The garden had begun to change.
It was subtle at first—an unnatural stillness in the air during certain hours, as though the world were holding its breath. Flowers that typically drooped at dusk stayed half-open longer, glowing faintly under the moonlight. Even the trees seemed to lean closer to the center where Elowen often stood.
Caelum noticed all of it, but most of all, he noticed her.
She no longer seemed like a character from a book. Not even a "villainess in waiting." No… lately, she felt like a storm trying to forget it was born to rage.
Elowen stood by the reflecting pond now, her arms wrapped loosely around her waist, staring into the water as the twilight melted into moonlight. Her reflection stared back up at her—same snow-pale hair, same haunting amethyst eyes. But tonight, something was off.
The reflection smiled first.
It was a crooked, sharp-edged thing that didn't belong to her.
Elowen took a single step back.
"—Elowen?"
She jumped. Not out of fear. But as if waking from a spell.
Caelum jogged toward her, breathless. "Sorry," he said quickly. "Didn't mean to sneak up on you."
She turned, forcing a soft smile. "You didn't. I just… forgot where I was."
He looked past her to the pond. The reflection was normal again. "Were you… talking to yourself?"
Elowen hesitated. "Maybe."
"Don't worry," Caelum grinned, "I do it all the time. Argued with a tree once because it wouldn't give me shade."
That earned him a real laugh. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously charming, I hope."
She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. "Only sometimes."
They walked side by side down the stone path, not saying much. Silence had become easy between them. Comfortable.
"Do you believe," she said softly, "that reflections can lie?"
Caelum tilted his head. "Not unless the thing being reflected is lying to itself."
Elowen stopped walking.
"…What if I don't know who I am anymore?"
That question didn't come from the Elowen of the book. It came from the Elowen standing beside him now. Flesh and blood. Fragile and brave.
"You're someone who once cried because a squirrel had a limp paw," Caelum said, touching her sleeve gently. "And someone who makes gardens bloom when she sings under her breath. If that's not you… then I hope the world's lying too."
Her throat moved as she swallowed. "You remember that? The squirrel?"
"I remember everything you do. Especially the weird stuff."
She swatted him lightly. "You're horrible."
"You say that," he grinned, "but you're smiling."
They sat beneath the blossoming tree again—the one that bloomed when Caelum first touched it. Tonight, it shimmered faintly with silver dew as if dusted in stars.
"Want to try something?" he asked.
She looked at him curiously.
He lay back on the grass, staring up at the night sky. "Join me."
Elowen hesitated, then slowly lowered herself beside him, head tilted up, silver hair spilling like moonlight across the grass.
They stared in silence. Stars blinked gently above, a soft wind rustling the leaves.
"See that one?" Caelum pointed. "That one's yours."
"Mine?"
"Yep. It flickered when you smiled earlier. So, I claimed it."
Elowen laughed again, quietly. "And yours?"
"Hmm…" He tapped his chin. "Probably that one. The stubborn one that won't stop glowing even though the rest are trying to sleep."
"I like it," she said, softer now. "I like this."
He turned to look at her. She was watching the stars still, but the corners of her eyes shimmered faintly.
"Don't cry," he whispered.
"I'm not."
"You're about to."
"No, I just…" She bit her lip. "No one's ever made me feel normal before."
"You're not normal," he said, reaching for her hand.
"I'm not?"
"You're better."
She looked at him then—really looked—and Caelum felt something shift again. Like a page flipping without being touched. The world wasn't fighting back this time.
A soft glow pulsed in the tree above them.
Then—
Thud.
Caelum's notebook, which he'd left in his satchel nearby, flopped open. A breeze—or something like one—fluttered its pages. He frowned, walking over.
The notebook had turned to a blank page. Then, words began to ink themselves slowly:
If she ever breaks… will you break with her?
Caelum's hand hovered above it, but this time, he didn't write anything.
He already knew the answer.
"Want to try something?" Caelum asked.
She looked at him curiously.
He lay back on the grass, staring up at the night sky. "Join me."
Elowen hesitated, then slowly lowered herself beside him, her head tilted up, silver hair spilling like moonlight across the grass.
They stared in silence. Stars blinked gently above, a soft wind rustling the leaves.
"See that one?" Caelum pointed. "That one's yours."
"Mine?"
"Yep. It flickered when you smiled earlier. So, I claimed it."
Elowen laughed again, quietly. "And yours?"
"Hmm…" He tapped his chin. "Probably that one. The stubborn one that won't stop glowing even though the rest are trying to sleep."
"I like it," she said, softer now. "I like this."
He turned to look at her. She was watching the stars still, but the corners of her eyes shimmered faintly.
"Don't cry," he whispered.
"I'm not."
"You're about to."
"No, I just…" She bit her lip. "No one's ever made me feel normal before."
"You're not normal," he said, reaching for her hand.
"I'm not?"
"You're better."
A long silence followed, but it was gentle—like a hush settling between hearts rather than a lack of words.
Then Elowen said, very softly, "Promise me something."
Caelum sat up slightly, hand still holding hers. "Anything."
"Promise you'll never leave me behind."
The words weren't childish or desperate. They were quiet. Honest. The kind of request someone makes when they're used to being abandoned but are too proud to beg.
Caelum squeezed her fingers. "Even if the world flips upside down, I'll find my way back to you. That's a promise."
She blinked at him, stunned by how easily the words came.
"…Why?"
He smiled. "Because you make the world feel right side up."
Elowen laughed again—short and breathy—and then, without thinking, she reached up and tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear. Her fingers lingered against his temple, barely grazing his skin.
Caelum froze—not because he was flustered, but because in that tiny gesture, the entire air between them shifted.
He gently caught her wrist.
And in that suspended moment—halfway between friendship and something deeper—neither moved.
She lowered her hand slowly, her voice barely a whisper. "You're dangerous, Caelum."
He grinned. "I've been called worse."
Then, just before either of them could speak again, a flicker of light shimmered above them.
The tree—their tree—shed a single glowing petal.
It floated downward and landed between them.
Elowen reached out and caught it before it hit the ground. The glow pulsed softly in her palm, as if alive.
"What does it mean?" she asked.
Caelum looked at the petal. "Maybe it's the garden saying you're not alone anymore."
She turned her palm up, offering the glowing petal to him.
"No," she said. "We're not."
Later that night…
Elowen returned to the garden alone. She stood by the pond again, gazing down.
Her reflection waited.
It didn't smile this time. It watched her.
And then it whispered—
"You'll ruin him… just like they ruined you."
She gasped and stepped back.
But the pond was still.
Her reflection just stared.