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Mom had sacrificed everything for me. Her entire life had revolved around keeping me safe and hidden by homeschooling me.

She wouldn’t have let me go to the small town at all if she hadn’t fallen sick ten years ago.

Even then, I’d only been allowed to accompany her to see doctors when her pain became unbearable.

Later, she’d had to send me to the town once a week to sell the herbs I grew, trading them for produce and her medicines when she grew too weak to make the trip herself.

I’d been twelve when I started going alone, but I’d proven I was perfectly safe.

No one snatched me, even though the other kids called me a freak for living at the forest’s edge with my reclusive mother.

I’d tried to persuade her to move to a city where she could get better care, but she only grew angry and more paranoid about me being taken away.

“You sacrificed for nothing, Mother,” I said, tears rolling down my face as a new wave of grief and loneliness crashed over me.

“You worried about things that weren’t there.

No one will come for me. There hasn’t been a soul in sight.

We could’ve lived better, and you could’ve been cured.

” More tears wet my cheeks. “We wasted all those years and then you left. What am I going to do, Mom?”

My fingers traced her name on the tombstone until I couldn’t bear it. Waking up from the erotic dream that had ended in my death, featuring a gorgeous man, only made my head spin and my heart fill with sorrow and loneliness.

I let out a sad half chuckle. Who would I even have sex with? There was no way I could meet a man like that. When I went to town, I’d seen plenty of boys, and none had interested me. I’d never had a sex drive before that dream. And now my core throbbed with the ache and need it had awakened.

I shook my head in annoyance. I shouldn’t go down that path, thinking about something I could never have.

Pushing aside thoughts of a bleak future, I walked to the center of the garden to tend the plants.

Working in the garden soothed me. It was the first thing I did each morning.

I’d always had a talent with plants and potions.

Mom had said that all the flowers had bloomed on the darkest winter night when I was born, hence my name.

The herbs I cultivated became our main income. Mom had no longer needed to make crafts once my herbs could keep food on the table and clothes on our backs. We even had enough to repair and maintain the cabin, until Mom became sick.

I squatted beside a plant that served as both poison and healing agent, depending on its use and dosage.

I carefully brushed the ankle-high moonveil aside, avoiding the thorns on its stem.

Its silver-edged leaves caught the morning light, promising potent dream elixirs when harvested under a full moon, or paralyzing agents when mixed with nightshade.

Nearby, my prized shadowheart bushes unfurled their obsidian blossoms, each petal absorbing sunlight rather than reflecting it. Three drops of their nectar could mend a broken bone; five could stop a heart. I pruned them with reverence, collecting the fallen petals in my pouch.

I moved to the luminescent whisperroot, its tendrils coiling affectionately around my wrists as I worked the soil.

The plants recognized me. Between rows of healing brightbells and their venomous cousins, griefshade, I knelt in the dirt, letting it coat my hands and seep beneath my nails.

This earth had seen my tears and accepted Mom’s body.

In its embrace, I could almost feel her presence.

A shadow passed in my peripheral vision. A second later, I realized I was being watched—stalked.

Sharp pain bit my finger. I peered down to see blood flowing from a tiny wound. While I was distracted, a thorn had pricked me. Before I could press the cut to stop the bleeding, a small cluster of a new plant shot from the ground where my blood had dropped.

I blinked. This had never happened before. I might have an affinity for plants, but they didn’t bloom from my blood. Then again, I’d never bled in the garden. Probably that dream had rattled me more than I thought, making me forget to wear gloves when handling poisonous plants.

A squeak came from inside the cabin. It couldn’t be an animal.

Someone had entered my room. The door always squeaked when opened.

We didn’t have money for oil after Mom’s medical expenses.

The herbs I brewed had prolonged her life but couldn’t cure her cancer.

She’d still needed treatments from the hospital in town.

Mom hadn’t known I’d eaten only one meal a day to save money for those treatments.

I turned, my spine stiffening. For a few seconds, only silence. Yet danger radiated toward me.

Even as a child, I’d possessed an uncanny sense. When danger loomed, my right eye would twitch frantically. When my left ear burned hot, good fortune was coming. Right now, both reactions hit me at once—my eye twitched, and heat warmed my left earlobe.

I swallowed as I listened intently. Another creak came from the cabin.

I shot to my feet, grabbing a rock.

I had invaders.