Welcome to the Rose Mansion - Chapter 111
Alan’s pupils widened noticeably, even in the darkness.
George Cameron, smiling weakly as if in sincere shame, shifted slightly.
“All you need to do is pull out this rose. I’m sure that once the rose is removed, everything will end—my suffering, my life, this curse. All of it.”
Alan quietly gazed down at the man, his expression unreadable.
George Cameron, now looking a bit anxious, spoke with a soothing tone, as if comforting a child.
“I understand that this may feel wrong to you. You might feel a sense of disgust, maybe even think it’s murder. But I should have died a long time ago… and now, I just want to end it all. Truly, death would be the greatest gift, a blessing, a release for me.”
Please.
His final words were tinged with a subtle plea. Richelle hesitated, wondering if she should help end his life or try to find another way to save him.
It was then that Alan spoke up.
“If that’s truly what you want.”
Carefully, Alan let go of Richelle’s hand and knelt down in front of George Cameron. He placed his hand on the rose.
“Then it is my duty to grant you that wish.”
The boy applied pressure to his hand. The thick strands of the rose’s stem began to snap, one by one.
“Guh… ugh!”
George coughed, blood spilling from his mouth. Dark red droplets splattered on Alan’s face and hands, but he remained focused, silently continuing to remove the rose.
He looked like a devout believer in the midst of confession—solemn and reverent. Because of that, Richelle couldn’t bring herself to stop him, nor could she offer to take his place.
Finally, the roots were almost fully pulled out. Just before the last one snapped, George Cameron managed a faint smile.
“Thank you… truly…”
It was a smile filled with relief and peace. As Alan parted his lips to speak, the final root broke free.
At that moment, as if waiting for this, George Cameron’s body began to crumble into ash.
The cold air of the refrigeration room was filled with drifting black dust, the only proof left of George Cameron’s existence. In Alan’s hand was a single rose.
Alan stared at the rose. The flower that he had seen and smelled so many times in his life pulsed between his fingers.
“I…”
He gripped the rose with both hands and buried his face in its soft petals.
Even though he wanted to cry out, to let something out, he felt he didn’t have the right.
“I am not someone worthy of hearing your gratitude…”
That single sentence was all he could say.
***
Not long after George Cameron vanished completely, the rose that had been embedded in his chest also turned to ash.
“There’s definitely a door in the kitchen that leads to the fourth floor.”
Alan said quietly, still staring at his soot-covered hands.
“Rogéros is particularly sensitive about the fourth floor. Anytime I even wandered near the stairs to the fourth floor, he’d come running to strangle me.”
“…He strangled you?”
“That’s not the important part.”
“How is that not important…?”
“The moment the gardener—who was usually going around in different parts of the mansion—set foot in the kitchen, Rogéros showed up immediately. That means there’s something he really wants to hide. Did you notice anything suspicious?”
Alan was deliberately steering the conversation away. Richelle stared at the back of his head for a moment before sighing softly.
“I checked all the doors inside the kitchen. That door leads to the pantry, and that one connects to the garden.”
“And what about that one?”
The boy pointed to the door at the top of the stairs. Richelle shrugged.
“That was the one I found the most suspicious, but it was locked.”
“That is suspicious.”
The two approached the door. Alan reached out and rattled the handle, but it remained firmly locked.
“This is becoming a hassle. You haven’t found the key yet, have you?”
“There wasn’t really time to search. I just took a quick look.”
“Then let’s search together. There’s still plenty of time before dawn.”
“Alright.”
They split up and combed through the kitchen. After a long search, they came up empty-handed.
Exhausted, Richelle and Alan sheepishly returned to the fireplace, which was the cleanest part of the kitchen. Alan wiped his hands with a handkerchief and tapped the oil lamp.
“It’s too dark. Maybe we should light one of the fireplaces.”
“What if the chef comes back to life?”
“The chef’s power comes from the purple flames, right? Let’s light a fire and if we see purple, we’ll just put it out again.”
