The Black Rose Palace had always felt too quiet in the early hours—like something ancient was still asleep within its walls, and one wrong sound might wake it.
Evelyn woke early today. The palace was silent; no one else was awake yet. With nothing pressing to occupy her, she made her way to the library.
She moved through the rows of books with light, deliberate steps, careful not to disturb the stillness. The air felt denser than usual, as if it were holding its breath. Dust and ink lingered thickly, mingling with a darker, more elusive scent—something floral and bitter, like wilted roses.
She walked without pause, weaving between rows of towering shelves until she reached the farthest corner.
The oldest part of the library.
The least touched.
The light here was dim and pale, filtering weakly through high windows, barely brushing the worn edges of the books.
She ran her fingers along the spines of forgotten books, some titles long eroded by time. She moved slower now, her gaze narrowing—something had caught her eye. A shelf that looked… wrong.
Her hand hovered, then reached forward, brushing along the seam where two shelves met.
At first—nothing.
Then her fingers grazed a thin line—an indentation barely wider than a thread.
Click.
The sound was soft, nearly lost in the stillness. But she felt it beneath her palm—a slight shift, a quiet vibration, like the wall had exhaled.
A section of the shelf creaked back with a reluctant groan, then slid sideways, revealing a narrow recess carved into the stone.
Inside was a single object.
A book.
No. More like a diary.
Its cover was bound in deep blue leather, the edges worn by time. The clasp was tarnished but still intact. Embossed on the front, almost too faint to see, was a black rose emblem—delicate, elegant, nearly lost to the years.
But it shimmered faintly as she turned it toward the light.
Evelyn didn't need to guess whose it was.
There had only ever been one ruler with the Black Rose as her symbol.
Empress Alexandra.
Evelyn stood there for a long moment, the book resting in her palm—heavier than it should have been. Then, slowly, she opened it.
The first page greeted her like an old friend.
~ "If you are reading this, then either I am dead, or you are not meant to be."
Her lips parted. Almost a smile.
Evelyn: "Still so dramatic."
She murmured it under her breath, an edge of quiet amusement in her tone—too soft for anyone but the shadows to hear.
The paper was thick, edged in gold once but dulled by time. Her fingers hovered for a second longer, then turned the page.
~ "I met someone strange today. Quiet. Unreadable. She barely speaks, but every time our eyes meet, I feel as if she already knows everything about me. It's unnerving..."
Evelyn blinked slowly, her gaze steady.
Another page turned.
~ "At first I thought she was simply odd—too clever, perhaps. But I was wrong. She is something else entirely. There's something ancient beneath her calm… something vast."
Evelyn paused, her thumb resting against the paper's edge. Her breath was quiet.
~ "She remained silent today too. I do not think she realizes how much her silence speaks."
~ "She laughed once. Just once. And it felt as if even the flowers bent toward her."
~ "She is not like us. She never was. Not bound by thrones or blood or anything. She is indescribable and... strangely free..."
The words were written in a hurried hand, ink slightly smudged as if the writer hadn't paused long between thoughts.
Evelyn turned the page again, more slowly this time.
~ "They fear the sky, the flames, the beasts of bone and shadow… but they should fear the ground beneath their feet. That's where she walks."
Evelyn's fingers lingered on that line. A flicker of something passed through her eyes. A curve touched her lips—not quite a smile, not entirely sorrow either.
She kept turning the pages. More thoughts. More secrets. Fragments of memory, pressed like petals between the lines.
~ She once told me—many people think the black rose only represents death or mourning. And yes, it does. It's often seen as a flower of farewells, of grief, of endings. But she told me it meant far more than that. It held many meanings.
~ The black rose was mystery itself—dark, untouchable, and elegant, like a secret no one dared to uncover. It carries the weight of the unknown, of things hidden deep in shadows, waiting.
~ It also meant rebirth. After death comes transformation, she said. The black rose doesn't just mark endings — it whispers of new beginnings born from the ashes of the old. It is the death of the old and the birth of something new. A symbol for major life transformations — especially the painful ones that shatter you before they shape you.
Evelyn flipped to the next page, her fingertips brushing the edge with care.
~ It stood for strength. The kind forged in silence. In solitude. A symbol of quiet defiance, of enduring pain without falling apart.
~ And above all… it symbolized love. The kind that doesn't wither with time or distance. A tragic, eternal love — one that survives even death. Dark love. The kind that doesn't bloom in sunlight, but flourishes in darkness. It clings even beyond death… a devotion that persists, silent and unbreakable.
~ She said all of this with a faraway look in her eyes, like she wasn't just talking about the flower... but about herself.
~ "I still don't know why... but ever since then, the black rose became my favorite flower."
Evelyn exhaled slowly. Something in her eyes softened.
Another page turned, slower now.
~ "She asked me once what I wanted most in my life. I told her: freedom. She looked at me for a long time, but said nothing."
Evelyn paused again.
~ "I can't believe she actually gave me that!!!! I must protect it at any cost. But she told me not to—told me to let it be. How can I??? Even now, I still listened to her... and left it as it was."
~ "My husband keeps asking me what I'm hiding. I laugh. Not because I'm fearless, but because I know the truth would shake him to the core."
Evelyn's brows drew together. The ink had changed tones—faded in some parts, rushed in others.
~ "I heard the news of her death. And yet, I can't believe my own ears. But I know she will live. In every corner of my memory."
She turned another page. It crackled faintly.
~ "In my life, I have seen many strange things—monsters, beasts made of blood and bones, cities that vanished overnight, and men who thought themselves gods. But none of them shook me the way she did. Her presence wasn't loud. But it changed everything."
~ "Even if the world forgets her name, I will carve it into the bones of this palace."
~ "My body is falling. I don't know how many days I have left. The light dims. My voice breaks. I wanted her to know—I did not betray her trust."
Her fingers stopped at the final entry. The handwriting trembled—uneven, the ink blotched at the edges, as if written through pain, or darkness, or both.
~ "I really wanted to tell her... I kept my promise."
The silence around Evelyn seemed to deepen, as if even the shadows were listening.
The entire diary was filled with "She"—no name, just 'She' throughout.
Every entry, every line, referred to her only as "She"—no identity, no hint of who she truly was, just the word 'She' repeated like a shadow tracing her presence.
Evelyn closed the diary gently, her thumb still resting against the page as if she could press the words into her memory.
She didn't move for a long while.
Then, with quiet grace, she placed the diary back and began walking back through the library's dim, silent corridors.
As she walked away, the hidden shelf slid shut behind her with a soft, final sigh, hiding the diary once again.
Sealing the space once more.
At the corridor's end, Evelyn paused. She leaned against the cold stone wall, the flickering candlelight casting restless shadows across her face.
She stared forward, unmoving—but her gaze was lost elsewhere, deep in a place no one could reach.
Evelyn: "She was really an idiot…"
She remembered the final trembling line as if she might catch the echo of a voice.
Evelyn: "I never did tell you, did I? But I hated black roses, actually."
She looked up, her eyes distant, lost somewhere between now and then.
Evelyn: "They always felt like they were reflecting my own life. Cold. Withering. Beautiful in all the wrong ways."
She stood there, the weight of old memories pressing against her ribs like familiar bruises.
Evelyn shook her head, forcing them all away, her eyes hardening to their usual icy calm. Silently, she turned and began walking back toward her room.