Page 3

Four Weeks Earlier…

Thick, black smoke rolls out from the windows of a house.

Shrieks of terror ring throughout the expanse.

Warm blood splatters across my body as muffled voices yell.

A hand reaches for me, but I slip from its grasp.

Someone is screaming for me to run.

I hesitate.

“RUN,” they shout again.

My heart aches as I run away from the burning house.

Everything else happens in a blur.

All sound, except for snapping branches, is drowned out by my rattled breaths.

I’m being chased by… someone.

Darkness surrounds me on all sides as the skies and trees grow dim.

My heart races as I desperately search for a place to hide.

Suddenly, I see an opening in the base of a hollow tree.

“Where are you?” echoes a shadowy voice.

I slip inside just as my pursuer comes through the foliage.

Their steps are slow—deliberate.

I close my eyes, willing the footsteps away.

Thump… thump… it stops.

All is quiet.

I dare to peek one eye open and find a dark silhouette standing before me.

“There you are,” says the voice.

I scream.

Then, everything goes black.

“MAEVA,” someone shouts.

I jolt awake.

The pounding of my heart rings in my ears, feeling like it could explode at any moment.

I run a hand over my brow, and it is still slick with blood.

I look at my hand, expecting to find the dark crimson color seeping through my fingers, but to my surprise, the liquid is clear.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

I’m sweating.

It’s not blood… not blood.

My light strawberry, golden hair is matted to my face from the perspiration that currently drenches me from head to toe.

I was running from something… or someone?

Wasn’t I?

There was someone screaming for me to run…

I drag my hands through my hair once more, breathing heavily.

I was being pursued through the woods.

The woods.

As panic sets in, I look frantically at my surroundings, only to find I’m not in the woods, but a floral shop.

Natural gray light filters in through the large windows where passersby can glance in to see the arrangements.

The windows are rectangular with a crescent moon added to the top panels of their design, which provides a rather rustic but cozy look to the shop.

The gold trim surrounding each window pane seems to enhance the gray light that we have in place of sunlight, which helps to brighten up the space.

In my haste to look for impending danger, I subconsciously place my hands on either side of my body, feeling the rough edges of something… textured?

Glancing down, I find a grainy mahogany bench beneath my palms. Trailing my fingers along the patterns woven naturally into the design, I study the details of the rich wood.

“Maeva?” a worried voice whispers.

I’m so startled that I jump up, overturning the bench in my haste.

I glance toward the owner of the voice only to find Cara—my best friend and adoptive sister—standing a few feet away, looking at me with the same concerned look she usually wears.

Instinctually, I reach for her hand, praying that she is truly here in front of me.

She smiles kindly as her soft hand lightly squeezes mine.

Real, I mentally remind myself. This is real.

Releasing her hand on a sigh, I glance around the space once more now that the fog of sleep is wearing off.

The center of the shop is lined with beautiful mahogany tables overflowing with arrangements that have been pre-made for purchase.

I’m surrounded by beautiful arrangements of flowers scattered throughout The Violet Lily Shop.

An array of deep purples, blacks, crimsons, and mauve pinks overwhelms my vision.

Violets of a deep purple are arranged with beautiful black snapdragons and calla lilies.

Another arrangement of Arabian Night dahlias is carefully accented with Midnight Mystique hyacinths and Moulin Rouge sunflowers.

The Queen of Night tulips are usually paired with beautiful Night Rider lilies with a sprinkling of rust colored Baby’s Breath .

The rest of the shop is a bewitching assemblage of beautiful crimson and pink roses, mauve peonies with onyx centers, wine colored and black-tipped flowers with thousands of tiny petals—properly named Black Beauty.

Black hollyhocks, dark irises, and hellebore sit on beautiful displays for the customers to select a bouquet of their choosing.

Each bouquet is handled with the gentlest care and attention to detail to create the perfect set for our clients before being gently bound by a deep violet-colored ribbon and twine.

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.”

Cara’s cheeks redden.

“Indeed they are,” I add kindly.

Ms. Ellis plasters a forced smile as she nods her head in my direction.

Then, she continues speaking with Cara about the new arrangements, as if I’m not there at all.

I am used to this reaction from the village folk by now, as my tone tends to sound clipped or snippy.

For that reason, they usually prefer socializing with Cara instead of me.

Even the grumpiest of moods are eradicated after speaking with my sister.

It also helps that she can read emotions and intentions, which guides her in steering conversations—keeping customers engaged while they are looking around our shop.

I have always felt like I was living in her shadow in many ways.

Try as I might to ignore it, I have always known what I am—an orphan—even if Cara has done her best to help me feel needed and valued.

However, the villagers don’t view me with the same rose-colored glasses. As they’ve seen me for what I truly am:

An outsider that doesn’t belong anywhere.