The village was abuzz with activity.

  People rushed through the streets, buying gifts, fruit, new cloth. Everyone—young and old—was preparing for the festival.

  Auren watched it all through her window, one hand tucked under her chin, the other lazily tracing flowers on the glass. She liked seeing people like this—alive. Full of movement and purpose.

  It was relaxing.

  Eventually, she stood. She’d wasted enough time. The sooner she got it over with, the better.

  At the door, a colorful pile of letters waited just inside, scattered where they always landed. She knelt and began sorting through them quickly—bright blue, pale green, one sealed with golden thread. And then she found it.

  A soft pink envelope.

  Her fingers paused. She knew this was it.

  She took it without thinking, carried it upstairs, and flopped onto the bed. Then, slowly—almost carefully—she opened it.

  Inside was a single piece of paper, the handwriting awkward and uneven.

  Hello Auren,

  I wasn’t sure if I should write this. I’ve never been good with words, and I don’t really know what people are supposed to say in these kinds of letters. But I guess this one’s just about being honest.

  I don’t know you very well. Not really. We’ve only spoken a few times—at the market, outside the bakery, when you helped my sister last summer. But I see you, and not in the way people say that when they want something.

  I see how you’re always kind. How you listen when someone talks, even if no one else is paying attention. I see the way the children run to you, and how the light touches your face when you think no one’s watching.

  I don’t expect anything from this. Truly. But if, maybe, you feel like walking with someone during the festival… I’d be honored.

  No pressure. No expectations. Just an invitation.

  –Darien

  At the bottom of the page, pressed gently against the fold, was a flower.

  A pink jasmine.

  Her favorite.

  Almost the same color as the envelope—as was tradition.

  She stared at it, fingers brushing the petal’s edge. A tingling sensation stirred low in her stomach. She couldn’t quite name it. Hope, maybe. Or something gentler—the wish that this might work out.

  She didn’t even know why she thought it wouldn’t.

  She didn’t know where the distrust came from. Or the ache. The way her heart gripped tight, as if trying to brace for something it couldn’t name.

  She dropped her head into her hands and groaned.

  Then stood.

  The flower still in her grasp, she walked to the door, opened it, and carefully pinned the blossom to the wood—gently, precisely—just above the latch.

  It was tradition. A quiet signal to the village: this one is taken. A soft answer to the one who sent the letter: I accept.

  From the corner of her eye, she could see them—nearly a dozen young men half-hidden in bushes and behind trees, all waiting to see who she would choose.

  She sighed, long and low, and closed the door behind her.

  If she was going to do this, she’d have to do it right.

  Brenna had already given her a dress—said she made it herself. Auren hadn’t looked too closely at it, hadn’t dared. She already knew she’d wear it, even if it turned out awful.

  It would break Brenna’s heart if she didn’t.

  She opened her closet and took out the box.

  Plain white, tied with a red ribbon. She placed it gently on the bed and sat beside it for a moment, fingers resting lightly on the lid. Then she untied the ribbon, slow and careful, like it might vanish if she moved too fast.

  She lifted the lid.

  Inside lay the dress.

  The color of life.

  Like the leaves of the trees after rain. Like newly grown grass. Soft, luminous, and quiet in its beauty.

  She reached in and lifted it out with both hands, letting the fabric unfold as it caught the light. The dress swayed gently as she held it up—simple, elegant.

  Sleeveless, held by a single tie behind the neck. The back dipped low, not too bold, not too shy. It flowed down to her feet, the hem stopping just above the floor—made for dancing, for sunlight, for moments that felt like spring.

  She stared at it for a long time, arms still raised.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Then slowly, she held it against her chest.

  And without knowing why, a single tear slid down her cheek—quiet, joyful, sudden.

  It was finally the time for the festival to begin and the village had come alive in full color.

  Children darted between stalls with hands sticky from honeyfruit, their laughter echoing through the winding paths. Ribbons—bright reds, blues, and greens—had been tied between trees, fluttering like birds in the still air. Wreaths of wildflowers crowned every head, and someone had scattered petals across the trail that led toward the woods.

  Auren walked slowly, the hem of her dress catching against the grass. The path to the clearing was lined with dancing colors—fabric streamers and hanging garlands that caught the light in playful flashes. Ahead, villagers moved in loose clusters, chatting, laughing, calling out to friends with wide smiles.

  The forest didn’t hush them.

  It embraced them.

  Leaves rustled overhead like applause, and the scent of fresh fruit and wild herbs mingled with the earth. A child skipped past Auren holding a ribbon wand, giggling as it trailed behind her like a comet’s tail.

  And then, through the trees, the clearing came into view.

  Wide, sun-drenched, and alive.

  Music—light, stringed, and slightly off-key—rose from the center, where a few teenagers had formed a makeshift band with drums and flutes. Tables of food curved along the outer ring of trees, their surfaces crowded with pies, roasted root vegetables, spiced breads, and baskets of flower-wrapped sweets.

  Laughter rang louder here. Someone was already dancing.

  She slowed as she stepped into the clearing, eyes scanning the crowd.

  And there they were.

  Near a table of spiced breads, beneath the arch of two intertwined trees, stood Brenna and Lira—the former laughing with another villager, the latter half-hidden behind her mother’s skirt, twirling a crown of wildflowers in her hands.

  Then the girl looked up.

  Her eyes lit up instantly.

  “Auren!” she shouted, voice bursting across the clearing like a firecracker.

  Before anyone else could react, Lira was already charging toward her, bare feet kicking up little flurries of petals as she ran. Her arms opened wide like she meant to fly into her.

  Auren barely had time to smile before Lira wrapped her in a tight hug, pressing her cheek against the soft green fabric of the dress.

  “You look like a fairy,” the girl whispered, in that way children have when they don’t know they’re being poetic.

  From across the clearing, Brenna turned. Her eyes found Auren, and for a moment, her whole face softened—shoulders relaxing, a proud little smile blooming across her lips.

  She walked over slowly, letting the moment be Lira’s.

  “Well, don’t you look like something out of an old story,” Brenna said warmly, placing a hand on her hip. “I knew that color would suit you.”

  Auren flushed a little, but smiled. “You were right. Again.”

  Brenna gave a satisfied nod. “Of course I was. Come on—you’ve got to try the pear tarts before the children devour every last one.”

  She took Auren’s arm like they’d done it a hundred times before, guiding her toward the table, Lira skipping alongside them, still holding her flower crown like it was made of starlight.

  They hadn’t gone more than a few steps before Tam came barreling past them, stick in hand, his hair wild and wreath half-hanging off one ear.

  “Tam!” Brenna called, exasperated. “What are you—”

  “I’m a serpent trainer!” he shouted over his shoulder, brandishing the stick like a sword. “Lira said there’s a root-snake near the sweets table. I’m gonna catch it and train it to bite anyone who steals the last tart!”

  “I never said that!” Lira shrieked, chasing after him.

  Auren covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  They darted between the tables, nearly colliding with Old Meris, who was balancing a tray of drinks with steady hands and a well-practiced frown.

  “Careful, whirlwind!” he called after Tam, his voice like creaking wood. “Last time you ran past me like that, I spilled punch on the mayor’s wife.”

  Tam just whooped in response and vanished into the crowd.

  Meris turned toward Auren, eyes crinkling beneath bushy brows. “Well now… look at you. Like something fresh from the heart of the forest.”

  Auren smiled. “You always this poetic, Meris?”

  “Only when the cider’s still out of reach,” he said, nodding toward the drink table. “Go on, girl. You’re too young to be standing still.”

  Nearby, Sera and Emrin, a newlywed couple from the southern edge of the village, waved her over. Sera had a wreath of silverleaf and a smudge of berry juice on her cheek, and Emrin was already tipsy on fermented petal-wine, giggling every time his wife elbowed him.

  “Auren, thank the roots you came!” Sera beamed. “If one more person asks me when I’m planning babies I will hex the whole square.”

  “She means it,” Emrin added, grinning. “She hexed the cider barrel last week. It only poured backwards for two hours.”

  Auren laughed, the sound rising light and real from her chest. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

  “You’re never on my bad side,” Sera said. “Now go eat something before Brenna cries about no one appreciating her cooking.”

  Further off, a group of children had begun a game of tag that was rapidly dissolving into chaos. One of them—a curly-haired boy she didn’t recognize—paused mid-run to stare at her in awe.

  “Are you the Spring Lady?” he asked breathlessly. “Lira said you were made of flowers.”

  Auren blinked. “Well… not all flowers. Just mostly.”

  He nodded solemnly, clearly accepting this, and ran off to rejoin the others.

  The sun didn’t shift in Soliris, but time moved in other ways—through laughter, through stories passed between hands and cups, through songs that rose and fell like waves.

  Auren had lost track of how long she’d been standing there, surrounded by familiar voices and gentle warmth. Someone had handed her a honeyed bun. Lira had braided wildflowers into the edge of her dress. For a little while, she let herself be part of it.

  Then Brenna’s voice broke gently through the noise.

  Her eyes had gone past Auren’s shoulder.

  “Well,” she said, a smile curling at the edge of her lips, “looks like your date’s here.”

  Brenna gave her arm a quick squeeze. “Be kind, all right? I think he’s more nervous than you are.”

  Then, with a wink, she turned and melted back into the crowd, pulling Lira along with her.

  Auren turned.

  Darien stood a few steps behind her, hands fidgeting at his sides, clearly trying to decide if he should wave or bow or just disappear into the trees.

  He didn’t look bad—quite the opposite, actually. He looked almost handsome, in a quiet sort of way.

  His tunic was freshly pressed, a soft gray instead of his usual green, with a sash tied just a little too tightly at his waist. His hair was neatly combed, though a stubborn lock had already fallen out of place. His nose was slightly crooked, like it had been broken once and never quite healed straight. Brown eyes, earnest and unsure, met hers. A strong jaw that tensed when he swallowed.

  When he saw her looking, he froze.

  Then cleared his throat. Twice.

  “Hi,” he said, voice low. “You look… wow. I mean, you look really—um. I’m glad you came.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure he should have said anything at all.

  Auren tilted her head slightly, watching him.

  A soft smile touched her lips.

  “Wow?” she echoed, a mischievous glint in her eye. “That’s your opening?”

  Darien opened his mouth. Closed it.

  “I—uh—yeah? It sounded better in my head.”

  She crossed her arms, feigning thoughtfulness. “Mm. Not the worst I’ve heard.”

  He let out a breathless laugh, shoulders relaxing just a little. “That’s… mildly encouraging.”

  “A little,” she said, smiling now—genuinely.

  He stepped closer, slow, still uncertain. “But I meant it. You look beautiful. Like spring, or—something else poetic I definitely didn’t rehearse well enough.”

  Auren raised a brow. “That was rehearsed?”

  Darien’s grin turned sheepish. “Only the first two sentences.”

  “And how many tries did that take?”

  “Dozens,” he admitted. “This was the smoothest one.”

  She laughed softly, then stepped forward—just enough to close the space between them.

  “Then I guess we’ll see if you’re better at dancing than talking.”