conversation followed the novel. My body moved on its own because I was trying to expose the future events to the Crown Prince. If he becomes aware, the course of the story may alter. Could this be why I lost control over my body? Is it because it deviated from the predetermined script?

   The realization weighs heavily on me. If the events from the notebook are unfolding exactly as written, then Csille's future actions are indeed inevitable. The prospect of Csille becoming the villainess fills me with apprehension and uncertainty.

Is it really inevitable for Csille not to be the villainess?

  I deeply regret everything at this moment. I really do.

   I just recalled something important. Could it be that the author of "The Parallel Universe" holds the answers I need? I must find him to seek clarity on this matter.

_____________

    "Rufus, over here!" I called him with a wave. I arranged to meet him today to request a favor. I'm keen to meet the writer, and Rufus is the only one I believe can assist me with this task.

    Rufus smiled warmly as he approached the table I had reserved. "Hey, purplany. What can I do for you?"

I reached out and grasped his hand resting on the table. "Do me a favor, please. I need to meet the writer of The Parallel Universe."

   "I don't get why you're so fixated on finding that writer. Last time we tried, you collapsed before even meeting him. Don't you think it's a sign?" He grumbled while taking a spoonful of pudding.

   "Sign?"

   He nods. "Exactly! It's a sign that it's not worth it to look for him. I don't even get why you're so insistent on finding him. He seems like a strange old man. Plus, the house he lives in is a major red flag. Who would live in a place like that? It's creepy." Disgust is evident on his face.

    How did it become suspicious? His house is captivating. If I had the opportunity, I'd adore owning a home like that. Consider this: in the event of a zombie apocalypse, it would offer safety. Who would suspect someone lives inside a tree? Plus, being connected to the tree means you could easily access fruits from the branches by creating an opening at the top.

   "You're the creepy one!" I playfully throw some napkins at him. "I really need to see him."

   Resigned, he nods. "Okay, I'll accompany you there. How could I ever say no to you?" He then pinches my cheeks so hard they redden.

  I make a face at him. Why does he always enjoy pinching my cheeks? It hurts.

After we finish eating, we head straight to the writer's place.

   "I'm not certain if the writer still resides in that location. I didn't have the chance to research beforehand. You should have informed me earlier."

    I simply waved my hand at him. "Forget it. We'll check later. If he's not there, then I'll have to trouble you again."

Ten minutes later, we reached the location. However, there's a problem. There are two large trees, and we don't remember exactly how the tree looks. The only thing we recall is that it's the largest and tallest tree among all the trees.

Rufus keeps insisting that the left tree is the house of the writer. However, I could clearly remember that it's the right tree. After arguing for a couple of minutes, we decided to knocks on the tree we think the house is.

Rufus and I knock thrice on the tree but no matter how many times we do it. Nothing happens.

"Is it really that tree? Maybe we're both mistaken." Rufus scans the area, searching for a taller and larger tree. However, aside from these two, all the other trees are of average size.

"Perhaps we mistaken the height and size of the tree? What if we knock on all the trees here?"

I look at Rufus. Disbelief was clearly visible on my face. "Are you kidding me? Can you see how many trees are here?"

Rufus looks around. "Probably more than a hundred."

"See? It's more than a hundred. Do you think our hands will be okay after knocking on all those trees?" I snapped at him.

I cannot do it. My arms would fall off for sure if we did that. That's more than a hundred. It's not just ten trees. How long will it take before we could finish knocking on all the trees here?

    "Okay, I'm just throwing out ideas. If you don't want to, that's fine with me. I'd rather not hurt myself knocking on these trees anyway." Rufus leans against the large tree and gazes at me.

   I glare at him. If I didn't knock on this tree, I'd miss my chance to speak with the writer before our journey to the western region. We're set to leave in three days. Without this opportunity, I won't find anything to help save the Crown Prince.

    I gazed at the trees and sighed. I suppose I have no choice but to go through with it. At least Rufus is here with me. For the sake of Crown Prince Ysavel.

I nodded resolutely. "Okay, let's get started."

    We began knocking on the trees from morning until dusk. Our hands grew numb from the continuous knocking, yet we still couldn't find the writer's house. It was as if that tree had never existed.

   I glance at Rufus, who's seated beside me. We're both leaning against the trees, sitting on the ground. My hands feel numb, and my knuckles are swollen. Rufus's hands look worse. His right hand is bleeding, though it's just a minor wound.

   "If it wasn't for you, I would have thought I was dreaming when we entered the writer's house," Rufus suddenly commented.

   I nod in agreement. Even with all this knocking, I almost want to believe that we never entered the writer's house before. But it's impossible. How could I forget that house? After collapsing in that house, I woke up as a fourteen-year-old Csille. So, I'm pretty sure it's real. However, where is it? We finished knocking on all the trees in here, but we never see him.

   I suddenly hear laughter, snapping me out of my deep thoughts. Rufus is the one laughing. I raise my eyebrows at him, wondering why he finds this amusing. He didn't hit his head on the tree, did he?

"Why are you laughing? Should I be concerned?"

   Rufus looked at me and chuckled, trying to convey something. "I was just picturing what we must look like. Can you imagine if someone saw us? They'd likely think we've lost our minds."

    I joined in his laughter. It would indeed be quite a sight for anyone passing by. Thankfully, we're alone in this place.

   "Come on, let's get out of here. It's already late," Rufus said, extending his hand to help me up.

As I take his hand, I can't help but feel a sense of disappointment. Despite our efforts, we couldn't find the writer. Is there truly nothing I can do to prevent the impending danger? Should I resign myself to letting events unfold as they may?