Hug Me and You'll Die

15: This child always knows what to say to effectively ruin the atmosphere!

Desmia unblinkingly stared at the mess of clay fragments, spilled soil and fallen roses scattered on the floor for a long moment before she finally turned away with a solemn expression.

Sensing that the young mistress was poised to withdraw, Tarragon carefully asked, "Once we tidy up the debris and place the plant in a new flower pot, shall I deliver it to your laboratory, young mistress?"

Although Tarragon had directed the question to the young mistress, the perceptive Saffron immediately realized that he wanted to use this one question to gauge the reactions of both the young mistress and the earl. If Earl Fairbloom still did not wish to proceed with the creation of a business, there was no need to keep the blue rose plant as keeping it would only serve as a reminder of the family's discord.

While the servants personally supported the young mistress, ultimately, they had to prioritize the intentions of Earl Fairbloom over everyone else's as he held the highest authority in the house.

With her back parallel to the door, Desmia answered with a curt, "No need."

Believing that the young mistress was incredibly attached to the shattered pot and now grief-stricken, the slow-witted but loyal Brie loudly interjected, "Young mistress, if you want, I could fix the broken flower pot for you! That way you won't need to get a new one!"

Without waiting for a reply Brie hastened towards the site of damage and knelt on the floor with an audible thud. Eyes overflowing with determination she began to gather the broken fragments together. "If you give me a bit of time and some sort of adhesive I could make this look just as good as-"

"Don't bother," interrupted Desmia with saturnine eyes. "It can no longer be mended."

"I know I can do it, young mistress!" stressed Brie with conviction. "Just have faith in me!"

"Just leave it alone already!" erupted Desmia as she whipped around. The frustration and ire that she had temporarily repressed unleashed itself all at once. "I explicitly told you not to touch it! Didn't you understand what I said? Some things once broken can never be mended! Just like how some things once lost can never be retrieved! Oh and guess what? Once we run out of money to care for them, you know what else will be lost? The stupid roses outside! And once they're gone, they'll be gone forever!"

"That's enough, young lady!" The earl could no longer stand to hear her biting remarks.

Desmia glared at him with undisguised contempt. "If you rather I didn't speak, back then you should've just let me go off and kill myself!"

"MARYSOL!"

"Don't pretend you care for me when you clearly don't, Earl Fairbloom!" She spun around. "If anyone dares to follow me when I leave, I swear on my mother's grave that I'll go and directly drown myself in the river!!!"

As Desmia stormed out, the earl's complexion had become so blanched it didn't even seem as if there was any blood flowing through him.

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In the isolated confines of her room Desmia laid on her stomach with her face buried in her pillow.

This odd pose was another one of her peculiar habits.

When she had a lot on her mind and needed time to think she'd find a sturdy treetop or rooftop to climb. When needed to unwind, she'd usually begin messing with her expansive elixir and pill recipes. When she was upset she'd dive into bed and remain there until her mood improved.

In the Underworld, Desmia's servants could ascertain just exactly how agitated she was by looking at how she behaved while clinging to her bed. If the tenth princess was either screaming into her pillow, hitting her mattress or kicking her blankets, she was only mildly cross. On the other hand, if the princess wordlessly plastered herself to her bed like a dead fish then she was unequivocally enraged.