CHAPTER ONE #2
“My father says you mud stompers still believe in magic too,” she sneered.
I looked at her, not with anger. With pity. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to grow up with a father like that.
“Well, your father’s a prick,” the girl in the hat shot back.
“I don’t believe in magic!” I blurted before I could stop myself. “I don’t.”
It wasn’t a lie. I had decided that I didn’t believe anymore.
Selma’s expression twisted.
“Well then,” she said, “you won’t care if I do this.”
Before I could stop her, she yanked the crown off my head and ran toward the fire. I scrambled after her.
“Give it back!” I shouted. But my voice came out quiet, trembling.
She looked back, and for a second I thought maybe she’d stop, have a change of heart.
But she didn’t.
And with a flick of her wrist, she tossed my crown into the flames.
I dropped to my knees, the tears coming before I could stop them.
“It’s just flowers,” Selma huffed. “You’re such a baby.”
Then she stuck out her tongue at the girl with the hat and stomped off.
“I’m sorry about them,” the girl with the hat said softly, kneeling beside me. Her hair glowed in the firelight, strawberry blonde and wild.
“They can be really mean sometimes,” she said.
But Selma had been right. I was a mud-stomper. I couldn’t read or write, and I spent most days helping my parents on the farm, seeding and plowing and harvesting crops. I always had dirt under my nails, but I’d never felt ashamed of it before. Not until I saw the way they looked at me.
“You do believe in magic, don’t you? I can tell. I wish I did too,” the girl with strawberry hair said, but I could barely hear her over the brutal hammering of my heart.
”What was the flower wreath for?” she asked.
”It’s an offering. To the gods,” I said, trying desperately to steady my voice. “We do it every year, me and my mother. I don’t know what happens when you give the gods two offerings. What am I gonna do next year? I have nothing to give them now.”
She shifted closer. “I could help you make a new one.”
“You could?”
She nodded, then leaned in a little, like she was about to share a secret.
“I know where there are really beautiful flowers,” she whispered. “But…I’m not allowed to go there.”
My stomach tightened. “Where is it?”
She pointed toward the trees.
“It’s on the other side of the woods. There’s a mill house in the clearing. But, if we’re quick, our parents won’t even notice we’re gone.”
I hesitated. Behind us, the glade still glowed with music, dancing, and voices. But this girl wanted to help me, and she seemed kind. I wanted nothing more than to be her friend, so even if my gut told me to stay, I followed her.
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll be quick.”
At first, it wasn’t too bad. The forest was quiet, almost peaceful.
But the deeper we went, the darker it got.
Even with the midnight sun, the canopy was so thick barely any light made it through.
The air felt colder. Still. I told myself I wasn’t scared.
I didn’t want to be the kind of girl who was afraid of trees creaking or shadows moving.
But something felt off, like we weren’t alone.
I didn’t say anything, just kept walking beside her, trying to match her pace. I wondered if she felt it too.
I stopped and looked behind us, the glade was gone. There was nothing but trees surrounding us.
“Maybe we should go back,” I whispered.
“No,” she said, “We’re almost there, promise. I’m Licia by the way.”
“I’m Kera.”
“So… why don’t you go to school?” Licia asked. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it. School sucks, I wish I didn’t have to go.”
“I… don’t know. I just don’t.” I replied.
I know she was disappointed with that answer, but it was the truth.
My parents had never even asked me if I wanted to go.
I think they just assumed that I wasn’t interested.
I didn’t need school to work on the farm, and I’d never really thought of it either.
My brother didn’t go, so why would I? But I had always admired books, especially the ones with beautiful covers and exciting adventures.
If I went to school, maybe I could write a book someday, or keep a journal, or read all the books in the library.
Eventually, the trees thinned and the path opened into a clearing. The old mill house stood across it, hunched and crooked. Its wooden frame warped and sagged under its own weight, and a stone wall curled around the yard, covered in ivy and moss.
“Have you heard the legend of the man who died here?” Licia asked, lowering her voice.
I looked over at her. “No…?”
Was I supposed to?
“They say his name was Laban. He lived here all alone and died when the mill collapsed and crushed him.”
I swallowed hard.
“Now he haunts the place.” She continued. ”And if you look really closely… you might see his ghost in the top window.”
I stared at the house, something about the place made the back of my neck prickle.
“Is that what they teach you in school?” I asked.
She grinned. “No. But do you know what Laban had in common with you?”
I blinked. “What?”
“He also really loved flowers.”