Lucy stepped down, barefoot, glowing. The moment her feet touched the moss, small blossoms opened in her wake - pale white with golden centers, like stardust on petals.
Stella gasped. "She's marking the ground."
"It's blessing her," Zoey corrected, her voice hushed with awe. "Or maybe the other way around."
Susan stepped forward, reaching for Lucy's hand. "You shouldn't walk alone."
Lucy gave her a smile. "I'm not."
The women moved in, surrounding her without hesitation, forming a protective arc as they turned back toward the trail. Jude followed behind them, his gaze torn between the soft trail of blooming flowers behind Lucy and the golden shimmer still clinging to her skin like a second aura.
As they walked, the garden began to shift again. The vines rose along the walls, creating twisting patterns, etchings of their own faces, their joined bodies, their kisses, their union. It was like memory had embedded itself into the very architecture of the island.
