The rain fell like needles, sharp and insistent, slamming against the cracked windows of the Moss & Bracken Apothecary. Inside, a single lantern cast a feeble copper glow, accentuating the webbed cracks in the glass jars lining the shelves. Each jar housed strange things: a cluster of hexed moth dust, a thorn plucked from a banshee’s screamberry tree, even the curled toes of firetoads. But none of these gave solace to Leora as she hunched over the counter, cradling the shriveled petals of the last ever Mourning Bloom.
“Give it up, Leora,” scoffed a voice from the shadows. It belonged to Tyver, a sharp-edged thief who had slinked into Leora’s life years ago. His face was hidden beneath the hood of his cracked leather cloak, but his silver eye gleamed—a machine implant that had cost him his humanity in more ways than one.
Leora continued inspecting the flower’s veins, which were cold to the touch now. “Why are you here, Tyver? I told you this was my fight.” Her voice cracked, and she hated herself for it.
“A fight you’re not winning,” he retorted, stepping closer. His boots squelched on the damp stone floor. “You’ve burned through every spell, every alchemical trick you know, and that flower is still dead.” He leaned against a rickety shelf with the careless air of someone who thought themselves untouchable. “Face it: you can’t bring her back.”
A Bargain in Shadows
Leora froze. The mention of “her” sent a chill down her spine. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped, though her shaky hands betrayed her.
“Kessa’s gone, Leora. And no amount of fussing over a damn flower will change that.” He sounded cruel, but there was weariness in his tone, like someone who had long since come to terms with his own ghosts.
She glared at him. “If I can restore the Mourning Bloom, I can bring her soul back. The petals are just dormant—they need the right spark.” Her voice carried the desperation of someone teetering on the edge of hope and madness.
“You’re playing with things you don’t understand,” Tyver said. “You think the Necromancer’s Guild hasn’t tried this before? The Mourning Bloom is a myth, Leora. A consolation tale for people like us who’ve lost—”
“Shut up!” she shouted, slamming her hands on the counter. She hadn’t meant to let him see her cry, but the tears came anyway, blurring her vision as she clawed at the flower’s dead petals. “I don’t care if it’s a myth. Kessa believed in it. She gave her life to find it. If I stop now…” Her voice broke entirely. “If I stop, then she died for nothing.”
For once, Tyver didn’t speak. Instead, he pulled something from his cloak. When he set it on the counter, Leora’s breath caught. A shard of obsidian, glittering faintly with an inner light.
“Where did you get that?” she whispered. Her fingers itched to touch it, but she held back.
“Let’s just say I called in some debts.” His voice softened, losing its usual sardonic edge. “This is the heartstone of an elder wyrm. If anything can reignite that flower, it’s this. But…”
“But what?”
“It’ll cost more than you think,” Tyver said. “This stone isn’t just energy—it’s will. To use it, you’ll have to give it part of yourself. A piece you’ll never get back.”
In Bloom
Leora stared at the stone, then at the Mourning Bloom. Kessa’s laugh echoed in her memory, bright and carefree, followed too quickly by the image of her still face after the avalanche. Leora’s fists clenched. What was a piece of herself compared to the chance to undo that loss?
“Do it,” she said, her voice steady now.
Tyver’s mouth twisted like he wanted to argue, but instead, he simply nodded. He picked up the shard and held it out to her. When her fingers brushed it, searing pain shot through her palm. The stone’s light flared, blinding, and she heard whispers—no, screams—filling the room. They tore through her mind, demanding, craving, devouring…
And then it was over. Leora’s vision cleared to see the Mourning Bloom glowing faintly. Its petals unfurled, one by one, until the flower was whole, vibrant, alive.
“You did it,” Tyver said, though his voice was too grim for triumph.
Leora’s triumph was short-lived. Among the flower’s petals, a tiny, ghostly form appeared. It was Kessa—but not as Leora remembered her. This Kessa looked translucent, fragile, her eyes wide with confusion and pain. When her gaze found Leora, there was no recognition. Only fear.
“What… what did you do?” Leora whispered, horror dawning.
“I tried to tell you,” Tyver said quietly. “Bringing someone back… it’s never the same.”
The Cost of Hope
Kessa’s ghost shimmered, flickering like a candle in a storm. She opened her mouth to speak, but the sound was garbled, broken. Leora reached for her, but her hand passed through empty air.
“No,” Leora whispered. “No, no, no…” She turned to Tyver, rage and despair blazing in her eyes. “This isn’t her! This isn’t what I wanted!”
“You knew the risks,” Tyver said, though there was no gloating in his voice. Only sorrow. “You made the choice.”
Leora fell to her knees as the ghost of Kessa dissolved into mist, leaving behind nothing but the faintest scent of mountain wildflowers. The Mourning Bloom, too, began to wilt again, its brief moment of life stolen away as quickly as it had come.
“No!” Leora screamed, clutching the flower to her chest. But it was over. The bloom was gone. And so, truly, was Kessa.
Tyver stood over her, silent. There was nothing he could say that would matter now. Leora remained on the floor, her shoulders shaking with sobs. The apothecary smelled of rain and loss and failure.
And though the Mourning Bloom would never rise again, some part of Leora knew that neither would she.
Outside, the storm raged on.
The Source…check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: From the Runway to Your Closet: Stylist-Approved Trends That You Can Shop Today
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