Page 5 of Where Darkness Falls

Before the Drakhul’s corruption, it is said that the flowers and vegetation grew in every beautiful shade—beyond anything I could imagine. They grew over the mountains and in the valleys as far as the eye could see. During the Spring Equinox, it is said to have been common to see all the young girls in the village with beautiful multi-colored flower crowns adorning their heads as they chased the fugacious colors of the sunset.

The villagers claim those evenings were resplendent.

However, that was before the Drakhul made such beguiling things, like colored flowers and sunsets, a distant memory. Now, the skies remain a light or dark shade of gray, depending on the time of day, and the vegetation and flowers are cursed and warped. The land dried up, leaving a large number of flower specimens to shrivel and die. Only those that were dark and haunting flourished, along with the deadlier plants such as belladonna, oleander, and hemlock. However, the curse of the Drakhul enhances their poisonous abilities, making them even deadlier than before.

The land died and so did the festivities. Since the rise of the Drakhul and its wicked king, equinox celebrations ceased.

The merriment left the eyes of the villagers as it is strenuous to find joy with disasters lurking around every corner.

I suppose that’s another reason our little shop is so beloved in Aurelius. We are the only shop within fifty miles that’s able to grow such a vast variety of flowers. Quite frankly, the other floral vendors in town can only seem to produce flowers of onyx variety.

I personally oversee the growth of the different flower specimens in the garden that we maintain behind The Violet Lily. Watching the smiles appear on our customers’ faces as they enter and exit our shop with fresh bouquets brings such warmth to my soul. It is as if, for only a moment, they are surrounded by magic instead of the Drakhul’s curse.

Cara—my best friend, sister, and business partner—says that she has never witnessed anyone grow such beautiful flowers with so little effort.

“You have a gift,” she exclaims any time I add a new species in the rotation for arrangements. I usually shake my head, blushing as I continue in my gardening process.

“Maeva,” Cara’s voice stirs me from my thoughts, “are you okay?”

She is four inches taller than me, with straight, auburn-colored hair that is usually pulled into a ponytail or bun to keep it out of her face. A few pieces have fallen out throughout the day and now caress her soft features. Her eyes are the most enviable shade of green, and she has beautiful light sun-kissed skin with a slight olive undertone. She is in her usual plum corseted dress with delicate, gold trim details along its bodice. Whereas my build is toned with hour-glass curves, her build is lean and thin, which just seems to enhance her overall angelic appearance.

Clearing my thoughts, I realize that I never actually answered her question. “Yes. I am fine,” I say trepidatiously. While I recognize where I am, I am still quite unsettled by my dream. It felt so realistic—almost as if I was truly there.

It is just a dream, Maeva.

Nothing more.

One of Cara’s eyebrows hitches higher than the other. “Are you sure?” she asks, concerned. “I was just making a few arrangements when I heard you scream.”

I nod my head, plastering a smile across my lips.

“Of course. It was just a nightmare again. I must have dozed off looking over the ledger. I am sorry if I startled you,” I reply.

Cara assesses me for a moment longer, knowing me well enough to recognize that there’s usually more to the story than I let on. However,she never pushes me for more. That is one quality that I adore and envy about my sister. She cares deeply for others around her. Sometimes, I wish I possessed even a third of her heart and personality. Where she is altruistic and candid, I’m reticent and withdrawn from nearly everyone.

She sighs. “Well, I am glad you are okay, but you sounded like a wounded banshee. So, maybe you could tell your nightmare self to be a little more quiet so we don’t scare customers away,” she remarks dryly.

I laugh while picking up the bench I toppled over in my haste to stand.

“I will do my best to remind the wailing banshee to refrain from such behavior next time,” I say, amused.

A smile breaks across her face as we burst into uncontrollable laughter. My friendship with Cara feels as easy as breathing to me. It’s like sunshine in the midst of the endless cloudy days in Aurelius. It is warmth and light in the unrelenting darkness.

I’m so fortunate to have such a virtuous friend.

I turn my gaze to the ledger in front of me, noticing the quill is still grasped firmly in my shaking hand. When we endeavored to open The Violet Lily, I made the conscious choice to look over our finances once a week. I analyze our expenses and profits to see if our little shop will make it through another week. So far, we have been fortunate, and sales have been exceptionally good. Unfortunately for me, I don’t remember where I left off.

Leave it to me to fall asleep counting,I chide myself.

For the next hour, I tally the numbers, pinching myself every time I feel myself drifting off again. Suddenly, movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention. Cara walks by as she goes to set out the new arrangements. Each one is beautiful and unique, as she creates new styles weekly so that we are better suited to match each customer’s needs. I’m about to return to my own task when she clears her throat.

“So, we need to begin preparations for your birthday,” Cara says brightly, setting out her last arrangement. “I know it is still a week away,but it is an exciting occasion. I want to coordinate something extra special for you.”

Before I can speak, the bell above the front door chimes. Ms. Ellis, an elderly woman of eight hundred years, known for baking goodies, waddles in, gripping her cane for support. From the tales we were told as children, Ms. Ellis fell from a tree before her twenty-fifth year, refusing to be mended by the healers in the village.“It’s my reminder of the life I’ve lived,”she once told us.“I could’ve allowed my body to heal fully, but what lesson would I have learned from always being perfected?”

As a child, I always found her rather eccentric views intriguing, but I never could understand why someone would wish for their body to remain broken.

“My, my,” Ms. Ellis says gleefully, interrupting my thoughts. “These bouquets are exceptionally alluring, Cara.”