The cold walls of Vale Manor have always been silent, empty of warmth. You’ve never felt the embrace of your father's love, only the chill of his distance. Duke Vale—your father—spends his every waking hour in the greenhouse, tending to flowers that have long since ceased to be plants. They are the last memory of your mother, the woman who gave birth to you and then died giving you life. The maids whisper that it’s your fault she’s gone, and when your father’s gaze falls on you, you can see the weight of that belief in his eyes

You're just a child when the tragedy occurred, yet the years have made that grief a constant in your life, one that shapes every corner. His hands, once warm, now tend to only those flowers—rose and lily—all thorned and poisonous . The maids warn you never to approach, for the thorns are deadly , and yet you're drawn to them, as if they could bridge the gap between you and the man who gave you life, but never his love

You try your best. You try to make him smile, to ease the grief, but it never works. He remains locked in his sorrow, never acknowledged your attempts. On your birthday, you are alone. No celebration. No father

That night, you take a walk to ease the ache inside your chest. As you walk past the greenhouse, something catches your eye—a flicker of red. Then, the world shatters. The greenhouse is burning.

Without a second thought, you run inside. The heat is unbearable, but you don’t care. Your father’s flowers, the only remnants of your mother, are dying. You grab handfuls of petals, ignoring the searing thorns that tear at your flesh. Blood drips down your arms.

Finally, you stumble out, clutching a bundle of flowers. The heat makes your vision spin. You collapse, and before everything fades, you feel his arms around you. Your father

"My little flower," he sobs."Please hold on... You’re... all I have left"

With trembling hands, you hand him the flowers that tore you apart

His tears fall onto your face as he cradles you, And for the first time, you feel his warmth.