Chapter 4
1205words
The startled bird who had fled Deville Manor in panic while pregnant had now put down roots in the salty sea breeze and bright sunlight of Crescent Harbor.
This city was entirely different from the twilight city in her memories.
Here, there are no rigid hierarchies or oppressive etiquette, only the clamor of fishing boats returning to the dock, the loud calls of vendors in the marketplace, and the ever-present scent of sea salt and sunshine in the air. Elsie Lane, now known as "The Rose Lady," runs a small gallery called "Thornbird" at the end of a cobblestone street near this port.
The gallery isn't large; its white walls are slightly weathered yet kept impeccably clean. Sunlight streams through the street-facing windows, illuminating tiny dust particles that float slowly in the air. The paintings hanging on the walls feature calm yet powerful color schemes, depicting trees standing resilient in the wind, wildflowers struggling to emerge from cracks in stones, and most notably—roses blooming brilliantly despite being entangled with sharp thorns. This is her "Thorns" series.
"Mom, look at the pirate ship I drew!" a crisp childish voice rang out.
Six-year-old Leo ran up to Elsie, who was arranging picture frames, holding a colorfully painted drawing.
The boy had the same raven-black hair as her, and eyes that shone like the starry sea beyond the harbor.
Elsie put down her work, took the drawing, and examined it carefully, a gentle smile appearing in her eyes. "It's wonderful, Leo. Where is our pirate captain planning to sail?" Her smile was genuine; this peaceful and fulfilling life was earned bit by bit through seven years of caution and hard work. After giving birth to Leo, she had taken odd jobs and freelance work, like a swallow carrying mud to build a nest, finally establishing this small home. The gallery operated on the first floor, with living quarters on the second; though simple, it was filled with solid warmth. She had almost begun to believe that the nightmares of the past had been blown away by the sea breeze.
However, vigilance was already etched into her bones. She rarely appeared in public, avoided leaving behind image records, and remained tight-lipped about Leo's past.
She always wore a plain silver band on the ring finger of her left hand. It seemed ordinary, but the inner wall was carved with extremely fine patterns. When necessary, it could be unscrewed to reveal a small amount of special "powder" hidden in the hollow part of the ring—that was the final insurance she had prepared for herself and her son, stemming from memories of life at the bottom of society, something she hoped would never need to be used.
That afternoon, the wind chimes rang softly as the gallery door was pushed open.
Regular customer Mr. Mason walked in, but his demeanor today was different from usual—less of the casual art critic and more visibly excited, with a hint of barely noticeable nervousness.
"Good afternoon, Rose Lady," Mr. Mason greeted with a tone more formal than usual.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Mason." Elsie put down her cloth, and Leo obediently sat down with his drawing book in the reading corner.
"I have... very important news." Mr. Mason chose his words carefully. "Your 'Thorns' series, all seven pieces, have just been purchased in their entirety."
Elsie was slightly taken aback. This series held special meaning for her, and she hadn't been eager to sell it. "Which collector is so generous?" she maintained her smile, though inwardly becoming alert.
"It's a new client, very... mysterious." Mason lowered his voice. "The transaction was completed through an agent. They didn't reveal their name, but payment was extremely prompt. There's only one condition..." He paused, carefully taking out a folded ivory-white card of unusually stiff quality from his inner pocket, rather than an ordinary notepad. "They requested that this card be delivered directly into your hands, personally."
Elsie's heart skipped a beat. Hand it to her personally? This deliberate, ceremonial manner exuded an unusual aura. She took the card, cool to the touch, with subtle embossed textures along the edges, indicating its extraordinary quality. Opening it, there was only one line of handwritten English cursive, the ink deep and rich, the strokes elegant yet carrying a cold sense of power:
"The thorns have finally enveloped the rose. This is truly you."
In an instant, the warm sunlight in the gallery seemed to suddenly lose its temperature. A chill rapidly climbed up Elsie's spine, making her fingertips holding the card instantly ice-cold.
This sentence! On the surface, it was commenting on the artwork, praising the perfect fusion of thorns and roses imagery.
But to Elsie's ears, every word was like a key precisely targeting her true identity!
"Thorns have embraced the rose"—was this merely describing art?
It precisely summarized her current state of existence: wrapped in layers of "thorns" from the past, hiding the real Elsie Lane behind the identity of "The Rose Lady."
"This is the real you"—this was more like a judgment, a declaration from the shadows: I know your past disguises, and I can see clearly your true essence now that you've shed your masks. I have found the real you.
Who? Who could not only find her after seven years in hiding, but also penetrate so deeply through appearances, reaching straight to the most secret core of her paintings? This was far beyond ordinary art appreciation! This was a proclamation, a condescending, controlling form of dialogue!
An overwhelming sense of crisis surged like a cold tide, almost suffocating her.
Was it Sebastian? Had he finally come? Or... was it that force with the Eldritch Crest, responsible for Emily's death? Were they buying all her paintings out of appreciation? As a warning? Or was it an even more terrifying way of declaring ownership?
"Mom?" Leo sensitively noticed his mother's instantly tensed body and pale face, calling out anxiously.
Elsie sharply drew in a breath, forcibly suppressing her churning emotions, quickly reconstructing calm tenderness on her face as she turned to her son.
"It's nothing, sweetheart." She tried to keep her voice steady, then nodded politely to Mr. Mason, "Thank you for coming to inform me personally. Please convey my gratitude to that... mysterious admirer."
Mr. Mason also seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, exchanged a few pleasantries and then left.
The gallery returned to quietness, but Elsie knew that a certain balance, solidified over seven years, had been completely shattered.
She walked to the window, seemingly gazing at the street view, while her left hand unconsciously caressed the plain silver ring. The cool metallic sensation gradually helped her chaotic thoughts coalesce and cool down.
A storm was approaching. But this time, she was no longer the Elsie Lane who could only flee in panic.
She was Leo's mother, "The Rose Lady" who had endured thorns.
She silently rotated her ring, confirming its mechanism was still working smoothly. No matter who was coming, she would absolutely not sit idly waiting for death.
The veil of the mysterious person had yet to be lifted, but the hunting horn seemed to have sounded again.
