The Poisoned Crown (SyndiSparklez)

4. The Nearly Erased Prince

Author's Note: Ugh, AP Exams. Finals. The Whole Shindig. Sorry for lack of updates all around. &

Being lost doesn't always lead to one getting their face eaten by cannibals or zombies alike, nor one going crazy from the voices in their head. Sometimes in the game of chance it leads to something much greater. All of which Tom could care less about. Zombies? Fate? Either would be fine, as long as it carried a map.

He had found himself in a decent looking garden and was tempted to poke around before he was chased out by an old lady wielding shears. Mildly terrified at her threats of castration he jumped a few fences, turned a few corners until he found himself in a field, free of anyone or any distractions. Perfect, when Jordan found him he would be sprawled in a field of flowers, looking like the definition of goddamned gorgeous. Tom huffed and plopped down on the ground.

It wasn't as comfy and as serene as he thought it would be. A bee kept buzzing near him and he couldn't burn the annoying little pest. It eventually stung him and died, leaving Tom picking the stinger out of his arm. It had been warmer in town and out here the calming breeze carried a chill, leaving him mildly uncomfortable. His stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten for a while and he felt a groggy headache kick in; probably from dehydration? Gods, he should have just went home, locked the door to his room and entertained himself there, but for some crazy reason he was hoping in serendipity and that Jordan would actually spend time with him.

He wasn't clingy. He was pretty sure part of his soul was in Jordan now and hell if he wanted his soul out of his sight. Casting a glance around the field, Tom's eyes caught on a bunch of flowers. Tom wasn't an expert, but he knew they weren't roses. They were violet, with feather soft petals flowing around the stem. Biting his lip and filling like a girl, he plucked a petal.

"He loves me," he murmured to the empty air.

Another petal.

"He loves me not."

Tom moved his legs from under him, letting them straighten horizontal to the ground. He spun the flower in his hand, watching the petals flutter like a small woman twirling in a dress. A thought passed his mind and he let himself be entertained by the idea this flower was all knowing and whatever answer he landed on was the truth. He fell backwards, letting himself lay on the semi-comfortable grass. Despite his previous discomfort, his attention was now attached to the flower.

"He loves me."

Another petal.

"He loves me not."

The words seemed to echo, Tom was mystified. There weren't many petals left. He couldn't count them very well with how they were layered, but he was sure that meant he stood a good chance.

"He loves me."

The wind suddenly grew something fierce and Tom had to clutch the flower tighter. It was as if nature was suddenly possessed by the most vibrant of demons. The blue sky above was clouded as if a sudden storm had pulled in. Despite the change in nature, Tom didn't want to let go of the flower or be pulled away to find shelter.

"He loves me not."

Was that two petals or three? How many remained?

"He loves me."

Tom looked at the petals hopefully, but before he could count how many were left—one or two—the wind tugged the flower from his hand and it swept off into the sky. He reached for it even though he knew he wouldn't be able to grab it, but he felt something, something akin to loss, pull in his chest at the sight of it disappearing. The flower was gone. Along with his answer. What if this flower stood for Jordan? What if this was a sign? What if the flower truly was all knowing?