Sunflowers Forever

Chapter I.

When Robert was eleven, he hated the sun. He stayed up through the nights, sometimes reading, sometimes sneaking out with Keith Ledden, often for no reason at all. Daylight was the end of his freedom.

When Robert was twelve, he changed his mind. It was because of a girl with black curls and eyes that put silver to shame. Her name was Calla May, and she was one of the few things that made sense during the war.

The war started off as a small ember of a rebellion against King Zefrick, the ruler of Hethers whose blind justice was utterly merciless. Soon, riots ruled the cities, and no one was quite sure what all the conflict was about anymore. Lynchers hung anyone who showed the faintest hint of support for the king. The war lasted for two bloody months and ended with beheaded bodies arranged in morbidly neat lines outside the king's palace at New Bleakburn.

On the first week of the war, the homemade hand grenades exploded in the streets of Kelmond, where Robert lived. His father locked himself away in the basement and hammered on wooden frames. His mother's eyebrows grew pinched with wariness.

Alayne was only seven then. Her hair was bright red, and there were still hints of blue in her eyes. She spent evenings curled up in a corner of Robert's room, flipping through books she could barely understand to block out the explosions and shrieks outside.

On the fourth day of the war, a rhythmic tapping sounded on the wooden front door. Two taps, pause, three taps. Robert's mother paused in the middle of hanging laundry. She pursed her lips, waited for at least half a minute, then finally opened the door by a crack. Robert followed her.

Calla May stood in the doorway. Her face looked entirely unfazed, but the nervous tapping of her left foot told a completely different story. It was early July, and her yellow summer dress hung limply in the breezeless air.

"What do you want?" Robert's mother demanded. The Mays had moved to Kelmond less than a month ago, and unrest had already begun to stir by the time they arrived. No one had bothered to greet the mother and the daughter.

"Sorry, ma'am," the girl swayed slightly. "I... umm, I'm sorry for intruding, but I baked a pie for you."

Her face brightened, and she held out a piece of pastry with a slightly burnt crust.

"The filling is blackberry, straight from our garden."

A bit of the filling peeked out from a crack in the crust. Maroon sauce, with chunks of darker blue.

"Thanks," said Robert's mother tightly, making no movement towards Calla.

"It's not poisoned," the girl spoke quickly and moved a strand of hair away from her forehead. "I swear. I... I could eat a piece of the pie to prove it."

She flashed a quick nervous smile, showing off her sharp canines.

"Alright," Robert's mother, caught off guard, took the warm pie in her hands. She smiled back at Calla, her lips still tight. "I'll take it. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mrs...?"

"Northwell," Robert replied before his mother could open her mouth. He moved closer to the doorway. "I'm Robert. You can call me Rob."

He extended his hand, sweat beading on his forehead from the July heat, and smiled shyly.

"Calla. Technically Callisandra, but call me Calla," she shook his hand, cold fingers wrapping around his colder ones. "Ooh, you have poor circulation too?"

"Yeah. I keep getting frostbites in winter."

"You better go now," Mrs. Northwell was scowling at Calla again.