❛in which they grow to love and learn❜
Briar Desilva hated. She hated the Cursebreaker and the High Lord of Spring. She hated her mind and she hated her body. She hated the memories that danced beyond her reach and the past that was and always has b...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"the sad truth is that the truth is sad." lemony snicket
❀❀❀
ABOVE HER, SWAYING IN an invisible breeze, feather-light gossamer curtains fluttered. They were an ivory white and elegantly whirled around the dark metal of the canopy bed, winding around the iron poles and dancing in the soft wind that blew in from an open window.
Briar lay in a bed of flowers, silently watching the show.
They had sprouted from thin air. Had grown up from the shadows of her bed to surround her, had budded from her fingertips and the curls of her hair. Baby's breath tickled her cheeks. Blue forget-me-nots rested alongside the feather-filled pillows and mingled with sapphire delphiniums. Pink orchids nestled amongst the sage sheets below her. Delicate lily of the valley flowers intertwined with bluebells, hiding in the blankets and pillows. Daisies grew everywhere. They filled the gaps between species. Between spaces.
Between her index finger and thumb, Briar twirled the stem of a daffodil.
Daffodils for forgiveness. Chrysanthemums for joy. Hydrangeas for gratitude. Roses for your darling.
Outside, in the yard of whatever house she was in, she was fairly sure a willow tree had just sprouted and already reached colossal heights. And a cedar, too (probably as a result of her brooding fest this evening). She could feel their roots in her soul.
Below her, somewhere in the cage of a house, the Cursebreaker lived. Thrived.
Daffodils for forgiveness. Poppies for remembrance. Cempasuchil for the dead.
Carried by a phantom wind ( or perhaps the orders of the angry High Lord ), two half-wraiths ghosted in. They were made up of dark flesh and shadow and smoke, their decorative golden bangles and earrings brightly glistening in comparison to the rest of them, which seemed to absorb all light.
They had now entered for about the umpteenth time, bearing the same question as usual.
In a soft voice: "Would you like to dine alone again?"
Briar let her head fall to the left, to look at them, her cheek falling onto a soft pillow of baby's breath. The one who had spoken was perhaps a fraction of an inch taller than her twin sister. Briar nodded; her chin had barely moved before the shorter half-wraith ghosted out once more.
A moment later, she returned, carrying a steaming bowl of soup, a platter of sandwiches, and a tall glass of water that glistened with condensation. She set them down on the ivory night table closest to the door and stepped back.
