The little girl giggled and patted Needle’s trunk. “I think the tree heard me.”

Up and up and up the butterfly went, until it reached the very tippy tops of the trees.

“There was once a tree,” he murmured. “High up in Glen Brae, where no one goes now. My mother used to say it remembered things folk had lost. Names, songs, and promises. She called it the Ash That Whispers.”

But on the morning of her eighteenth birthday, Corinne noticed something odd. The sun hung bright overhead as she collected herbs from her garden, yet no shadow pooled at her feet. She spun around, searching the ground in confusion—but where her shadow should have stretched across the dewy grass, there was nothing but light.

Margaret read on, following Robert’s experiences as a young American scholar in East Germany during the Cold War. His voice on the page was different—younger, more passionate, less guarded than the professor of literature she’d married.

But Eilis saw the flash of fear in her mother’s eyes when the baby turned its golden gaze toward her. That evening, when this unusual creature refused to nurse and remained silent even as her mother sobbed over it, Eilis watched her father place protective herbs above the doorframes.

The results confirmed what she remembered about lavender representing devotion and loyalty. But her breath caught when she read the complete meaning of white violets: “Let’s take a chance on happiness” was the romantic interpretation, but they also traditionally meant “innocence” and, in some contexts, “secrecy.”

The first raindrop struck like a tiny stone, splattering on a broad leaf below. Bramble’s wings faltered as more droplets followed, heavy and relentless.

To most of the fairy world, Amaryllis was considered a bit… much. Too proud, too focused on presentation. She obsessed over how rose vines curved and whether snapdragons aligned in perfect color order. She was, after all, guardian of a Victorian garden—and if that didn’t require exacting standards, what did?

Her favorite place to rest was beneath a great oak tree surrounded by a fairy ring of mushrooms. She had heard the legends—that one must be careful not to fall asleep in such rings lest the Fae lead them away.

She wore a green dress, the color of spring grass, and tiny violet-colored slippers with gold bells on the toes. She looked down at them too, and waved.

"Oh my gosh!" they both squealed, excited to see a real live fairy. She fluttered down and smiled at the two girls.

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the chirping of cicadas and the rustling of leaves overhead. Finally, Sarah pulled away and took his hand in hers, pressing something into his palm.