༓☾༓
The gate of the Garden sighed shut behind her, and Liora found herself alone beneath the velvet night.
The wind ruffled her cloak as she slipped through the sleepy streets,
Evanor.
The name echoed in her mind like a pebble dropped into a deep, dark well.
She had seen him. Spoken with him.
And now, with every step, a knot twisted tighter and tighter inside her.
What if he's the reason? she thought, her hands curling into the folds of her cloak. What if Evanor is the reason my parents disappeared?
The thought struck harder than she expected, like a sudden gust of cold air. She stumbled a little on the cobblestones, catching herself against a wall. The scent of rain-damp stone filled her lungs.
He had spoken so gently, so sorrowfully.
But sometimes sorrow was a mask, wasn't it? Even the mirror could hide things.
And hadn't Granny always said: "Not all who seem lost are innocent, child."
She shook her head fiercely, her curls bouncing. "No. I can't just... trust a boy trapped inside a mirror because he has sad eyes and a voice like a lost song," she muttered aloud, earning a sleepy hoot from an owl perched nearby.
The town was silent, tucked into slumber. Lanterns flickered in windows. Dreamsmoke curled from chimneys.
And here she was—tiptoeing like a burglar through her own village.
Suddenly, the soft scrape of footsteps pricked her ears.
Someone's coming!
Without thinking, Liora yelped under her breath and dove for cover—hiding beneath a wooden cart stacked with empty lemon crates.
The cart creaked alarmingly under her weight, one wobbly wheel shrieking as it shifted. A loose lemon thunked down beside her head.
Elegant, she thought miserably, tucking her knees up to her chest and trying to blend into the shadows. Truly, the dignity of a Guardian of Moonhollow.
She peered out from under the cart like a guilty squirrel. The footsteps passed—a pair of sleepy bakers hauling sacks of flour to Marnie's kitchens.
See? Perfectly normal people doing perfectly normal things. And I'm here playing hide-and-seek with lemons.
A ridiculous giggle bubbled in her throat, but she smothered it with her hand.
Wait. Why am I even hiding? she thought suddenly, cheeks burning. I was literally just declared the Guardian. In front of the whole town. With bells and speeches and floating candles! I should be striding proudly through the square, not cowering under fruit.
Emboldened, she scooted out from under the cart and dusted herself off.
She took one step into the street—
—and froze again.
But... what if someone sees me? It's the middle of the night. They'll think I'm lurking around like some suspicious night goblin, thinking I own the town!
Panic fluttered again. She dove backward so quickly she bonked her elbow on the cart. A lemon rolled traitorously into the open street.
Liora grimaced, clutching her throbbing elbow. "No. Absolutely not. I am not skulking around like a burglar with identity issues."
She peeked around the corner. The street was still empty, except for the lazy flicker of the lanterns.
They're just people, she told herself firmly. And if they're allowed to be out at night delivering flour, I am certainly allowed to exist in my own village.
Setting her shoulders straight, Liora stepped out fully into the street, head high, trying to summon whatever "Guardianly Dignity" she possessed.
She passed the sleepy apothecary, the soft glow of Thimble & Thistle still faint in the distance.
She walked tall, cloak fluttering behind her, pretending she hadn't just spent five minutes hiding under a crate from two bakers.
And this time, when a breeze stirred the stars above her, she lifted her chin to meet it.
After all, she was Liora.
Guardian of the Butterfly Glass.
Daughter of dreamers.
Seeker of truths.
Even if sometimes, she was also a little bit ridiculous.
༓☾༓
When Liora finally made her way back home—her real home, the little stone cottage by the willow trees—she was already half-dreaming of crawling into bed and wrapping herself in a cocoon of sleep.
But the moment she pushed the door open, she froze.
Her jaw dropped.
It looked like a paper hurricane had torn through the place.
Bits of wrapping paper floated through the air like rebellious butterflies.
Empty boxes were scattered everywhere—some crushed, some chewed.
Ribbon dangled from the rafters like strange jungle vines.
One of the chairs was knocked over, and in the corner, a guilty-looking creature was sitting atop a pile of crumpled gift bags:
Finn.
The fox-like creature—technically a "felmira," according to Lady Seraphine, though Liora just called him Finn—had frosting smeared across his nose and a half-eaten candle in his paw.
He looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes.
Liora just stared at him.
"You little menace," she said, too tired even to sound angry.
Finn gave a small, pitiful whimper and tried to hide the candle behind his back.
"Oh, don't 'I'm a poor little baby' me," Liora said, stepping carefully around a puddle of spilled jam. "What in Moonhollow happened here?"
Finn's ears drooped.
She glanced at the chaos again and sighed so deeply it rattled the windowpanes.
"I cannot. I cannot sleep here," she declared, throwing her hands up. "This room is an abomination.
I'm tired. I'm sore. I might be mentally unstable at this point.
And you," she pointed at Finn, "are lucky you're cute."
Finn wagged his tail hopefully.
"Nope," she said firmly. "You're not wiggling your way out of this."
Muttering under her breath, Liora stomped over to the shelf by the fireplace and grabbed the two things that mattered most:
her own diary—a battered little journal covered in pressed flowers—
and her father's poetry book, the one she had found in the enchanted garden.
She clutched them to her chest like precious treasures.
"I'm going," she said dramatically to no one in particular. "I'm exiling myself to somewhere peaceful. Somewhere sane."
Finn tilted his head, confused.
"You stay here and think about your life choices," she said, stepping carefully over a torn-up basket.
Without another word, she slipped back outside into the cool, sweet-smelling night.
༓☾༓
Moonhollow was almost painfully quiet now, like a music box winding down.
Liora walked through the sleepy streets until she found her favorite secret spot:
the old weaver's loft above Marnie Thistlewick's shop.
It was empty now, tucked behind a creaky door and a rickety ladder, filled with forgotten looms and draped fabrics.
Best of all, it was quiet.
No mess. No frosting disasters. No candle-eating felmiras.
She dusted off a soft old blanket, curled up with her knees tucked under her chin, and finally—finally—let her tired body relax.
The poetry book lay heavy in her lap.
She traced her fingers over her father's name, written in faded ink on the inside cover.
Then she opened it.
The pages were filled with poems—some she remembered him reading when she was small, and others she had never seen before.
Some were whimsical:
"The moth who wore a crown of stars,
Danced with the owl by moonbeam bars..."
Some were sad:
"The river took the song away,
But left the silence behind..."
And tucked between the pages, she found something else.
A folded note.
Her heart thudded as she carefully unfolded it.
It wasn't a poem. It was instructions.
Almost like a letter written for her.
"When the Guardian is chosen, they are gifted a charm:
A necklace spun from the first butterfly of spring.
It will find you when the time is right.
When your heart is ready to hold it."
Liora blinked at the paper, rereading it.
The butterfly necklace.
She hadn't gotten it. Not during the announcement. Not after. Not even mentioned.
She pressed a hand to her collarbone instinctively, feeling the bare skin there.
"I'll ask Granny Elowyth tomorrow," she whispered to herself. "Or Lady Seraphine.
Maybe... maybe something went wrong."
She stared out at the moon through the dusty window, the poetry book resting against her knees.
Finn would probably be sleeping upside down on a pile of wreckage by now.
The mirror would be humming gently in the tavern.
Uncle Thayer would be snoring loud enough to wake the crows.
And here she was, perched in a forgotten loft, clutching old words and new mysteries.
She smiled sleepily to herself.
Maybe being the Guardian wouldn't be so different from being Liora after all—
just a little more confusing, a little more magical, and a whole lot more covered in frosting accidents.
Yawning, she wrapped herself tighter in the blanket, the poetry book still cradled in her arms.
Outside, the world breathed in its dreams.
And somewhere—
somewhere unseen—a butterfly made of pure light unfurled its wings for the first time.
༓☾༓