“I was not crazed! There was a”—don’t say squirrel—“quarrythat needed chasing. And then I—I—”lost the Crown Jewel Tulip. The words caught in my throat.
Pathetic. Worthless. Not enough.
The words were easy to conjure. I heard them so many times growing up that they’d etched themselves into my bones, never to be smoothed out with time. No magic for my parents, no Crown Jewel for the Goddess.
A few hours ago, I was enjoying morning tea while fighting with my untitled manuscript, and now “the world’s biggest failure” could be my title. And this stranger caused it all—well, mostly all. If they hadn’t intervened, I might not be here. I might not have let everyone down.
“You have ruined everything.” My voice sounded small.
They shifted in the chair, leaning closer to the bed. I caught a hint of lemon and spices in the air—like summer and autumn wrapped up into one.
“Will you tell me exactly how I ‘ruined’ everything?” they asked.
“I am in charge of tending the flower for Eldrene’s Celebration Crown. Do you even know who that is?” I asked condescendingly.
“Yes,” they said with a chuckle, “I have heard of the most powerful Goddess in the land.”
“Well, then, you should also know that the Crown Jewel Tulip is the center of Eldrene’s Crown. Very precious, very rare, and now it’s very gone.” I crumpled at hearing the words aloud, and the place in my chest where my magic lived began crumpling, too. Like water through a sieve.
The squirrel had to be miles away by now, deep inside the wood, tossing the tulip into a pile of other objects it hadnabbed from Moss. It would be an impossible feat to try and find it at this point. Let alone to try and find the tulip itself.
It was lost forever. I would be, too.
A tear found its way down my cheek, and I sank further into despair, burying my head in my hands. All of Moss would gather tomorrow to honor our Goddess, and it would now be a funeral.
“What would you do to get it back?” they whispered.
“Anything.”
“That’s a dangerous bargain to strike,” the voice murmured softly right by my ear. Their hot breath caused goose pimples to sprout up along my skin like seedlings in the spring.
“I don’t care what I have to do,” I spat out the words, peering into the darkness next to me.
The stranger tutted. “Only a skilled hunter could track a Shadow Woods squirrel down. You won’t find one of those easily, not anywhere near here.”
“Then I’ll do it myself,” I said, drumming up what dignity I could with shredded feet and a throbbing headache. “It should be easy and not impossible at all. A squirrel well-versed in the woods versus a concussed woman? Easy win,” I said ruefully. Sarcasm always helped cushion the blow of complete and irrevocable failure. Right?
“I’m sure you could manage.” I think I heard a smile in their voice. But maybe it was just a trick of the light (i.e. emotional upheaval).
“Please leave,” I mumbled. “Please.” Hopelessness surrounded me. It was over. There was no way I could go into those woods and retrieve the bulb in enough time. Tears streamed down my face in rivulets, and I stifled a sob.
“Don’t cry, princess,” they said softly.
I didn’t reply. I didn’t stop crying. I didn’t gut them for calling me princess. I didn’t say a word as the stranger got up and bid goodbye to Sylvie, who had been dutifully standing outside the door—at least she hadn’t abandoned me. She might consider it after learning that I’d ruined the entire Celebration and the realm was now… well, in mortal peril.
The door clicked shut and the room went quiet, the chair beside me now empty.
But then a flash of color caught my eye, and what I saw there made my heart sing, made me forget the pain, made me want to kiss that perfectly awful stranger right on the mouth.
Right where they’d been sitting rested everything I needed to keep living my happily ever after.
The Crown Jewel Tulip.
Dresses are a girl’s best friend’s best friend.
—opening line attempt 11
Town wagons neatly lined my garden gate, all of them bursting with the fruits of my labor—literally. A mountain of carrots balanced precariously atop one, a heap of bright flowers of all kinds in another, and of course, particularly plump, yellow squash adorned the final wagon like a mound of gold. Quincy Knoll, Moss’s mayor, stood at the helm of it all, wearing an approving, open-mouthed grin. He didn’t do much by way of leading, as Moss has always favored a more participatory democracy, but he excelled at making everyone feel special. Townsfolk loved to invite him to their family dinners and games evenings simply because he adoredeverything.
