9. Rosalina
Rosalina
Sometimes, I dream.
I dream of flowers, of rose bushes bursting with blue and pink and turquoise and orange blooms, with stems of deep purple. I dream of wandering through briars thick with these colorful blossoms, of getting lost within the branches.
These dreams make me sad.
I always wake to a tear-soaked pillow, my throat raw with sobs.
There’s only one thing that calms me down.
I drift over to my wardrobe and pull out the leather satchel, laying everything out on the bed beside the winged lion.
I flip through the pages of my book, wrap myself in the gray cloak that once I found ugly but now looks like mottled snow, twist the lid off the jar and smell the rich, floral scent, and I hold tight to that silly lion.
It’s the only way I sleep anymore.
I try so hard not to do it. Last night, I put everything in the wardrobe and locked it, promising myself I would sleep with only thoughts of the Prince of Thorns.
But in my dream, there were new roses this time, great golden blooms that reached for the sun.
And I must have felt sadder than ever, because I awake to Heidi shaking me, her yellow eyes filled with concern.
“You’s alright, Rosalina? You were squawking and wailing like a wee baby! Must’ve been a nasty dream.”
“I… I dreamed of flowers,” I mumble, wiping the tears from my cheeks.
“Of what-what?”
“Of flowers,” I repeat.
“What’s a flower? Some kind of tasty thing? Some kind of shiny thing?”
I wave my hand in the air, signaling the purple gemlights to turn on and illuminate the room. “Flowers. You know, bloomies? You love them?”
Heidi shakes her head. “Don’t know what a flower is, nor a bloomie. But they must be scary to get you all wiggly like that. Don’t you worry, Rosalina! I’m here for you! I’ll be watching, so you can sleep safe and sound.”
I narrow my eyes. Heidi loves flowers. It seems an awful strange thing to forget.
But I suppose I’ve forgotten stranger things.