Chapter 20 Monroe
MONROE
I’m grateful Cherri doesn’t greet me with questions when I arrive at the cottage. Her door is shut, and before she notices I’m home, I head straight for my room.
According to my new pamphlet, twice a year, when Blooms return from their seasonal duties and need to replenish their magic, the entire burrow of The Warren becomes a sexual haven.
During solstice, the time when we are ravenous to sate our carnal needs, harbingers will turn to their mates or their fellow Blooms. Once one mate feels the effects of solstice, the other will follow, even if they haven’t been earthside for spring.
Some effects include: dry, cracked, or flaky skin; extreme thirst; “cottontail” mouth; dizziness; headaches; nausea. Clothes may feel scratchy or abrasive. You may experience a sudden and intense need to be near your mate.
The Solstice Center is set up to help any mated or unmated Blooms who wish to suppress these effects or get through the two-to-four-day window with their custom specifications.
Newly mated Blooms will notice physical changes when engaging in sexual activities with their partner or partners. These changes are determined by your combined and personal preferences and will manifest themselves to heighten pleasure and intensify recharging.
I try to imagine myself clouded by lust like this pamphlet seems to think I’ll be.
My sex life was pretty vanilla. I mean, who had time for all the crazy shit? I sure didn’t. Get in, get an orgasm, get out. Leave the elaborate escapades to the fictional characters in my audiobooks. That wasn’t real life.
Was it?
At the Solstice Center, we’re able to suppress your symptoms, keeping you safely isolated. If you don’t wish to suppress them, you’ll find many alternative options below, depending on your comfort level and how involved you’d like your mate and/or our volunteers to be.
Fill out the questionnaire below and return before your next spring.
I cross and uncross my legs as I begin to skim the list…
By the time I reach the end, my face is tight and I’m certain if I looked in a mirror, everything from my chest up would be flushed a rich rose.
Blowing out a breath, I set the pamphlet on the corner of my desk across from the paints and still-sealing teacups. I frown up at the blank canvas set atop the easel. There are about a dozen more resting on the wall behind it. All empty.
I can’t even bring myself to find out if there’s something akin to a newspaper here that I could collage with like I would my pieces back home.
It’s tabula rasa—like my entire mortal existence now that I’m in Florezca.
While that probably appeals to many Blooms, it doesn’t appeal to me. Not one bit.
A tear streaks my cheek, wet and unwelcome. I wipe it away with the back of my sleeve.
Allowing my grief to drag me under won’t solve any of my current problems. It won’t help me get my magic. It won’t erase this mate mark embedded into my skin. It won’t get me any closer to returning home.
Out of the corner of my eye, light dances against the wall of my bathroom. The door’s cracked open. My body stills and I sniff the air. Vanilla and a faint floral scent filter into the bedroom.
Is someone in here?
My eyes dart around the room, but I don’t see anyone.
Summoning some courage, I creep over, uncertain what I’ll find, and slowly push the door open.
I hunt for a silhouette, but all I’m met with is the flicker of candlelight from tapered candles set along the wall.
Tiny tea lights float across the tub between silky flowers and petals.
My nerves dissolve with each passing moment while I stare at the opaque water.
It’s a creamy shade that smells like cherry blossoms and vanilla, with something woodsy carried on the tendrils of steam wafting into the air.
The water’s still warm. Must have been done recently.
A thick plank of wood balances across the tub, set with a plate of my favorite macarons from Novel Nibbles as well as an ornate copy of Alice in Wonderland.
The cover is illustrated with Alice reaching for the white rabbit with his pocket watch, red roses, and various playing cards falling with them.
I trace over the gold foil embellishments, something familiar among so much I still don’t understand.
I smile. I think it’s the first time I have today.
Cherri is beyond thoughtful, considering she was almost eaten by a magic table today.
I can’t believe she went to all this trouble for me.
She must have coordinated with Roxy and Kendrick to get this together.
As shitty as this all has been, I am lucky to have such thoughtful roommates. I’ll have to thank them all later.
I quickly undress, my clothes disappearing before they touch the ground.
It’s still a mindfuck, and I grimace, knowing I’ll have to bother Cherri after she did all this so I have some pajamas to wear.
I lower myself into the tub, delicately avoiding the candles.
They bob along the water, weaving between dark-pink and red rose petals and fat white peonies.
I reach for the big glass of water set next to the treats and chug it halfway, following it up with crème br?lée and lavender macarons, humming in appreciation.
I sink back against the porcelain and rest my head atop the fluffy towel that’s been folded over the lip of the tub, watching the flowers skim the water.
They float atop my fingers, and I catch one and thumb the thick petals.
Their velvety texture provides the perfect focus to calm myself with some breathing exercises.
With each inhale, the blend of scents envelops and calms me.
I unclench my shoulders, my chest, my back, my legs, until I’m finally relaxed against the tub.
Every muscle and ligament aches. How long have I carried this tension?
Maybe the entire time I’ve been here, but I haven’t truly felt it until now.
With methodical circles, I rub the stiff muscles and knuckle the knots I can reach.
As the minutes pass, I brace myself for the water to chill and become unbearable, but it never does. It remains the perfect temperature. Perhaps I’ll stay here forever in this tub with beautiful flowers and tasty treats for company.
With the aches drawn from my body, a new discomfort takes shape—longing. I think back to how easily Skylar shifted in class today, how even after Cherri struggled, she was able to as well. Looking around this tub, I take in everything else she’s conjured up with her abilities.
Magic is beautiful. Wish I fucking had some.
A white peony with large pink-kissed petals slides up my inner thigh and lands on my sternum, inches from the one inked over my left breast. Reaching for the flower, I twirl it by the stump of its stem, the layers and layers of petals fanning out as I do.
Blooms make this. They craft it in their mind and make it real with their touch.
How many delicate flowers, lush trees, and grassy glades had I passed each day walking around the city?
I have no clue. Barely noticed. My focus was always on where I was hurrying to—the next appointment or errand—navigating paths between busy commuters or scrolling my phone. How many times was I present enough to appreciate the finite details in nature? In my own damn life?
Using the peony, I trace the lines of my mate mark, admiring the artistry of both pieces.
The edge of a thick petal brushes the stiff peak of my nipple and pleasure shoots between my legs. I drop the flower with a gasp. It plops against the water, ripples spreading above where I’ve zipped my legs together. I glance over my shoulder at my desk.
I blame that questionnaire and all the ideas it put into my head. Solstice is months away and it’s already taunting me.
Though, it has been over a month since I arrived here… It’s only natural to crave relief between what I’ve seen at The Looking Glass, my accidental visit to The Nestling Fields, and learning about solstice.
My thumb grazes the nipple next to my mark, and I suck in a breath. I don’t remember being this sensitive before, but it feels incredible. I toy with one and then the other, slipping my hand lower. Some stress relief would go a long way right about now…
I press the heel of my palm against my clit, rocking my hips for the delicious friction, my body craving it like it’s sustenance. Is this what Roxy and Cherri were talking about, that sex would become as essential as water, food, air?
Another wave of desire rushes between my legs. Wow. Taking a deep breath, I home in on the pressure building with each swirl and tip of my pelvis, manipulating my body with singular purpose: running away from the day’s stress and toward the endorphins and oxytocin that accompany climax.
I bite my lip, stifling a moan, pleasure scattering along my sensitive flesh. But even as my hips slow, it’s not enough to satisfy the thrum below my belly. The orgasm has somehow uncorked something primal and uncontrollable.
My fingers circle my opening and push in.
I pinch my nipple with my free hand, tugging and tormenting it to the piercing tip of pain.
With each panting breath, each shift of my pelvis, the desire builds.
I bite my lip again—hard enough to draw blood.
There’s a deep need I can’t explain, but my body craves more.
More than I can give, more than I logically think I can handle.
The pressure coils, stronger than before, and the force of it makes every limb quiver against the porcelain. Ecstasy billows and billows—
The next rock of my hips, I bite my shoulder, smothering out guttural sounds as I chase my release.
Usually when I masturbate, one is plenty, enough to numb me to the stress of the day so I can fall asleep. But the water laps at my skin and I crest in waves. They crash into me three more times until I’m gripping the lip of the tub, spent and sweat slicked.
What the hell?
If this is just a regular day, I have to imagine the pamphlet from the Solstice Center wasn’t exaggerating. Not that I’m complaining. I’ve had enough clients who are unable to achieve orgasm, I’ll take this strange occurrence as a win.
My body’s like a noodle, flimsy and flung against the porcelain. I pant, catching my breath, every part of me humming. Tingling. There’s a buzz beneath my fingertips…
I blink at the sloshing water to where all the rose petals have converged.
Is this…magic?
I close my eyes, feeling a bit foolish but emboldened by my post-orgasm haze. I wiggle my nose and wait a few moments…
Nothing happens.
There’s only the slosh of water and crackle of candle flames echoing against the tile. Squinting one eye shut, I slowly open the other.
The petals have lifted out of the water, floating above the bath’s surface. A mix of red and dark-pink, they cradle each other into the shape of an unblossomed bulb. I slip my palms under it and bring it to my chest, closing my eyes and picturing something else.
With a wiggle of my nose, I peek out of one eye— The petals unfurl, one at a time, resembling a budding mismatched rose.
Startled, I drop it into the water and it scatters.
I did that.
It was real.
Eager to try again, I get out of the tub, dripping onto the towel set beside it.
Moving toward the windowsill, I stare at the pot that’s empty aside from the soil.
That hum still vibrates, albeit more subtly than before.
I wiggle my nose, keeping my eyes open this time.
Centimeter by centimeter, leaves sprout from the dirt.
I’ve no clue what it’ll grow into, probably a sad patch of grass, but I’m certain I created it.
I’m not magicless. Not hopeless.
What if—
Picturing my favorite dress, I wiggle my nose. But when I look down, I’m still naked and covered in droplets. I frown.
Guess a girl can’t have everything.
Either way, I know what I saw with those rose petals. I’m still looking at the green leaves that have now lengthened into stalks of grass, a few inches tall in my windowsill pot. It’s something. I just need to figure out how I did it and replicate it. Simple experimental theory.
Sitting down at my desk, I grab a pen and record everything that happened from the moment I got into the tub.
I ignore my wet hair and scrutinize every detail.
I think about the orgasm that obliterated my body and clench my thighs, recalling that intense, crashing wave of desire. The toe-curling ripples afterward.
Certainly this can’t be the only way to bring on my magic. That would be completely impractical, especially with the amount of it needed for class and beyond the veil during spring.
I tap my chin a few times. There’s got to be something else to it.
Channeling my inner researcher, I narrow down the list of variables, and begin crossing them off one by one…