Chapter 19: The Everlasting Sea of ​​Roses in My Dream

Golden fragments drifted slowly down over Concorde Square.

“Cough, cough…”

Cicero knelt on one knee, barely managing to support himself with his cane, which was now covered in cracks. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth onto his filthy cravat, blooming like a crimson plum blossom in the snow.

“Boss!” Vivian dropped her frying pan and rushed to help him.

“You look like you’re about to keel over. Need me to say a last prayer for you? Though all I can remember is ‘All men are born free.'”

“…It’s not over yet.”

Cicero struggled to raise his head, his gaze locking past Vivian’s shoulder, fixing dead ahead.

The steam monster, stripped of its divine protection, still had not fallen.

“Screee—screee—”

The grating sound of metal fatigue echoed across the square. The monster’s core, once a deep, purplish red, now flickered erratically in its chest like a heart on the verge of stopping, making its final stand.

Its massive mechanical body began to convulse violently, ruptured pipes flailing like maddened serpents, while scalding steam sprayed everywhere, making the paving stones sizzle.

“Woo—woo—”

No longer the stately whistle from before, but a mournful wail, like a lost child sobbing, unable to find their way home.

【So cold…】

【Why… is everyone staring at me…】

【No… don’t cut my hair…】

That fragmented electric voice drilled into Vivian’s mind again. Only this time, it held no anger or arrogance—just endless fear.

Vivian paused, unconsciously reaching for her pocket.

Inside was the ruby necklace, now turned black. At this moment, it radiated an icy chill through the fabric, a sharp contrast to the scalding steam ahead.

“Right now, it’s a swirling mess of obsessions. If you don’t purify it completely, that concentrated explosion of resentment will turn half of Paris into an asylum.”

“And how do I purify it? Bash it again with your Bible?”

“No… I’m out of strength.” For once, Cicero didn’t put up a front; it seemed he’d truly reached his limit.

“You have to enter it, make direct contact with the core, and untie the dead knot.”

He turned to look at Vivian, his deep eyes settling on her.

“I think only you can do it.”

“Me?” Vivian pointed at herself. “Why me? Because of my big-head syndrome?”

“Because you’re a weirdo.” Cicero managed a weak smile. “You aren’t bound by those outdated rules. Besides…”

His gaze fell to Vivian’s bulging pocket.

“You’re carrying a ‘part’ of it.”

Vivian was silent for a second. Then she took a deep breath and stood up.

With her back to Cicero, she straightened the skirt whose original color was no longer discernible.

“Even if you know, I’m not handing it over!”

“Hurry…” Cicero said in a low voice.

Vivian took a running start, stepping onto the crushed roof of a police car, and leaped at the rampaging iron giant.

“Don’t shoot! Nobody shoot! That’s a friendly!”

Inspector Jacques was furiously holding back a few trigger-happy recruits in the distance. His beard was smeared with engine oil, making him look like a chimney-sweeping Santa Claus.

The wind howled in Vivian’s ears.

She grabbed a hydraulic pipe on the monster’s waist. The searing heat instantly seeped through her gloves, nearly making her let go.

“Hsss—th-this-this-this-this-this-this is so hot!”

She screamed, clambering up with both hands and feet.

The monster seemed to sense the intruder. A gigantic mechanical arm swept toward her, intending to swat her like a mosquito.

“Clang!”

Vivian raised her frying pan, deflecting the iron hand with uncanny precision.

“Thanks, Your Majesty!”

Using the momentum, Vivian vaulted off the monster’s shoulder, landing squarely at the hollow of its neck.

This was where the steam gushed most violently.

The blinding red jewel core hovered within a maelstrom of chaotic energy.

【Hurts… it hurts…】

The voice grew ever clearer, on the verge of tears, echoing right atop Vivian’s skull.

Gritting her teeth, Vivian pulled the black necklace from her pocket.

“Come on, show me what you’re crying about.”

She gripped the necklace tightly, then thrust her hand into the energy vortex and seized the core.

“Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz—”

The chaotic steam vanished.

Vivian felt as if she’d fallen into a deep well—dark, damp, the air thick with mildew.

Water beaded on the walls, filthy straw covered the ground. Pale moonlight slipped through a narrow iron-barred window, illuminating a battered wooden bed in the corner.

“This is… an old prison?”

Vivian recognized the place. She’d seen it in history books from her past life—it was the cell where Marie Antoinette spent her final seventy-six days before facing the guillotine.

In the corner, a figure huddled.

She wore a faded black mourning dress, her once-proud golden hair now cut ragged and uneven.

She sat with her back to Vivian, shoulders shaking, weeping quietly.

“Louis… Thérèse…”

She was whispering her children’s names. Her hands clawed at the empty air, as if trying to grasp something just out of reach.

“I’m not a monster… I’m not a monster…”

She turned around.

It was a gaunt face, eyes sunken, skin slack.

There was no light left in her eyes, only endless emptiness.

When she saw Vivian, a wave of terror surged into those hollow eyes.

“Who are you?!” she screamed, shrinking into the corner’s shadow.

The room began to tremble. Blood seeped down the walls, twisting in the air to form countless furious faces, all roaring.

“Kill her! Kill the extravagant whore!”

This was her hell.

Even a hundred years after death, she remained trapped in a nightmare she could never escape. What she remembered was not her past glory, but the betrayal and scorn of this moment.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Vivian spoke softly, taking a step forward.

“Stay back!” The woman grabbed a handful of straw and hurled it at Vivian. “You all hate me! You all want me dead!”

“I don’t hate you.” Vivian let the straw fall onto her.

She walked to the bedside, crouched down slowly, her gaze level with the trembling woman’s.

Vivian took out the necklace from her pocket. The black faded, revealing the original, dripping red luster.

“I’m here to return something.”

She held out the necklace.

The woman froze, reaching out with trembling hands, fingertips touching the cold rubies.

“This is…” Tears spilled from her eyes. “This is from that ball… I wore it…”

Back then, there was no revolution, no famine, no guillotine. Only endless waltzes and roses blooming at the Petit Trianon.

Fragments of those beautiful memories flowed through the necklace, seeping into the gloomy cell.

The bloodstains faded from the walls. The mildew in the air was replaced by a faint hint of perfume.

“But… but they said…” The woman clutched the necklace, crying like a child.

“They said the people had no bread… It’s all my fault… They want to kill me…”

“What should I do? I have no bread to give them… I really don’t…”

The tide of history was too heavy—a weight she could never bear.

Vivian looked at her, suddenly finding it absurd.

People always need a target for their era’s rage. And this woman, who loved pretty dresses and jewels, had simply become the most conspicuous one.

“You have no bread.”

Vivian suddenly reached out, pushing through those phantoms of fear, gently embracing the trembling soul.

“So don’t give them bread anymore.”

Vivian whispered in her ear, her tone tinged with helpless, gentle teasing.

“If there’s no bread…”

Vivian paused, then spoke the words that had been misunderstood for a hundred years.

“Let them eat cake instead.”

The woman stared at Vivian in a daze.

“Cake?”

“Yes, cake.” Vivian smiled, reaching out to smooth her messy hair.

“Vanilla, chocolate, and those with strawberries piled on top. In that new world, where there’s no judgment, there’s cake in abundance.”

“There…” The woman asked softly, hope flickering in her gaze.

“There, it’s always tea time, with pretty dresses and a rose garden that never withers. No one will scold you again, Marie. Your sentence is over. You can leave now.”

“Leave…?” The fear faded from her eyes, replaced by long-lost peace.

She lowered her head, gazing at the necklace in her hand, and a faint smile curled on her lips—the smile of the ‘Rococo Rose’.

“Is the cake… sweet there?”

“Sweet enough to rot your teeth.”

“How wonderful…”

The woman closed her eyes.

With a sigh, the entire gloomy cell began to collapse.

Cold stones, filthy straw, iron bars and shackles—all dissolved into countless motes of light.

The lights gathered in the air, finally transforming into a cascade of soft rose petals.

Vivian felt her arms suddenly empty.

That heavy soul had vanished, leaving only a shower of blossoms.

…

“Rumble…”

The massive, frenzied steel monster abruptly ceased all movement.

The behemoth, forged of tons of iron, brass, and gears, began to fall apart without a sound, like a sand sculpture meeting the rising tide.

Countless deep red rose petals burst from its joints, erupting into a torrential red rain that instantly drowned the entire square.

The oily tang in the air was replaced by an overwhelming fragrance of roses.

“What… what is this?” Jacques reached out and caught a petal, feeling its soft, tangible texture.

“A miracle…” the rookie officer beside him murmured, forgetting to retrieve the gun he’d dropped.

And at the heart of the flowerstorm—

Vivian fell from midair.

She didn’t faceplant—because a thick layer of petals cushioned the ground, like a giant velvet carpet.

In her hand, she clutched the now pure and translucent ruby core.

“Nice catch.”

Vivian looked up. Cicero stood a few steps away, gazing at her with a softness in his eyes that was barely noticeable.

His suit was draped in petals, making him look like a bedraggled bridegroom.

“Not talking about you,” Cicero grumbled. “I just didn’t want the core to break—it’s important evidence.”

“Yeah, yeah, boss only cares about money.” Vivian clambered out of the petal pile and brushed off her skirt.

She walked up to Cicero and handed him the core.

“It’s settled. She’s gone to eat cake.”

Cicero took the core, feeling the gentle magic still lingering on it, and raised an eyebrow.

“Cake? You exorcised her with a rumor? That’s pretty…”

“Rumors are warmer than the truth, aren’t they?” Vivian shrugged. “Anyway, she believed it.”

Cicero was silent for a while, then carefully tucked the core into his breast pocket.

“Well done, Vivian.”

He rarely reached out, as if to pat Vivian on the shoulder, but midway, he pulled back and instead straightened his monocle.

“Though your form was terrible, and you lost the antique frying pan.”

“The frying pan’s right here!” Vivian fished it out of the petals behind her. “This is my hard-earned trophy!”

At that moment, Inspector Jacques finally waded over, nearly stumbling through the petal drifts.

He glanced at the sea of rose petals, then at the two bedraggled heroes, and finally pulled a battered notebook from his coat.

“Alright, you two heroes.” Jacques resumed his deadpan, bureaucratic tone.

“You may have saved Paris… but.”

He gestured to the flower ocean that now completely blocked the square.

“According to the Paris Urban Cleanliness Management Ordinance, littering—even with petals—will earn you a fine.”

“And,” Jacques tapped the empty space with his quill, “about that giant modified vehicle just now, I’ll need you to fill out a detailed Disappearance of Large Unidentified Object Statement.”

Vivian and Cicero exchanged a look.

“Boss,” Vivian raised the frying pan, “can I assault a police officer now?”

“If it helps you avoid paperwork,” Cicero smiled as he straightened his tie, “God might forgive your impulse.”

And so, amid this harmonious chaos, the crumpled wanted poster in Vivian’s pocket somehow slipped out, settling on a vivid red rose petal.

A gust of wind blew past, and a petal fluttered down, covering the portrait—just as the absurdities of this night would be gently buried by tenderness.