Chapter Text
Chapter I
The Edge of Town
Nightly hated Roses. It’s something not many people could claim to hate, especially not on the earth beneath the shimmering sun. How could someone despise something so beautiful? Soft red petals, sweet floral scent—they’re symbols of love and prosperity in so many worlds.
But not in Dirmire.
In this world, far away from Earth, roses were beautiful, yes, but with a cruel, hidden edge. The blossoms, the very image of romance, secreted a potent acid capable of burning through flesh. A single brush against a petal could leave a searing wound. And the vines the roses grew on, stretched fast when touched, grasping at anyone nearby, multiplying both their danger and their reach. To the people of Dirmire, roses were a menace, a plague that had overrun hundreds of towns and kingdoms. They were a constant danger, especially for the children who were forever warned to keep their distance from the deceptively beautiful flowers. Nightly hated them with a burning passion. They had burned her many times before, leaving small scars on her hands that remind her of the mistake of touching the beauty of the roses.
The kingdom of Lantherra lay within Dirmire. It was a quiet, whimsical town populated by hundreds of Floricks. Floricks were diverse, intelligent creatures. Nearly human except for their pointed ears and their uniquely colored eyes. The town was in the heart of the rainforest, surrounded by impossibly tall, ancient trees. Glowing lanterns hung throughout the kingdom, casting warm light against the deep green haze that blanketed Dirmire.
Magic flowed everywhere here.
Not in the people, but the land itself.
Darkness fell over Lantherra as Nightly’s boots tapped against the cold, wet stone path. A breeze brushed strands of her light brown hair into her face, her hood struggling to stay put. She kept her gaze fixed on the town ahead, the soft murmur of voices drifting from nearby houses. She jumped over fallen logs and climbed vines curling from the towering trees, her breaths shallow, her heart sharp in her chest.
At the town’s edge, she paused, checking for any wandering eyes. The King of Lantherra didn’t take kindly to anyone leaving the kingdom, not with the wildlife waiting beyond the trees, and the ever present threat of the Acid Roses. One wrong step, one brush of a petal, and the flowers would burn you… then spread like a wildfire, destroying kingdoms until nothing remained.
Nightly stepped into the town, weaving through the small nighttime crowd. Lantherra’s nights were full of bonfires and dancing. Unique instruments filled the air, turning the cold, misty night into a warm and welcoming celebration. She paused, watching a roaring bonfire where young men and women danced hand in hand. Music pulsed through the crowd; joy lit their faces. She smiled slightly, finding the enchanting night comforting. She noticed the sharp points of their ears, the shimmering eyes in colors she’d never seen on Earth. Every detail reminded her she wasn’t one of them. Little signs. Little things.
But still, this was home. No matter what anyone thought.
She continued walking, weaving through the crowd, careful not to meet too many Florick’s eyes. After a few minutes, she reached an apothecary shop whose shelves overflowed with herbs and vials. Pulling her hood back slightly to reveal her dark blue eyes, she approached the counter.
The shopkeeper—a woman with dark skin, long black hair flowing down her neck, and striking maroon eyes—glanced at her.
“Evening, Nightly,” her voice was softer, almost kind. Her sharp golden eyes settled on her with a knowing, curious look.
“Hey Myraen,” Nightly said casually, tapping her fingers onto the counter. She glanced behind Myraen and onto the shelves, scanning it. “Could I get a few glowing crystals?”
Myraen turned, reaching up to a high shelf, and placed the jar of pulsing blue crystals on the counter.
“Thanks,” She pulled a few gold coins from her satchel and handed them over. Myraen examined them briefly before pocketing them. She watched Nightly walk away, curiosity and suspicion always present whenever she saw the strange girl, but never enough to speak on.
Nightly walked out of the kingdom, her hands resting on the strap of her satchel. She moved through the forest slowly, eyes scanning the bushes heavy with juicy fruits. She often collected berries and wild fruits on walks, sometimes selling them in town, sometimes eating them for breakfast.
She stopped when she spotted a stream, its clear water rushing over smooth stones. Kneeling on one knee, she let her hand glide through the cold current, mesmerized by the way the sunlight caught the ripples. She lingered for a moment longer than she intended, then straightened, reminding herself to move on.
The path to her sleeping nook wasn’t a path at all. Just a trail created by memory over countless walks. She stepped over a moss covered log, ducked beneath a curtain of heavy, green vines, and squeezed between two thick trunks. The trees pressed close here, yet scattered clearings created small sanctuaries for her to make home.
A few minutes later, she arrived. Her nook was cradled in a tangle of old roots and tall ferns, tilting gently into the ground. Overgrowth cloaked it as if the forest itself had conspired to hide it. It wasn’t much. Just a bed of soft moss, loosely woven leaves for a mat, and a handmade pillow stitched from old fabric and dried stuffing. Above her, tiny crystals she had strung on rope swayed gently from low branches, along with small wooden moons, beads, and feathers. She didn’t believe in their tales of magic, but they were comforting. Beside her pillow lay a small, rusty copper key, and a handful of Polaroids of sparrows. When sleep refused to come, she often turned the key over in her palm, tracing its edges. This was the only place she allowed herself to fall apart a little. Here, she didn’t have to be strong or guarded, didn’t have to hide the way her shoulders curled inward when the silence pressed too heavily.
Kneeling on her bed, she reached into her satchel and pulled out the crystals she had bought from Myraen earlier. She placed them next to others that had dimmed, keeping them close like a nightlight for when nightmares came—which came too often. The old, fading stones went back into her satchel.
Nightly lay back, letting the soft blue glow of the crystals illuminate the roof of her nook. The forest breathed around her, alive and steady. She closed her eyes, not yet asleep, just resting.
Just here.