The Bloom Beneath the Thorns

The morning light bathed the garden in a golden hue, softening the lines of the world around them. Seraphine knelt in the earth, her pale fingers stained green as she trimmed back a climbing vine, her long hair braided over one shoulder. Lucien watched her for a moment before kneeling beside her, offering a small crown of flowers he'd made while she wasn't looking.

She blinked at it, surprised.

"For me?" she asked.

"I figured the queen of this place should have something fitting," he said with a grin.

She giggled and wore it proudly. "You're sweet when you try."

They worked quietly side by side, and for the first time in a while, there was peace. A delicate, temporary peace. The silence wasn't heavy. It felt safe.

Later, as they sat on the edge of the fountain, Seraphine's eyes turned far away.

"There was a man," she whispered, tracing the stone with her fingertip. "His name was Elric."

Lucien looked at her, alert. She hadn't spoken of her past before.

"He was… charming. Mysterious. I met him at a bar in town, years ago—so many years I've stopped counting. He talked about magic, about beauty hidden in the world. He asked if I wanted to see something rare."

She smiled softly, sadly.

"We rode out to the fields. Flowers taller than me. They were blue, endless. I should've known something was wrong. But I was young. Curious."

She turned her gaze to the house behind them.

"He brought me here. The Glass House. I'd never seen anything like it. And then... he left. I called for him. He didn't answer. The doors vanished. The world outside disappeared. The house chose me, or maybe he gave me to it."

Lucien's fingers curled into his palm.

"He traded you?" he asked quietly.

She nodded. "For gold, I think. Or power. I never saw him again."

Her voice cracked then, but she didn't cry. "The house said I had to stay. That I had to protect its secrets. I screamed. Fought. But the doors… they never opened again. So I stayed. And people came. Some tried to steal. Some tried to leave. None of them loved me, not really."

She looked at him then. "You're different. Aren't you?"

Lucien's heart twisted in his chest. He didn't answer—not yet. He reached for her hand instead.

Lucien's thumb brushed lightly over the back of her hand. The silence stretched between them again, heavier now, thick with old pain and something unspoken.

He finally asked, voice low, careful, "If you could leave… would you?"

Seraphine stilled.

Her fingers tightened around a stem she'd been gently trimming, thorns biting into her skin. She didn't seem to feel it. She didn't even blink.

"I don't know," she whispered.

Lucien frowned. "You don't know?"

She turned her head, looked at the garden—not at him. Her voice was steady, but it wavered at the edges.

"I've been here so long, Lucien. This house is my blood now. My breath. My prison. My skin."

She let go of the flower. Petals fluttered to the soil.

"If I leave… what would I even be?"

Lucien leaned closer, searching her face. "You'd be you. Not this—curse. Not this house's shadow."

She smiled then, but it was fragile. Faint. Not madness this time—just weariness.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asked quietly.

"No," he said before he could stop himself.

She finally looked at him.

"I don't want you trapped here," he added, softer now. "But I… don't want to lose you either."

There was a moment—just one—where something changed in her eyes. Not obsession, not possession.

Just warmth.

She reached up and touched his cheek, her thumb tracing a small circle.

"You're the first person I've cared about since I became this," she said. "Even if you're lying. Even if you're planning something. I still want you near me."

Lucien didn't deny it. Not this time. He just brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles again.

And in the silence of that garden, full of ghosts and blooming things, neither of them said the word love—but it echoed anyway.