As The Roses Bloom

move into the future and bring it all back

Been a minute, hasn't it? I'm back!

Present Day

Calla's tent brimmed with color.

"Kell!" Calla exclaimed, appearing from the back of the tent the moment they arrived, as if summoned. Her blue dress exploded at the waist and at the shoulders, the hem of it brushing the floor. She sounded extremely pleased to see Kell. When she turned to Holland, looking him up and down, he got the feeling that she was learning more about him than he'd like her to be. "Holland Vosijk."

He gave a nod.

After studying him for a moment, Calla looked back at Kell. And then back at Holland. Her expression was unreadable.

"Come in," she said eventually, waving them in. She fixed Holland with a sharp look. "You don't have long."

Kell appeared baffled by this comment, throwing Holland a questioning glance, but Holland shook his head once and gestured for Kell to follow Calla in first. Somehow Holland was certain she was speaking of Holland's Heart Sickness. Given the increasing frequency of Holland's coughing episodes, she was right: he didn't have long. The first leaf hadn't arrived yet, so he had longer than two weeks, but beyond that he could not be sure.

The thought failed to give him any sense of urgency.

Kell gazed at him for a moment longer, and then he turned followed Calla in.

Holland could see why people came to Calla for something to wear. Every possible surface was covered with fabrics of every color and texture imaginable, and on the walls hung countless dresses and suits, flowing blouses and tight skirts, sharp coats and pressed shirts. Some shimmered, some seemed to glow with vibrancy; some hung heavy and others looked lighter than air; some appeared seamless and others deliberately patchwork. It seemed impossible that someone could walk in to buy something and walk out without something impeccably matched to both them and the event they were attending.

Kell caught Holland looking around and gave him an amused smile. "This isn't the kind of shop you browse," he said.

Holland raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Calla emerged from the back again, this time with something draped over her arm. It appeared to be made of white fabric, but it had a gentle sheen to it: less distinct than a shimmer, but not dull like a wool or cotton suit would have been. It had an ethereal quality to it.

"This is for you." Calla pointed to Holland, and then to the back of the tent from which she had come. "Go change."

Holland blinked, shooting Kell a look. Kell had the audacity to look entertained by Holland's bewilderment. He raised an eyebrow and gestured for Holland to follow Calla's instructions, as if Holland had been asking for Kell's permission. A protest against this insinuation rose in Holland—the nearly unfamiliar desire to tease Kell—but he just stepped forward and accepted the suit from Calla's outstretched hands.

The back of the tent was as minimal as the front of Calla's space was chaotic: there were a couple areas closed off by hanging cloth which clearly were changing rooms of a sort. The small, stall-like space inside was empty, but for a bench and row metal hooks on the wall to the right of the hanging fabric door and a mirror on the wall to the right of it.

Holland hung the suit up first, then turned and tied the door shut with the little tassels attached to the sides of the doorway for that purpose with his fingers.

He pulled out his handkerchief and coughed.

It was a long and violent coughing fit. Whether this was because he had been fighting it for the entire time he'd spent with Kell this morning in the Arnesian markets or because the sickness was getting worse, it was hard to tell. Holland looked down at his blood-soaked handkerchief and the several flowers that had emerged, fully formed, from his throat. It could have been both.