102. Birthday (3)
The garden annex, being relatively small, didn’t take long for Owen and Lucia to explore.
It resembled a regular house, with a living room, kitchen, two bathrooms, and three bedrooms.
On the first floor were the living room, kitchen, one bedroom, and a bathroom, while the second floor housed the remaining two bedrooms and another bathroom. Above it all was a low attic.
“All I see are trees,” Lucia remarked, standing by the attic window.
Owen had to stoop slightly to enter the small space, and as he approached her, he noted her gaze fixed on the dense greenery outside.
“It feels like a forest.”
The Verdun estate was filled with trees. Outside the structured paths and buildings, nearly every inch was covered in lush greenery. The towering trees were diverse in type, creating a natural canopy over the estate.
“There’s a flower garden, too,” Owen added, gesturing toward a clearing further into the estate.
Though the garden was surrounded by thick woods, it was meticulously maintained, featuring both an outdoor garden and an indoor greenhouse.
“Really? Can we visit it?”
“Of course.”
They descended the slightly narrow stairs, crossing the quaint living room before stepping outside.
A cool breeze greeted them, the late November air perfectly capturing the onset of winter. The sun, which had been high when they arrived around 2 PM, was now beginning to sink, casting long shadows over the estate.
It was nearly 6 PM—sunset was approaching.
Riding their horses along a path that felt more like a forest trail, they finally arrived at the flower garden Owen had mentioned.
“Wow…”
Lucia’s breath hitched as she took in the sight.
Despite it being late autumn, the garden was a riot of color. It was breathtakingly beautiful, filled with seasonal blooms expertly arranged to create a harmonious display.
Lucia, who considered herself somewhat knowledgeable about flowers, couldn’t recognize many of the species planted here. Each flower bed boasted a different palette, with the colors complementing one another to dazzling effect.
She dismounted, tying Lina to a post nearby, and wandered into the garden, her eyes wide with wonder.
Owen followed, staying close behind her.
“I love it,” she said, stopping in front of a bed filled with darker-toned flowers.
She had walked past vibrant reds, yellows, and blues, only to choose this particular section.
“I love it so much I almost want to take it all with me,” she added, a soft smile gracing her lips.
“That’s high praise,” Owen noted with a faint smile.
“I liked the whole estate, really. But since I’ll be Verdun’s duchess next year, I didn’t dwell on it too much. It already feels like mine in a way.”
“Didn’t it?”
“Yes. But this place…” She trailed off, gently brushing her fingers over the petal of a black flower.
“It’s perfect. It suits you,” she said, looking at the flower as though it held a piece of Owen’s essence.
“What’s this one called?”
The flower was calm and elegant, yet strikingly beautiful—its black petals so vivid they seemed otherworldly.
Owen searched his memory for the name. “It’s called ‘Black Moon’.”
“Black Moon?” Lucia repeated, intrigued.
“It reminds me of you,” she said with a light laugh. “I always thought you were like the moon, and this flower even shares its name.”
To Lucia, Owen embodied the calm vastness of the sea and the quiet brilliance of the moon. Just as he saw her as the fiery sun and the vibrant rose.
“I’ve never seen this flower before. Does it only grow here?”
“Yes. There are records that the first Duchess of Verdun planted and cultivated them herself.”
“Could we transplant some to the capital?”
“It’s possible. The climate is similar enough,” Owen replied thoughtfully.
“Then let’s do it. Even just a few blooms would be wonderful.”
Satisfied, Lucia pulled her hand away from the flower, intertwining her fingers with Owen’s instead.
“Let’s visit the greenhouse now.”
The greenhouse, unlike the cool outdoors, was kept warm by temperature-maintaining magic stones.
“It’s full of spring flowers,” Lucia observed, marveling at the vibrant colors inside.
The warmth allowed for blooms that were typically out of season, and the air was thick with the sweet scent of fresh flowers. Roses, in particular, stood out—red and pink blossoms climbed thorny vines that stretched across the greenhouse walls.
“You once said I reminded you of a rose,” Lucia remarked, pausing in front of the roses.
“I did,” Owen confirmed, watching her.
She stood silently for a moment, gazing at the crimson petals.
“And the sun, too,” he added. “Like a blazing flame.”
“Really? I always thought my love was more like hellfire,” she said with a soft laugh.
“And yours,” she continued, her voice tender, “is like the sea. You’re like the ocean and the moon. And now, like that Black Moon flower.”
Her words were steady, each one carrying the weight of her affection.
“Though… you’re just you, Owen. And that’s enough. I love everything because it reminds me of you.”
To her, the sea was beautiful, and the moon was captivating, but they were merely symbols.
She loved them because they reminded her of him.
And so, the Black Moon flower had become another piece of that puzzle—special simply because it was his.
“The sun is setting, Owen.”
The orange glow of the setting sun filled the glass greenhouse, painting the space in a fiery hue.
The sky outside was ablaze with color as the day gave way to twilight.
“The moon will rise soon,” she added softly.
“Do you like the moon?” Owen asked, curious.
“Of course. Didn’t I say? It reminds me of you,” she replied with a warm smile.
“…Ah.”
“And the moon doesn’t overwhelm the sky or stain the sea. It simply exists, serene and constant, shining in its own quiet way.”
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky quickly darkened, its fiery glow replaced by a deep black.
Then, as if on cue, the moon appeared.
It rose high, casting its gentle silver light over the garden.
“…That may be true, but,” Owen began, his gaze steady, “I prefer things that are strong and brilliant enough to leave their mark.”
Because the sun reminded him of Lucia.
The annex surrounded by the garden had been a peaceful prelude to the day’s end.
“It’s a relief you think so,” Owen replied with a gentle smile.
Lucia turned toward him, her crimson eyes soft with affection. “Let’s head back. It’s getting late.”
The sun had fully set, ushering in the quiet of night. It was time to return to the main building for dinner.
—
At the central estate building, Owen and Lucia were welcomed into the grand dining hall, where a sumptuous meal awaited them.
After a leisurely dinner, the two shared a pleasant tea time, their conversation flowing effortlessly. Eventually, they parted ways, each retiring to their respective rooms for the night.
Their rooms were on separate floors, a deliberate arrangement by the staff to maintain decorum. They bid each other goodnight, promising to reunite the next morning.
Upon reaching his chambers, Owen allowed the attendants to prepare his bath. The warm water washed away the weariness of travel, leaving him refreshed as he changed into comfortable indoor clothes.
Back in his room, Owen sifted through a stack of documents, reviewing them briefly before setting them aside. Then, from among his belongings, he retrieved a book.
Since arriving in this world, Owen had spent most of his time either with Lucia or absorbed in work. Now, with his business ventures stabilized, he finally had room to indulge in leisure.
One of his favorite pastimes, carried over from his previous life, was reading novels.
Owen was an avid reader of many genres—fantasy, modern fantasy, romance, mystery.
In this medieval-inspired world, many of the books mirrored the classical and fantastical elements of the world itself, often reminiscent of traditional fantasy or romance-fantasy novels.
This intrigued Owen, leading him to collect bestsellers and immerse himself in their stories.
His newfound hobby, however, seemed to bewilder the estate staff. He vividly recalled the chamberlain’s wide-eyed reaction when he’d first requested books.
‘Is it that strange?’
To Owen, reading was an entirely natural pastime, but it seemed unusual to others—especially for someone of his station.
A moment’s reflection brought clarity.
‘I suppose it is odd.’
The current Owen Verdun, a powerful and composed duke, had no precedent for such hobbies.
Yet, Owen was also a former reader of ‘The Flower of the Empire’ and an ordinary university student from modern-day Korea. His identity blended both lives, and so too did his interests.
* * *
The novel he picked up that night was the source material for the opera he and Lucia had recently watched, ‘The Witch’s Man.’
Initially, he had thought the opera was the original work, only to discover it had been adapted from a novel.
Many of the lines in the novel mirrored the opera’s lyrics.
> “I’m not trying to help you. I just want to stay by your side. I love you.”
The dialogue was achingly familiar. Owen’s eyes traced the words as he turned the pages, reliving the moments he had first witnessed in the theater.
The male protagonist’s resolute love and unwavering confession struck him again, just as it had during the opera.
As the story progressed toward its climax, Owen reached the final chapter—the infamous conclusion performed in the opera’s poignant final song, ‘For My Beautiful, Cruel Witch.’
‘The Witch’s Man’ was a tragic tale.
The female protagonist, the titular witch, succumbed to her fate before her beloved, leaving him to grieve her absence.
During the opera, Owen had found himself likening the witch to Lucia—fiery, intense, and untamed. The steadfast, devoted male protagonist, meanwhile, had reminded him of himself.
Reading the novel only reinforced this comparison.
Yet Owen was certain their story would not end the same.
Lucia was not a witch, nor a villain. Their love was different, built on trust, passion, and hope.
> “I’ll remember everything—every moment with you. I love you. I’ll cherish those memories forever. I love you so much.”
Owen read the male protagonist’s final words, letting them resonate.
Like the protagonist, he vowed to love Lucia wholly, to treasure their moments together, and to hold onto every memory.
He closed the book, the weight of its narrative lingering in his chest.
The emotions stirred by the story mingled with his own thoughts, setting his heart abuzz with a restless energy.
Owen took a deep breath, collecting himself before placing the book neatly on the bedside table. Rising, he switched off the magic lamp, shrouding the room in darkness.
It was late—nearly midnight.
In a few moments, the date would shift to November 23rd.
Owen’s birthday.
Not wanting to spend the first moments of his birthday alone, Owen lay down, ready to let sleep carry him to tomorrow.
This year, his birthday would be unlike any before it.
