“Why did you decide to work in a potion shop?” he clarified.
She was caught off guard with this question, though there wasn't much mystery about it. Thinking for a bit she absently said, “I think it makes me closer to my mother.”
Dante bent his head staring, inviting her to continue.
Violette swallowed. “She loved brewing potions and experimenting. I liked it too but I think I started to take it seriously because it connects me to her even if she's no longer with me. I could feel her when I make potions, I can feel like…” she faltered for a second, trying to find the right thing to say, to find the word that would describe that precise feeling, “like she's still with me. She taught me how to make potions. She hadn't had a lot of time to show me everything…” She gnawed on her bottom lip. “I still have her notes with potions and spells and every time I open it I feel like she's talking to me and teaching me again,” Violette's eyes lowered to the ground, while Dante’s were wandering on her face. “She was a wonderful and talented wizardling. Days in her sanctum always were like a magic portal to somewhere else. And she loved the shop I work at right now; she always went there when we had our family weekend.” A faint smile appeared on her face as the warmth of those days went down her skin, nostalgia wrapped her in its arms.
“Family weekend?” Dante's forehead slightly crinkled.
She raised her gaze to him and her smile grew brighter.
“Once a week me and my parents used to walk to Wonder Alley to stroll and visit different shops. My father would always go to the store for parchments and quills, and my mother would always check up on the potions shop, and me…I'd always follow her like a tail.” She tipped her head, her eyes twinkled like the stars. “This store seemed like the most magical place to me. There was a terrible and disgusting smell every time,” she softly chuckled as she tucked her knees, “but I was mesmerized by the sparkling liquids in the vials. Some of them changed their color, fizzed, bubbled and mysterious steam flowing around was wrapping me up, while various wizards and witches in fancy hats gathered around. There was a small corner with floral ingredients, and it always smelled like violets…Her favorite flower.”
Dante tore his gaze away and returned it to the distance ahead over the pond.
Violette's voice, silky and mellifluous, continued curling up the air, “We'd meet with dad on the main street after, visit the bookstore, andthen we'd walk together to our favorite street cafe, where he always ordered his favorite crumpets with butter, and mom drank hot violet chocolate.”
“You really love your parents,” he simply said, his voice devoid of emotions, yet, she felt his ease; his tone was as smooth and gentle as a warm summer night’s breeze.
“They're everything to me…” Her eyes sparkled at Dante, a smile changed with a pondering hanging up on her lips. “Do you miss yours?”
“Sometimes, but I wouldn't want them to be alive right now.” He could already feel curiosity sprawling in Violette, so he answered faster than she could ask the following question, “I don't want them to know this side of me.”
“They died before you turned into a vampire?” She bowed her head.
“No, not really…” his brows knitted together. “They saw me as a vampire but since then I have made a lot of mistakes and things I wouldn't want them to know.” Finally their gazes locked together before he broke it again. “They already died with such a bad opinion about me.”
“You know…” Violette's voice became soothing. “It sounds stupid but my dad always tells me that parents will always love you. If they were good parents I think they wouldn't judge you like others, especially if they'd known it brought you pain too.” It was not really clever to assume but the love her parents gave her seemed like this.
He gravely smiled and closed his eyes, raising his head.
“I’m not scared they willjudge me, I have more reasons to judge them anyway.”
“Why?” she asked.
He didn't open his eyes, nor did he say anything. She was silly assuming he would answer her on this question. So she asked another one:
“What were your parents like?”
“They were…nice.” His voice sounded dry. Lowering his head, he continued, “My father wasn't the best father, but he was a good king. He taught me everything he knew to make me a perfect heir to the throne. And my mother—” he fell silent for a second, “she was a great parent. But she was not a kind person.”
Violette blinked as he side-glanced at her.
“She did bad things thinking only about herself and had never…acknowledged this.” Dante hid his gaze, burying it into the ground beneath them. The gloom woke up in his eyes, making Violette's heart almost ready to sympathize with him.
“Did she love you?”
“Oh, yeah…” A chuckle fell from his lips and his eyes again slipped away. “She loved me. I'd never doubted her love.”
“Then…Maybe she was doing something that she thought would be better for you?”
“Then she was terribly wrong.” The familiar coldness in his tone seemed to awake.
“Nobody said parents are always right,” she let out merrily. Naive of her to think it would cherish his mood.
He bowed his head and a subdued smile lit up the corners of his lips. Violette quickly swayed her gaze away and raised her head towards the night sky. Chirps of crickets followed the rustle of leaves caused by a light wind. Violette's wavy hair tickled her cheeks as she blinked at the stars above them – their bright light against the saturated dark blue sky felt fascinating. They were just sitting for a few moments like this; no one decided to drop a word. It was not needed.
Dante's back cracked as he stretched and finally started to rise from the ground.
