A town on the outskirts of the Witherings, it fell prey to its magic when the Prince died a millennium ago. His dark powers sucked the village of life and turned any survivors into horror-filled versions of themselves, so the stories say. When Fennings Forest burned down one hundred years ago, any remaining trade routes in and out of the town were shut off entirely. No one knows its fate now.
The story served as a warning of the dangers of withering magic—nothing more. Besides, Moss was on the opposite end of the realm. Impossible for anyone here to get there, and vice versa. Especially with Irk Road and Shadow Woods surrounding the place.
Now, those places were terrifying. No one who traveled those routes ever came back. A few tradesmen from Moss reported seeing murky figures lingering in the shadows along the coastline of Irk, and the sounds of gnawing bones could be heard over the waves for miles. Sailers stayed tucked away in their ships, hoping whatever hid away in the gloom could not swim. Those stories snuck into my dreams more than I cared to admit.
“We must be vigilant, Moss! Our time is ticking,” Ludwig cried out, making tick-tock noises with his tongue. A moment of silence filled the streets, then the bustle began once more. Folk resumed their shopping, laughter rang out, conversations abounded. Ludwig’s time in the sun finished unceremoniously.
“Come on, I’m starving!” I tugged at Rosie’s hand still grasping mine.
“Me too, let’s go get—”
“But I have another story for you,” Ludwig bellowed. The crowd kept chittering. “One you might not know!” His voice rose louder. “Of the Prince and hisbeloved!” Folk kept talking, and I yanked Rosie to make an escape before he started on another one of his rants. “Eldrene, Goddess of the Forest, Protector of the Realm.”
Everyone stopped what they were doing, folk froze midconversation—their mouths still hanging wide in somecases. The only sounds in the street were the clanks of glasses dropped on the cobblestones.
“You know of the Prince. Of Eldrene’s sacrifice. But do you know of the love?”
All stayed deathly quiet. Ludwig went on.
“The Prince and Eldrenebecamemortal enemies. But they were not always so. For they shared a love that knew no bounds. Together, they ruled this realm through many ages. Together, they forged a sacred vow—betrothed they were, by the Fates themselves.”
“Is this true?” Rosie whispered.
“I don’t know. But he shouldn’t tell this story. Not on the Goddess Celebration day, it’s an insult to Eldrene,” I muttered, but I could not keep curiosity at bay.
“Theirs was a story for fairy tales, a happily ever after, the love of a forever time. But even the best of things can crumble to dust. Darkness crept in bit by bit, souring their promise.”
A cold, sinking sensation filled the pit of my stomach. Ludwig’s stories usually were just that—stories. This? This had that weighty feeling of the sickening truth. I held on to Rosie, her presence tethering me.
“Where there once lived boundless love now lived a boundless hatred. Fetid and festering with the hunger to befeared. The light of his existence became the very obstacle in his way to greatness. Thus, he chose to pluck her out—like a weed she was to him now. They say that withering magic broke Eldrene. I say it was her heart that truly broke her. They say the Prince is dead. But how can he be? Withering magic lives on, grows stronger. So what does that tell you, folk of Moss? Loveis patient. But hatred is everlasting. He is not dead. He only waits to strike.”
“Now! I must see to my needs,” Ludwig said abruptly, clapping his hands together and breaking us out of the trance. He ambled off the stage and into the nearest public privy. The crowd slowly resumed their afternoon tittering, albeit slightly less boisterously than before.
“Why does he always do that at the end of every story?” Rosie asked, looking at the empty stage with disbelief and amusement.
“It’s the Ludwig way I suppose. Maybe he’s scaring himself shitless,” I whispered. We both dissolved into tentative laughter, breaking up the tension.
I’d long believed that love was the quickest way to ruin everything. My heart’s purpose was to beat in my chest, not to be given away and then shattered into a million pieces. If any part of Ludwig’s story held true, then my endless pursuit to keep my heart locked away behind a garden gate proved to be the proper choice. If even a Goddess can be broken, then I had no business dallying in such things. I’d lived enough of my life with a broken heart. I didn’t plan to rebreak it anytime soon.
“So why get one now?” Rosie asked, resuming our dress shopping once more.
“For the Goddess Celebration, of course,” I replied.
“But you’ve never bought a dress for the other Celebrations.” She crossed her muscled arms and raised an eyebrow. Her suspicion wasn’t entirely unfounded.
Five celebrations had come and gone, and I’d never done anything special for myself. This Celebration seemeddifferent, though. Perhaps because it was the last one I’d celebrate before I turned thirty. Or perchance it was because the nine hundred gold coins I’d been paid for this year’s Celebration were burning a hole in my satchel. Far more coin than I was used to, but there were far more tulips requested this year, which wasn’t an easy task.
More than anything, perhaps it was because there was this tug deep down in my soul that I couldn’t get rid of nor explain. It had started a few months ago. This sensation that something was coming, something was different. It unsettled me as much as it made me curious. When the squirrel debacle happened, I thought maybe that’s what I’d been sensing all along—undeniable failure and the loss of a Goddess.
That could preemptively weigh on one’s conscience.
But the tulip got sorted; my world stayed the same. Just the way I liked it. The pull in my heart, though, remained.
Whatever it was, I didn’t feel like sharing all of that with Rosie. We’d been friends ever since I came here, and Rosie, an open book herself, was always ready to listen to anyone’s feelings and stories, mine being at the top of her priority list.
But I had never been like her, I’d never been free with my inner workings. Especially when the thoughts weren’t fully fleshed out and sorted.
My emotions were kept like seed packets, neatly labeled and stored away until their season came. The only person to ever harvest them was myself. As it should be.
