The Immortal Bloom – Chapter 3
Mia
Sunlight, warm and insistent, streams through the gaps in the cardboard I’ve plastered over the windows, rousing me from a restless sleep. Those curtains from the handsome tailor cannot come soon enough. Ugh.
The chirping of birds outside is a cheerful counterpoint to the lingering unease that clings to me like morning mist. For a moment, I let myself drift, pretending that the past few months have been nothing more than a bad dream. But the weight of what I’ve done is too much. I ran. I took seeds that didn’t really belong to me.
I am barely myself anymore.
And the past has a way of finding you, no matter how far you run.
A wave of exhaustion, heavier than the night’s sleep should allow, washes over me. I could stay here, curled up in this stranger’s bed, and let the fear paralyze me. Or…
Or I could do what I came here to do. Start over. Create something beautiful out of the wreckage of my life.
I throw back the quilt, a sudden surge of determination chasing away the shadows of doubt. I won’t let fear rule my life. Not here. Not in this place that already feels more like home than it has any right to.
Besides, I have a garden to plant.
The air is crisp and cool as I step outside, the scent of dew-kissed grass and damp earth filling my lungs. It’s a sensory baptism, washing away the last vestiges of my anxiety. Here, surrounded by the quiet symphony of nature, I can almost believe that I’m safe.
The garden, neglected for who knows how long, is a tangle of weeds and overgrown vines. A perfect metaphor for my life. But even beneath the chaos, I can sense the fertile potential, the sleeping beauty waiting to be awakened.
I smile, an actual, genuine, fucking smile that reaches my eyes for the first time in months.
This, I can do.
With coffee at my side, I spend the morning lost in the rhythm of the earth: clearing weeds, tilling the soil, planting seeds with a care that borders on reverence. My hands, calloused from years of working with plants, move with a practiced ease, the aches and pains of the past few days fading into the background. As I work, I let my mind wander, losing myself in the simple satisfaction of nurturing life.
It’s almost meditative, this connection to the earth, a grounding force that pulls me back from the edge of the abyss. For the first time since… since a while, a sense of peace settles over me, a fragile truce with the demons that have haunted me for so long.
By midday, I’ve worked up a sweat and a healthy appetite. I’m just washing up at the outdoor pump, the cool water a welcome relief against my skin, when I hear Sophia’s cheerful voice calling my name.
“Mia, darling! Don’t tell me you’re out here slaving away on an empty stomach!”
I turn to see her walking towards me, a wicker basket balanced on one hip, her smile as bright as the wildflowers she’s tucked behind her ear. She’s like a ray of sunshine, chasing away the remaining shadows of my anxiety.
“Sophia, what a welcome surprise. I was just about to take a break. Would you care for some iced tea? It’s nothing fancy, but…”
“Darling, you had me at ‘iced tea’,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “But only if I can offer you one of my blueberry scones in return. They’re fresh out of the oven, and I may have added a touch of extra love… and sugar.”
We settle down at a small wrought iron table tucked away in a shady corner of the garden, the air filled with the scent of freshly turned earth and the sweet aroma of baking. Sophia chatters away, filling the silence with news of the village and anecdotes about its inhabitants. I listen, mesmerized by her easy charm and the way her words paint a picture of a community as warm and inviting as the scones she’s placed before me.
“So,” she says, taking a delicate bite. “Tell me, how are you settling in? Found everything you need?”
“It’s… peaceful.” I inhale and let my gaze sweep over the newly planted garden. “It’s amazing how quickly you can feel grounded when you’re surrounded by nature.”
“Nature has a way of doing that,” Sophia agrees, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s a powerful healer, our Mother Earth. She’s seen it all, you know, heard it all. She understands our secrets, our fears, our hopes.”
Her words ring true, even beyond her cheerful front. I want to confide in her, to tell her about the strange energy here, about the seeds I stole. About my past, and the way it haunts my every waking thought.
But something holds me back. Months of guarding my secrets, perhaps. Or maybe it’s the fear that if I give voice to my demons, they’ll take root in this newfound peace, choking out the fragile hope that’s taken root in my heart.
Instead, I change the subject. “You mentioned recently that St. Helena has a way of working its magic on people. Anything I should be aware of?”
Sophia smiles, a knowing look in her eyes. “Oh, St. Helena is full of surprises, darling,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Legends say that this land, these very woods surrounding us, were once considered sacred. A place where…” She hesitates, her gaze drifting towards the distant tree line, as if she’s remembering a half-forgotten dream. “Let’s just say that some stories, even the ones whispered through generations, hold a grain of truth.”
Hmmm, interesting. Sophia’s words, spoken with such conviction, stir something deep within me, a primal fear mixed with an undeniable sense of wonder.
“Is that… is that why you’ve chosen to live here? Start your business here?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Sophia’s smile softens, her gaze distant, as if she’s seeing something beyond the realm of my understanding. “Yeah,” she says, her voice barely audible. “This place has a way of holding onto you, of weaving its magic around your heart until you can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
She turns back to me then, her eyes filled with a warmth that chases away the lingering shadows of her words. “But enough about ancient legends and my ramblings,” she says, her voice regaining its usual cheerfulness. “Tell me, what are you planning to plant in your little corner of paradise?”
I show her the seeds I’ve chosen: lavender, rosemary, chamomile. Herbs known for their calming properties, their ability to soothe the soul and quiet the mind. My strange seeds live in my pocket until I’m ready to plant them.
“Those are lovely choices, darling. But you know… this land, it has a way of surprising you. Sometimes, the most extraordinary things take root when you least expect it.”
Her words seem almost prescient, and a mix of excitement and trepidation stir in my stomach. “What do you mean?” I lean in closer.
Sophia’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Oh, you’ll see. St. Helena has its secrets, and it reveals them to those who are ready.” She stands up, brushing crumbs from her apron. “Now, I should get back to the bakery. Those loaves won’t knead themselves, you know.”
I stand and walk her to the garden door, waving as she walks down the street.
I like her, even if she’s a little nosey.
I turn back to my garden, determined to lose myself in the familiar rhythm of planting and tending. But as I work, Sophia’s words echo in my mind, mingling with the rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds.
I wonder what secrets lurk in the shadows here.
Later that afternoon, as I’m clearing a patch of overgrown ivy near the back of the cottage, my trowel strikes something hard. I kneel down and brush away the dirt.
Come on. I’m getting too tired to deal with something stubborn.
It’s a root, thicker than any I’ve ever seen, its surface a mosaic of intricate patterns that seem to writhe and shift before my eyes. It’s as if the root itself is… magic? No, that can’t be.
Wait.
Curiosity outweighs caution, like usual. I dig deeper, my fingers tracing the root’s path until I’m led back to the spot I scattered my stolen seeds. And then I see it: a tiny shoot, barely visible to the naked eye, emerging from a spot near the fence.
How? I spent months in the lab trying to grow anything, and this? This shoots up after only a week?
It’s exactly the same plant I came across in rural England. Its leaves are a deep, almost iridescent green, their edges tinged with a faint, golden glow. They’re soft to the touch, like velvet, but beneath the softness, a faint, pulsing energy vibrates against my skin, seeming to echo the rhythm of my own heartbeat.
Now that I can see it growing again, my botanist’s mind races, trying to categorize it, to find a familiar reference point in the vast library of knowledge I’ve accumulated over the years. But, again, there’s nothing, no known species that even remotely resembles this… this anomaly.
I inhale and my body relaxes. It’s scent truly captivates me, a heady mix of jasmine and honeysuckle, with an underlying note of something wild, untamed. Something that speaks to a part of me I thought I’d buried long ago. It’s intoxicating, this scent, pulling me in, urging me closer.
I’m so engrossed in studying the plant that I don’t notice the thorn, sharp as a needle, hidden beneath one of its leaves.
The sharp prick of pain, the sting of blood welling up on my fingertip.
I pull back my hand, a startled cry escaping my lips. But it’s not the pain that alarms me. It’s the plant’s reaction.
The moment my blood touches its leaves, the plant changes. The golden glow intensifies, spreading like wildfire through its veins. The scent, already intoxicating, becomes almost overwhelming, filling the air with a strong mix of pleasure and danger. It pulls me towards it, a magnetic force drawing me closer, urging me to touch it, to taste it, to lose myself in its embrace.
And then, as quickly as it began, it’s over.
The glow fades, the scent recedes, leaving behind a silence that feels different somehow.
Charged.
I stare at the plant, my heart pounding in my chest.
What the hell was that?
A wave of dizziness washes over me, the garden around me blurring at the edges. I reach out a hand to steady myself, my fingers brushing against the rough bark of the old oak tree at the edge of the garden.
A jolt of energy, a surge of… something… passes between us.
The oak tree shivers, its leaves rustling in a sudden, inexplicable breeze. And then, just as quickly, it’s gone.
I’m left standing there, my hand still outstretched, my breath caught in my throat.
I’m imagining things, I tell myself. It’s the exhaustion, the stress, the sheer impossibility of it all.
I back away from the garden, shake my head, and head inside, putting some distance between me and plant. But even from the kitchen, the pull beckons me back.
Return to the garden. Come back.
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?
