The Immortal Bloom – Chapter 1
Mia
Three Months Later
The old Volvo groans as I navigate the narrow, cobblestone streets of St. Helena, each bump a tiny tremor in my exhausted bones. Seven hours. Seven hours I spent crammed in this car, my entire life stuffed into whatever boxes fit in the back. I am so done with driving.
It’s even more charming than the pictures online, all terracotta roofs and overflowing flower boxes, but right now, all I feel is the dull ache of exhaustion. And underneath it, that familiar flicker of fear. Will this place really be the fresh start I need? Or am I just running in circles?
I pull up to a quaint cottage, its pastel-yellow walls almost glowing in the afternoon sun. Wisteria climbs lazily over a rustic wooden door, its sweet scent a welcome change from the musty interior of my car.
This is it, my new home. The place where I disappear.
As I step out of the car, I take a deep breath and stretch my back. The cottage is small but picturesque, with a thatched roof that looks like it belongs in a fairytale. Window boxes overflow with vibrant geraniums, their bright red petals a stark contrast to the weathered stone walls. A cobblestone path, lined with lavender, leads to the front door. It’s almost too perfect, like a movie set.
Is this really where I belong now?
The rental agent, a woman with a kind face and a name I’ve already forgotten, assured me it was the perfect place for someone looking for peace and quiet. “Hardly anyone goes up that way, dearie,” she said, her voice thick with a local accent I couldn’t quite place. “Just you and the birds.”
Birds and my thoughts, I think wryly, hauling a suitcase out of the back. Plenty of those to keep me company. Maybe too many.
The lock sticks a little as I push open the door, the hinges groaning in protest. Inside, the air is stale and heavy with the scent of dust and old wood. I flip the light switch, but nothing happens. Of course.
“Just like starting over in a horror movie,” I mutter to myself, fumbling for my phone and using its flashlight to navigate the unfamiliar space.
The cottage is small but cozy, with exposed beams and a fireplace that looks like it’s seen centuries of use. The living area is open plan, leading into a tiny kitchen with worn but charming cabinets painted a soft sage green. A narrow staircase winds up to what I assume is the bedroom. Despite the dust and darkness, there’s an undeniable charm to the place. I can already picture myself curled up on the window seat, a cup of tea in hand, watching the sun set over the village. It’s an image of serenity I haven’t allowed myself to imagine in a long time.
Could this really be home?
I find the electrical box tucked away in a dark corner, the air thick with the musty scent of damp stone. As I flip the switch, a jolt of energy, unexpected and unwelcome, shoots up my arm. I jerk back, my heart pounding.
“Just static,” I whisper, trying to steady my breathing. “It’s just static.”
But even as I say the words, I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right. It’s as if the cottage itself is… watching me.
Get a grip, Mia. I’m just tired and paranoid.
I spend the rest of the afternoon unpacking and settling in, each box unpacked a tiny victory against the chaos of the past few months. It’s a lot of work, and my body is killing me. Time for a break.
I step outside, needing to get away from the dusty confines of the cottage. If I sneeze one more time, I’m going to lose my mind. The garden is lovely, overgrown but charming, with wildflowers peeking through tangled vines. As I wander through it, an empty patch in the corner catches my eye, partially hidden by an old stone wall.
You know… I should… No. Ah, fuck it. A sudden impulse strikes me. I reach into my pocket, feeling the slight weight of the stolen seeds. Why not plant them here? It’s as good a place as any, and no one would think to look in this forgotten corner. I’d rather be done with them and move on, anyway.
Without overthinking it, I kneel down and start digging with my bare hands. The soil is rich and dark, crumbling between my fingers. I scatter the seeds, covering them lightly with earth. I grab a bucket of rainwater from a corner of the house and dump it on the fresh soil. There. Done.
A part of me feels ridiculous — what am I doing, planting stolen seeds in a rented garden? But another part feels a thrill of defiance, of possibility.
Fuck you, Adrian.
You’ll never find them now.
As I pat down the soil, I whisper, “Grow, little ones. Let’s see what you become.”
Standing up, I brush the dirt from my hands and take a deep breath. The air smells of earth and green things. For a moment, I’m grounded here, connected to this place in a way I haven’t felt in months.
Then reality crashes back. I hurry inside, hoping no one saw me. But a tiny part of me is already looking forward to checking on those seeds tomorrow.
By the time dusk settles, I’m aching, covered in dust, and starving. The rental agent mentioned a bakery nearby, run by a woman named Sophia. Apparently, her pastries are legendary. Right now, legendary sounds pretty good.
I change out of my dirty clothes, wash my face, and head out.
The bakery is easy to find, its cheerful blue awning a beacon on the otherwise quiet street. The scent of warm bread and sugar hits me the moment I step inside, a sensory hug that chases away the last of the day’s anxieties. The air is thick with it, a comforting warmth that seeps into my bones. The gentle hum of conversation. The clinking of spoons against china. The soft, rhythmic thump of dough being kneaded.
Ahhh. Perfection.
Behind the counter, a woman with a cloud of auburn curls and a smile that could melt glaciers is arranging a tray of croissants. She looks up as I approach, her eyes, the color of dark chocolate, sparkling with warmth.
“Welcome, welcome!” she greets me, her voice as sweet as the pastries surrounding her. “How can I help you? I hope you’re hungry.”
I laugh. “Starving, actually. I’ve just spent the whole morning in the car and the rest of the day unpacking.”
She smiles. “You must be the new arrival, then. Sophia, at your service.”
“Mia,” I reply, offering a tentative smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Mia,” she repeats, her smile widening, revealing a dimple in her left cheek. “What a lovely name. It’s like a fresh breeze. Now, what can I tempt you with? Croissant? Pain au chocolat? Or perhaps one of my famous almond tarts? They’re a local favorite, you know. Made with real butter and a touch of magic.” She winks, and I can’t help but smile back.
I glance at the display case, my stomach rumbling at the sight of so many delicious-looking treats. “The almond tart sounds amazing,” I admit. “And maybe a coffee, please. I still have more to do tonight.”
“Excellent choice,” Sophia declares, already pulling a tart from the case. “The coffee here is nothing fancy, mind you, but it’s strong enough to wake the dead. Or at least get you through unpacking.” She winks again, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
I take a seat at one of the small tables by the window, the wood worn smooth with years of use. The warmth of the setting sun heats my skin, and the gentle murmur of conversation from the other patrons calms my frayed nerves.
It’s all so… normal. Is this what peace feels like?
So peaceful.
Sophia sets a steaming cup of coffee and the tart in front of me, the aroma alone almost enough to satisfy my hunger. “So, Mia,” she says, taking the seat across from me, her expression a mix of curiosity and genuine warmth. “Tell me, what brings you to our little corner of the world?”
I hesitate, unsure how much I want to reveal. The past few months have taught me to be cautious, to guard my secrets closely. But there’s something about Sophia’s open, friendly demeanor that makes me want to confide in her.
Can I trust her? Should I?
I’ve been running so long, I’m paranoid to a fault.
“I’m here for a fresh start,” I say finally, taking a sip of the strong coffee. It’s exactly what I needed, the bitterness cutting through the last vestiges of my exhaustion. “I’m a botanist, and I was working on a project that… well, let’s just say it didn’t end well. I decided to take my savings and try something new.”
Sophia’s smile softens with understanding. “Ah, a woman after my own heart,” she says, leaning in. “I’ve always thought there was something magical about plants. The way they grow, the way they heal, the way they just… know things.”
I find myself nodding in agreement, surprised by how easily I’m willing to confide in this woman I just met. Maybe it’s the cozy atmosphere of the bakery, or the way the setting sun casts everything in a warm glow. Or maybe it’s just Sophia herself, with her easy charm. It’s nice to feel understood, even if she doesn’t know the whole story.
“What kind of project were you working on?” she asks, her eyes filled with curiosity.
I take a deep breath, debating how much to reveal. “It’s a long story,” I say finally. “Maybe another time.”
Sophia nods, sensing my hesitation. “Of course. We have plenty of time. Now, eat your tart before it gets cold. And tell me, how do you like St. Helena so far?”
I take a bite of the tart, and it’s even better than I imagined — flaky, buttery, and bursting with flavor. “It’s beautiful,” I say, meaning it. “What I’ve seen of it so far. I think I’m going to like it here.”
“Oh, you will,” Sophia assures me, her smile returning full force. “You’ll see. St. Helena has a way of working its magic on people. Sometimes, it even brings you exactly what you need.”
She leans in, as if sharing a secret. “You know, this café isn’t just famous for my almond tarts. We’re practically the town’s unofficial social hub. If you want to know what’s really happening in St. Helena, this is the place to be.”
“What’s popular around town these days?”
Sophia’s eyes light up. “Oh, where to begin! Well, there’s the weekly farmers’ market in the town square. It’s a riot of colors and flavors. The local honey is to die for — some say it has healing properties. Then there’s old Mr. Kostas’s taverna by the harbor. His moussaka is legendary, though between you and me, I think he’s got a secret ingredient he’s not sharing.”
She pauses, tapping her chin. “Oh, and you must visit the ruins of the old temple on the hill. It’s a bit of a hike, but the view is spectacular. Some of the locals swear they’ve seen strange lights up there at night.” She lowers her voice. “They say it’s the old gods, still keeping an eye on us mere mortals.”
I chuckle at her theatrical delivery. “Sounds like there’s more to this town than meets the eye.”
“You have no idea, dear.” Sophia grins. “St. Helena is full of surprises. Just keep your eyes open, and who knows what you might discover.”
As I finish my tart and chat with Sophia, a glimmer of hope settles into my soul. Maybe this time, things will be different. Maybe this time, I can stop running and find the peace I’ve been searching for.
Please. I’m so very tired.
I step out of the bakery, the night air cool and crisp against my skin. The street is deserted now, the only sound the gentle chirping of crickets.
As I approach my cottage, the soft glow of the porch light illuminates the overgrown garden. In the dim evening light, I can see tangled vines and wild flowers competing for space, their unruly growth spilling onto the cobblestone path. The sight of it stirs something unexpected within me — a desire to nurture, to create order from chaos.
I pause, my hand on the gate, surprised by the sudden urge to plan and cultivate. For so long, my life has been about temporary spaces, quick exits, and leaving no trace. The idea of putting down roots, even metaphorically, feels both thrilling and terrifying.
My mind races with possibilities. I could clear out those invasive weeds, plant some herbs, maybe even start a small vegetable patch. The thought of my hands in the soil, coaxing life from the earth, brings a smile to my face. It’s been so long since I’ve allowed myself to think beyond the next day, the next week.
This realization catches me off guard. Am I really ready to settle down? To create something lasting? The concept feels foreign after months of constant motion, yet strangely comforting.
I shake my head, amused at my own eagerness. One step at a time, Mia. But as I approach the cottage door, a tiny spark of hope kindles in my heart. Maybe, just maybe, this place could become more than just another temporary shelter. It could become a home.
With a deep breath, I step inside and the cozy interior that had seemed so welcoming just hours ago now feels claustrophobic, filled with shadows and unseen threats. I want to love it here, but the events of the last few months have changed me.
Come on, Mia. I can relax.
I can.
Sigh.
I close the door behind me, leaning against it as if I could physically hold back the outside world.
Maybe tomorrow.
You have been reading The Immortal Bloom...
Do not trust the handsome tailor. Do not plant the stolen seeds. And whatever you do, do not fall for the man with secrets as ancient as the gods.
I’m a botanist on the run. My secret isn’t just that I stole world-altering seeds from my dangerous ex—it’s that they’re starting to grow. The charming town of St. Helena was meant to be my sanctuary, a place to hide and study my discovery in peace.
Then I meet Elias. The town’s grumpy tailor is as magnetic as he is mysterious. He watches me with stormy eyes that hold the weight of centuries, and he promises protection. But I soon learn that some secrets are buried for a reason.
When my past finds me, it’s not just an academic rival at my door—it’s a malevolent god who wants what I’ve grown. To protect me, Elias is forced to reveal his own truth: he’s Zeus, the fallen king of Olympus, and my garden is now the battleground for a celestial war.
I was never meant to be a player in a divine game. But what if the power they’re all fighting over isn’t just in the seeds? What if it’s in me?
