The Bloom of Violet

“Lianna, you have to think about the baby. The baby has only you. Even though Pierre has sisters, you said they don’t get along, didn’t you?”

The neighbor woman, who had brought her back from the graveyard to the villa, gently patted her back. No matter how painful it was, life still lay ahead of her. And her baby, barely a month old, depended on her. She couldn’t abandon her child. This must be what people mean when they say someone is “living because they can’t die.”

So Lianna couldn’t stay in bed for long. The problem of survival loomed over her. The inn where Pierre had worked so loyally for years didn’t even provide her with compensation. She hadn’t expected much from its cold-hearted owner, but even she wasn’t prepared for such callousness.

“It’s not like I killed him. It’s not like I pushed him to his death… It’s tragic, sure, but it’s not my fault. Who told him to interfere in someone else’s lovers’ quarrel? He should’ve just kept his head down and done his work. What a waste of a promising life… Tsk.”

Faced with criticism from others, the innkeeper grew defensive and even angry. Not wanting to hear any more cruel words, Lianna gave up on the idea of asking for compensation. Instead, Pierre’s fellow apprentices at the distillery pooled together what little they had and offered her a small consolation fund.

It was enough. Lianna sold the villa. Staying in a home full of happy memories with Pierre had become unbearable. Some people might find solace in a home filled with memories of their loved ones, but not her.

Every moment, every hour, was torment. She couldn’t rise from her grief. The dining table where they had shared meals, the bed where they had slept together, his shaving razor, his cup, his bowl… The coffee he handed her every morning, the crib he’d prepared for their baby.

She felt like she was drowning in her tears. If not for her daughter, she might have taken her own life. There was nothing left to live for.

But Lianna had a baby to care for. And that child was Pierre’s precious daughter.

So Lianna decided to leave Roderville. After selling off some of their belongings, she settled in a village not far from Roderville.

The new villa wasn’t as nice as the one she had lived in with Pierre, but it was still decent. It was a place where she planned to start over.

However…

It was the spring five years after Pierre’s death. Lianna had found work as a maid in a wealthy estate not far from her villa. Every day, without fail, she went to work, scrubbing dishes in the kitchen. She prepared ingredients as directed by the head cook and cleaned the rooms of younger maids whenever she had a moment to spare.

In the evenings, she took on laundry work. Her days were grueling. Then one day…

“Ugh… cough!”

Lianna, diligently scrubbing dishes, bent over as she began coughing violently. Startled, her coworker turned to look at her.

“Lianna, are you okay? You haven’t looked well lately.”

“I’m f… cough! Hah…”

Waving her hand dismissively, Lianna tried to suppress the cough that erupted from her chest. She pressed a hand to her chest as she struggled to contain the fit. Her concerned coworker patted her back gently, not noticing that Lianna had coughed up blood.

“Oh my goodness, Lianna! You coughed up blood! What… what is this?”

Her coworker, pale with alarm, withdrew her hand and stared at Lianna. Lianna looked down at the blood in stunned disbelief. Instead of worrying about her health, all she could think about was the mistress of the house and her obsession with cleanliness.

“It’s… it’s nothing serious. But please, Lila, you mustn’t tell anyone about this…”

“What?”

“It’s just that I haven’t been feeling well lately. I tend to cough a lot during this season. But you know how the mistress is…”

“Of course! Lianna, I’ll keep it a secret, but your health is more important. You need to see a doctor as soon as you finish work today. You’ve looked so unwell lately.”

Lianna trusted that her coworker would keep her secret, but her words about needing to see a doctor lingered in her mind. Her chest pain had worsened since last winter, but it had been with her ever since Pierre’s death that fateful winter.

She couldn’t justify spending money on a doctor for something so trivial. Lianna forced a faint smile for her coworker but inwardly shook her head. If not for the fire two years ago, perhaps she would have sought help.

But two years ago, Lianna had lost everything because of her own mistake.

While caring for her sick daughter, she had dozed off, allowing the fire from the stove to spread to the wall. The memory of that winter still haunted her.

It was three years after Pierre’s death. Her daughter, her only family and the precious gift Pierre had left behind, had been gravely ill that winter. Having lost her first child, Lianna had developed an obsessive fear for her daughter’s health.

That winter, her daughter caught a severe cold. Driven by a pathological fear of losing her, Lianna exhausted herself by staying up to nurse the child, pushing her body to its limits.

Time passed. One day, Lianna woke to the sound of her daughter crying. The child, pale with fright, was coughing uncontrollably in the thick smoke that filled the room.

Lianna tried to extinguish the fire, but the flames had already climbed the walls. Grabbing her daughter, she fled the villa.

Built of wood, the villa quickly succumbed to the flames. In her panic, Lianna ran to warn the neighbors, helping them evacuate. Yet the fire claimed lives, and she was held accountable for the tragedy.

That same January when Pierre had died, Lianna found herself without a place to go. All the wealth she had gathered from selling Pierre’s house and the compensation his coworkers had offered her was used to pay damages.

Even that wasn’t enough. She had to take on debt to compensate families who had lost loved ones.

By the end, she was left with nothing. She sold all her belongings, including the jewelry Pierre had given her when they married. She lost everything that held memories of her husband.

She wanted to die. Truly, she wanted to end it all.

Should she take poison while holding her daughter? Jump off a cliff? But what had her daughter done to deserve that? Why should Anesse pay for her mistakes?

“I’m sorry, An… I’m so, so sorry. Mommy is sorry.”

“Mommy… don’t cry. Hic… sob…”

Kneeling and apologizing through tears, Lianna watched her child crying in front of her. The flushed face of her three-year-old daughter was still pale with exhaustion. Lianna clenched her teeth once more. She had to protect her child—Pierre’s child, above all else.

“Yes, my sweet daughter. Mommy won’t cry anymore.”

Lianna forced a smile, and Anesse responded with a faint grin. The mother and daughter picked up their small bag and began to walk. From that day on, they lived in Bluebuilt Village. It became their new home—a place widely regarded as the poorest and most destitute area in all of Rasphalmeda.

People avoided Bluebuilt Village not just because it was overcrowded with impoverished residents, but also because of its infamously poor safety and rampant crime. For those reasons, Lianna deeply despised the place. But she had no other options. It was the only place where she could find a roof over their heads for a mere 50 dants a month.

Even so, Lianna struggled to come up with those 50 dants. She worked tirelessly, using her meager wages to raise her daughter and repay her debts. Over the past two years, she hadn’t spent a single penny on herself. Seeing a doctor was simply out of the question.

Because of this, Lianna endured the chest pains and coughing fits in silence. No matter how much she suffered, she was determined not to leave her daughter burdened by debt. And then…

“Mom!”

One sweltering summer day, Lianna, who often complained of dizziness from the oppressive heat, collapsed. A terrified Anesse ran to her side, clutching her mother and sobbing. Lianna’s coworkers, including Lila, rushed her to a doctor when she failed to regain consciousness.

The doctor diagnosed her with advanced tuberculosis, further complicated by angina. He insisted that she needed rest and proper treatment.

Young Anesse didn’t understand what tuberculosis or angina meant, but she responded firmly, telling the doctor that she would do whatever it took to help her mother.

Perhaps moved by the sight of the tear-streaked yet determined child, the doctor handed over some medicine and refused to take payment. Anesse cradled the medicine in her arms as if it were the most precious thing in the world.