A leisure read discovered in the Library of Philia in the Grove, classified in the historical romance genre.
Forbidden Love: The Tree and the Butterfly
She wandered through the flower sea, searching for a glimpse of those fluttering butterfly wings, but without success.
"Cer, I've heard... that every flower has its own floriography." "Generally speaking, that perception is correct."
She heard the voice but couldn't see the speaker, yet Cerces paid it no mind. She calmly responded to her most special student while scanning her surroundings.
"What is your floriography?" "I'm afraid I'm not a flower, but a tree." "Hmm..."
Evidently, this answer failed to satisfy the other party. A sound mingled with dissatisfaction and disappointment reached her ears, prompting her to add another remark.
"Well, if we're just speaking metaphorically... I suppose it would be 'Intelligence.'"
However, her objective was nearly accomplished. It should be around here somewhere. Now, she just needed to find some bait to draw her out.
"...Intellectual, yet also romantic?" "Perhaps... it's because I... hibernate? You see, in my long dreams, I've made promises to countless lovers." "...Really?"
The butterfly-winged girl suddenly rose from the thicket before Cerces, startling her slightly. After all, at this moment, the distance between them was virtually nonexistent. Gazing directly at Mnestia's face, allowing the light reflecting from her lips to pass through her eyes, a hint of crimson flashed across Cerces' face — almost imperceptible to onlookers. Of course, her composure wavered for only a moment. Then, Cerces wrapped her arms around the girl's waist and, as if pulling up a radish from the ground, gently lifted her from the flower thicket.
"Of course not. Caught you now."
Placing her on the ground, the giant tree's incarnation gently stroked the butterfly wings with the edges of her leaves, confirming the other's normal state before slowly withdrawing. "So... now, will you tell me? Why have you been avoiding me?" "..."
"Would you two please refrain from frolicking in my Antila Garden?" A cold voice unseasonably interrupted their thoughts. Indeed, for the garden's master, the incarnation of death, such lively atmosphere was truly something akin to a natural enemy.
"Sorry... we'll leave at once. Thank you for listening to my troubles, Madam Thanatos. Cer, let's return to the Grove." "Mm... sorry, Than, for troubling you." "Honestly, you two are... alas. But, Cerces." "...?" "...You must be aware by now, right?"
A bitter sensation spread in her mouth once more. Cerces remained silent, merely nodding as she bid farewell to her old friend.
On the way back to the Grove, Mnestia remained completely silent. After one unsuccessful attempt to question her, Cerces struggled to find another opportunity to speak and simply focused on the path ahead.
—Voices of gossip reached them, causing irritation.
"A genius... so what? She's just like..." "So terrifying..."
A stern figure approached rapidly — it was █████, the source of the irritation. Mnestia offered Cerces a smile, then turned and walked away.
█████ cast a sharp glance in the direction of the butterfly-winged girl's departure, then shifted his gaze back to Cerces.
First came perfunctory reports and spiritless small talk, then escalation to arguments that resembled personal attacks—
"Do you truly understand..." "I don't need to. Let me be direct, Cerces." "To romance a student, even your own creation, don't you find that perverse—?" "Pow!" This was the first time the embodiment of reason allowed emotions to govern her mind. The sensation left on her palm felt as if it would scorch through to the heart of the tree.
From nearby came the sound of running footsteps — familiar yet somehow strange. Cerces wanted to give chase immediately, but the words echoing in her ears tripped her steps. She was indeed somewhat distracted, allowing the girl's image to surface and fade in her mind repeatedly.
When her resolve crystallized, the third Curtain-Fall Hour had slipped by. The personification of the giant tree approached the gilded chrysalis, cried her beloved's name, then stilled, as if she had frozen.
The traces left by the butterfly-winged girl who'd dwelled here were all but erased. Upon the foliate desk lay words: a maiden's first and final love letter.
"I love you, Cerces. I've already received the graduation gift after all. So, forget me."