Chapter Eleven: Sad Truths

CARTER WESTFORD STRAPS his cotton-cloth sack over his shoulders and walks out of his room. He studies the ground floor; busy with life as the Flower Festival approaches.

There is joy in the air; it is obvious that everyone is eagerly awaiting this event. It is, after all, such a well known event that even Phillimont and Lystotia have their fill of it –though, it could never be as grand or beautiful as the ones held in Vynier.

Reaching the entrance doors, Carter spots Avie in the distance. She’s picking a rose from the garden to take to Ericia. Carter smiles; observing her. He walks over.

“I didn’t know you had such free time,” he says.

She stands and turns to him. “It’s not time spent being free,” she replies, picking another rose, “I’m collecting these for the Queen.”

“Ah,” Carter notes, “I’ve seen you picking flowers many times over in the past weeks,” he says, “are they somewhat ceremonial?”