I think about those golden roses my mother used to make. Not since then has her garden seen anything close to this beautiful.
My guards trail her. I watch, lips twitching, as she avoids them.
I watch until I feel a pang of yearning, and then I turn away again. I walk back through the castle, pacing for over an hour. It’s empty, most of the attendants at the celebration. I’m lost in my own mind, when I nearly slip on something on the floor.
I frown as I bend to pick it up.
A petal?
There’s a path of them ahead. They’re familiar. They look like her dress. I find a crown of flowers next.
Then, something cuts through the silence.
Her voice.
Her singing.
I close my eyes. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard; it has to be a dream—because the world isn’t this beautiful, and I am not this lucky, to have heard such a sound twice.
But it keeps going. Then, I hear a burst of laughter. My eyes fly open.
I follow the petals, like I would follow them to the end of the world. There are more of them, going up stairs, down hallways, and shoes that I grab, all leading to her.
Everything leading to—
“Isla?”
She whirls around and smiles.
Smiles.
Just like she did in my dream.
“Oro,” she says, and my name—I’ve never cared about how it sounded until now. Hearing my name on her lips, her voice breathy and excited—
I swallow. The last time I saw her, she was glaring at me. She still hated me.
Has she forgiven me?
She walks over, barefoot. I’m carrying her discarded shoes in my hand, and she doesn’t even notice.
All she does is step over her own petals, laugh, then stand high on her toes, in a failed attempt to reach my height.
Then, she flicks my crown, and the teasing gesture goes right to the center of me.
I blink.
She laughs again. I wish this were real, I wish it was true, but Isla wouldn’t forgive me so easily ... she wouldn’t belaughing, not at a time like this.
“Are you all right?”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “You’re always so angry ...why? Do you ever smile?”
Yes. I do, I think. I smile when I think of you.
She’s still on her toes, and she tilts, losing her balance. My arms shoot out on instinct, keeping her upright. As soon as she’s on her feet, I drop my hand.
She gives me a scathing look, the anger returning. “I’m notpoisonous.”
