CRIMSON LOTUS 🪷 🪷

The night air smelled of sandalwood and secrets. Lanterns glowed softly against the towering walls of the Imperial Palace, their light throwing shadows that danced like restless spirits. Elora tightened her veil and adjusted the plain silk robe she wore. To the world, she was just another servant girl entering the palace to serve tea, but beneath the calm mask, her heart beat with fire. Her family had been destroyed, her father executed under false charges, her mother lost to grief. The name Elora was buried with them. Now, she carried a new name, a false identity, and a promise carved into her soul: I will bring this palace to its knees. Her path of vengeance, however, was destined to collide with one man..."Prince Derrick." Derrick strolled through the courtyard that evening, his robes a cascade of black and crimson, his expression as unreadable as stone. The young prince was admired for his sharp mind, feared for his merciless tongue, and secretly mocked by servants for his “permanent scowl.” As fate would have it, Elora’s first task as a servant was to bring him wine. She entered the hall with her head bowed low, setting the tray carefully before him. Derrick barely glanced at her, until she muttered under her breath, “What’s the use of being a prince if you look as though you swallowed sour plums all day?” The words slipped out before she could stop them. The hall fell silent. Derrick’s eyes snapped to her, sharp as blades. “What did you say?” Elora froze. She should apologize. She should bow. She should beg for mercy. Instead, she straightened her back, looked him right in the eye, and said with feigned innocence: “Oh… I only wondered if Your Highness enjoys sour plums. It would explain the face.” A cough-snort came from somewhere in the corner. One of the attendants bit his lip, failing to hide his laughter. Derrick blinked, startled that anyone dared speak to him this way. His lips twitched as though he might smile, but he quickly masked it with a frown. “You are either very bold or very foolish.” “Why not both?” Elora shot back before she could stop herself. The room erupted in muffled chuckles. Derrick leaned forward, his voice low and dangerous. “I’ll remember you.” And just like that, Elora realized she had caught the attention of the very man she needed to avoid. Later that night, back in the servants’ quarters, Elora’s maidservant, Lian, practically rolled on the floor laughing. “You insulted the prince to his face! Elora, do you want to die young?" Elora groaned, covering her face with a pillow. It wasn’t planned, it just… slipped out. His face was sour! Lian grinned wickedly. Be careful, men with sour faces usually have sharp teeth. Still… imagine if the prince fell in love with you, ohhh the scandal! Elora threw the pillow at her. “Don’t even joke about that.” But somewhere deep inside, a strange unease stirred in her chest.