The Princess steps inside the palace grounds, her head rising slightly, and she narrowed her eyes as she took in the sight of the place that had been her home for oh, the last godforsaken decade.
Such an awful thing to refer to my prison as such, the Princess scoffs, tugging at her hood a bit higher from the traitorous sun that was dangerously peeking in and out from the clouds overhead as dawn was close to approaching.
She briefly nodded her head in acknowledgement to the guards who were stationed right in front of the palace gates, all who were automatically bowing right before her presence as is proper, never mind the odd hour of her appearance. Regardless of age, here and now, they have no right to question her.
Her dark cloak was fluttering around her like a pair of raven’s wings as she stalked forward with purpose and confidence befitting of royalty.
Here, they thought, that the child with eyes of red looked like a demon has returned from hell. Every day, every moment without fail, for years–the Princess had come and goes without so much as another glance other than a passing sweep of eyes and an obligatory nod of acknowledgement to any of them. They have always believed the Princess as a person of habit, a person of routine.
…they were wrong, to put it bluntly.
She suddenly paused, eyeing them from the corner of her eyes, and out of the blue, she asked: “...Has Sir Sanscroft left already?”
Silence…
And a second after, careful not to meet one another's eyes, one of them was finally brave enough to finally give her an answer lest they anger the Princess, “He has, Your Highness.”
Something akin to a pleased smile played at the corner of her lips, but only for a moment–because it was suddenly gone, and it made them squirm uneasily in their place at what could that possibly mean for them…
Or for anyone at all, really.
“...I see,” she said, simply, no more than a hum.
She turned away from them.
Cloak fluttering behind her like an onslaught of darkness, the young Princess slowly but surely made her way further inside the palace with a not-smile on her lips, leaving nothing but uneasiness and dread in her wake whilst the guards stared worriedly to one another.
*
Meanwhile, in Sans Manor, there was a young boy who was at least two years older than the Princess named Jin.
As of now, he was watching over his beloved mother, Lady Amelia, hum in appreciation as she holds a flower that was somewhere between blue and a dark violet in color his father had presented to her earlier as soon as he came home (a gift from the princess, Sir Edward had told them, a bit uncomfortable to say more) close to her face that was pale but content.
And yet, for some reason, looking at the flower, no matter how beautiful and elegant it may seem... it made him feel kind of sad.
And almost in pain.
Like he was grieving for someone.
The thirteen years old boy immediately shook his head to clear such negative thoughts away from his mind.
How silly!
Surely, he was just worried because of his mother. Why, she no longer went out of her room for years unless she needed to get some fresh air and even then, she needed a handmaiden or two (sometimes his father) to help or carry her out because her legs had grown weak to do so much as to stand.
“…Jin?” his mother suddenly called, and he hurried to her side, holding her hand tightly as she smiled weakly and asked: “Do you know about the language of flowers?”
He was quiet for a moment, confused and taken aback by the sudden, seemingly out-of-the-blue question. His mother did that to him–a lot, since she became ill. She seemed more thoughtful most of the time, almost… regretful of some things.
“I'm sorry, mother. I don't,” he answered, “Is it a code or something? Could you tell me more about it?”
Amelia remained quiet, smiling patiently at her only child as she did whenever she was trying to teach him something, her features were sickly pale and tired but to her son, he thought of her as the prettiest woman he would ever meet in his life.
“This flower is called an anemone, you see... they indicate a feeling of–” she suddenly cut herself off and let out a gasp, which ended up in a harsh fit of coughs.
Quickly, careful not to wince at the sound of her painful hacking, Jin hurriedly turned away from his mother to get her a glass of water not far from the table. What Jin did not see however, was the blood that his mother had accidentally spat on the flower, staining it just as easily.
Amelia held the flower closer to her chest so her son may not see, may not know the stained petals as he urgently handed her a glass of water. She smiled as she lowered it down once she's finished drinking, keeping the flower close to a dying heart, “You worry too much, darling. Isn't that supposed to be my job?”
“Oh, cut it out, mother. I'm taking care of you until father comes back from his stupid paperwork so we’re stuck with each other till then,” Jin grumbles but despite his gruff answer, almost indistinctively, his ears were a bit pink in embarrassment.
“You do realize that once you become a knight someday you will also do those things?” she asked, laughing.
“Even stupid paperwork?!” he spluttered, looking aghast.
Her laugh grew louder, “Why yes, even stupid paperwork, my love.”
To her dismay, she suddenly began to feel very, very tired and as if on cue, her heart began to twist in pain.
Ah.
It was time.
She rested her head on his shoulder.
“Jin,” she finally says to him, tired but already resigned to her fate, “...can you please call your father for me?”
Reluctantly, Jin left her side and stood in front of the door, glancing at her over his shoulder for a long, suffering moment with an open look of uneasiness that made her want to cry. But still, she smiled and urged him.
“Go, my dear,” I don't want you to watch me die.
And before her vision began to blur, she saw her son finally walk away to call for his father… just as she had asked for him.
She slowly lay down on her bed, releasing a pained shudder, a gasp escaping her lips. My sweet, sweet boy... you are a good child, and I love you more than anything this world has to offer... you know that ...don't you? 
Amelia slowly held the bloodstained anemone close to her face again, watching it wither in a span of seconds’ right before her very eyes until it began to wither and crumble into dust.
Because an anemone is a flower that indicates fading hope, a feeling of having been forsaken... but on a positive note, anemones also symbolize anticipation… and in some places, they served as a ward from evil.
Little princess, what are you trying to tell me?
Little princess, what are you trying to say?
Resigned that she may not know the answer herself, Amelia Sanscroft closed her eyes just as she breathed her last.