Chapter 4: Girls, Ghouls, and Grocery Lists

Lara had survived imperial agents, magical accidents, and that one time a customer tried to pay her with a live chicken.

But festival week?

Festival week was hell.

"No, we do not need glitter for the fruit baskets!" Lara shouted, dodging a floating crate as Elira summoned it with a flourish of her fingers. "It's a harvest festival, not a seductive art installation."

Elira twirled. "Everything is seductive if you commit."

Seph, already covered in flour and judgment, peeked out from the bakery kitchen. "Lara, your apples are trying to eat the lemons again."

Lara groaned. "That's the third time this week. Rime!"

"Already on it," came the muffled reply from under the stall, where Rime was prying apart a very aggressive apple and a confused lemon.

"I thought spirit fruit liked citrus," Elira mused.

"They do, just not romantically," Rime grunted.

Myrr didn't even look up from her scroll. "Has anyone else noticed the sky's been weirdly... twitchy?"

Everyone paused.

Lara frowned. "Twitchy how?"

"Birds flying backward. Clouds spinning. Elira's tea screamed at me."

Elira beamed. "She's feisty. I like her."

"Tea is not supposed to scream," Seph muttered.

Lara sighed and wiped her hands on her apron. "Okay. We've got possessed tea, aggressive apples, ghouls in the graveyard, and the Crown Prince of Horny Trauma sniffing around town. Does anyone want to add to the grocery list before I cry?"

"Garlic," Seph said.

"Holy salt," Myrr added.

"A bottle of wine and an escape plan," Rime offered.

Elira raised her hand. "And glitter. You can't stop destiny."

Lara collapsed dramatically onto a barrel. "Why do I run a fruit shop again?"

"Because royalty was traumatic and farming is therapeutic," said literally everyone at once.

And somehow, she laughed.

Just for a second.

Until the wind shifted.

A low hum rippled across the air—too low for the villagers to notice, but Lara felt it. Deep in her bones. In her mark.

The orchard was waking up again.

And it wasn't alone.

The town square was already being transformed.

Garlands of dried herbs and enchanted lanterns dangled from ropes strung between rooftops. A band of bards had taken over the fountain, tuning their instruments and fighting over key changes. Children were painting pumpkins with magic chalk, one of which had grown legs and was now sprinting toward the apothecary.

"You'd think the apocalypse would at least be subtle," Lara muttered.

She and Elira were hauling baskets of apples toward the festival staging area, which had turned into a chaotic maze of half-built booths, enchanted scarecrows, and at least one suspiciously aggressive bread golem.

Elira walked beside her, balancing a fruit crate on her head like it was a crown. "I love festival season. Everyone's too distracted by fun to realize how cursed the town is."

"Optimistic."

"Delusional," Elira agreed brightly.

They reached the center pavilion, where Myrr and Seph were already arguing over the magical warding setup.

"—I said layer the spirit nets under the stalls, not on top of the weather charms!"

"I did that and the carrots started screaming!"

"Then maybe don't enchant root vegetables!"

Lara dumped her basket with a huff. "Okay, stop. Deep breaths. Smile for the tourists. Pretend we're a functioning town."

Seph gestured wildly. "We aren't a functioning town!"

"That's what the glitter is for," Elira added.

But Lara's laugh didn't quite land.

Because her mark was tingling again. And not the fun kind.

The kind that meant something ancient and annoyed was getting closer.

And then came the gossip.

"Did you hear?" whispered a passing vendor.

"He's still in town," said another.

"They say he's a prince in disguise. Looking for a cursed girl who grows divine fruit."

Lara froze, holding a pear like it might explode.

The whispers continued, too low for anyone but her to catch—but every one of them sent her pulse higher.

She looked at her friends—still bickering, still glittering, still pretending this week was normal.

And she realized, with perfect clarity, that her time was running out.

The festival lights were being strung. The music was beginning. The town was alive.

But the orchard?

The orchard was watching.

Lara slipped away as the sun dipped behind the trees.

Not far—just past the edge of the square, down the path that led toward the orchard. Her feet found the way like they always did, even when her thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

The noise of the festival faded behind her. Laughter, flutes, shouting about turnip soup—it all dissolved into a kind of golden hush. Crickets began to chirp. Magic hummed beneath her soles.

And waiting on the fence post just before the orchard gates… was Rime.

He didn't speak. Just flicked his tail, ears twitching as she approached.

"You're brooding," she said.

"You're running."

"Not running. Just... checking the perimeter."

He hopped down, soft as moonlight. "The orchard's fine."

"I'm not worried about the orchard."

"No," he agreed. "You're worried about you."

She sighed and leaned against the fence. The orchard glowed faintly—its trees pulsing with soft spirit light, like they were breathing. Like they were listening.

"I keep thinking about that night," she said quietly.

Rime tilted his head. "Which one? The one where you died, the one where you kissed the prince, or the one where you accidentally invented a fruit with divine healing properties?"

Lara snorted. "All of them. In that order."

She glanced at her hand—at the mark glowing faintly beneath her glove.

"I don't remember all of it," she said. "I remember the wine. The way he touched me. The way I felt safe for the first time in… gods, forever."

"But not his face?"

"Not clearly. Just impressions. Heat. Eyes like... night. And the way he said goodbye without saying a word."

Rime jumped up beside her. "He remembers."

"I know."

"You're scared he'll remind you."

Lara was quiet for a long time.

Then, finally, she whispered, "No."

"I'm scared I won't want to forget again."

[End of Chapter 4]