“I can see them. The character as a young girl tending pink roses in the center of her mother’s garden. Her mother points to the plum tree and explains how the rose and the plum are cousins. How they are different, but also, the same.”
“I didn’t know that. Tell me more.”
A grin tugs at my lips. I love Archer’s unending curiosity. Most folks wouldn’t care to hear about the ins and outs of plants or any of my niche interests. Well, Lysandra does, but Archer is the second, which is impressive because I know alotof people.
“They’re both part of the rose family. Plums, peaches, cherries, raspberries. Apples too. All of them have five-petal blooms. They each have a type of drupe fruit as well.”
“What does that mean?”
“Fruits with a stone. With a large seed in the center.”
Archer nods. “Ah, yes. Go on.”
“So the locking mechanism could feature a rose in the center, and that’s what sparks the character’s memory of that moment in the garden with her mother. She’s been shying away from all those memories because of the pain. When she recalls this, it hurts, but it’s beautiful too. The warmth of the memory calms her down despite what’s happening upstairs at the manor house and the danger they’re in. Let’s say the mechanism has a rose-shaped dial in the center. Around the dial are several types of fruits andplants. Leaves and blooms and so forth.”
“Sounds lovely.”
“It is. And there is poetry in that, right?” I ask.
His eyes sparkle, and I wonder what exactly that smirk of his means.“Being trapped by something lovely?” His voice is almost a purr. “Yes, yes there is.”
Oh. Does he have the mark too? My thoughts scatter like leaves in the winter wind.
“Colette, are you all right?” Archer is handing me Mossette, which shows how much he has learned about me. It’s the perfect move.
I accept Mossette and stroke her back until she’s purring and my thoughts are lined up again. He doesn’t have the mark. He would have said something, surely.
“When the character lines up the rose dial with each related plant in maybe alphabetical order according to the Old Tongue names, then the lock opens.”
Archer sits back, smiling widely. “Colette, that’s it. You’ve done it.”
“It’s not too sad though, right? This is meant to be a light short story.”
“You know the answer to that.”
And he’s right. I do. Difficult, unhappy emotions have their place. “Shadows help us see the light.”
“Yes!” Archer stands and immediately beginspacing. I haven’t seen him fired up like this, but I’m loving it. “That’s the last line of our story! It’s perfect!”
I lift Mossette’s front paws to make her dance and she meows happily, still purring. I feel as light as the feather on my new quill. Lighter and more myself than ever before.
I stare as Archer goes on about the scene, suggesting dialogue and increasing tension. His words are nearly too fast to comprehend, but I chuckle and jot down bits that fit and ideas that expand on his.
We flow. The story spills out like the ink has its own mind on the page.
And just like that, we finish the short story’s rough draft.
I leap from my chair, holding Mossette high. “We have to get pastries!”
Archer laughs and takes Mossette. He sets her gently on my bed. “I mean, we have them every time we’ve written together. Why would completion be any different?”
“Because this time, we’re getting an entire plate of goodies!”
“But we’ve already had Snowlight cookies,” he says, pointing at the two remaining iced treats on her bright and messy desk.
I point my quill at him like it’s a dagger. “Don’t ruin this.”
Archer spreads his hands wide. “Forget I said anything. Let’s go destroy our good health!”
