Page 25 of May: Bloom & Bane

I find the kitchen next. It’s wide and open with a massive stone island that appears to have grown directly out of the ground. There are copper kettles that hum faintly when I touch them and a pantry filled with things I don’t remember the taste of.

On the counter sits a plate of brightly colored fruits and a small pot of honey. I grab a piece of apricot and dip it into the honey. A sweet and tangy flavor bursts across my tongue. I quickly grab another.

Why can I name every fruit on this counter, but not recall a single time I’ve ever had one before now?

When I’m finished, my gaze catches on a set of massive French doors on the far side of the kitchen. I push them open and step into some type of workshop. The temperature drops just enough to feel like a crisp spring morning.

Hundreds of shelves are lined with jars of seeds that glow like captured fireflies, and there’s a heavy wooden workbench with a white bow wrapped around it.

What is all of this? A greenhouse, the word comes to me.

I lift one of the jars labeled with a word I don’t know, and hold it to the light. The glow shifts between lavender and blue. I set it back down and move to the long wooden table scattered with notes. There are sketches of roots and vines, diagrams of wings and veins, and a map of the meadow and the territories around it. One territory sits right beside ours, labeled the Rhavari forest. My heart twinges when I look at it. A smaller territory catches my eye, Wakewood, but it doesn’t feel familiar like the other. I wonder if I came from the forest?

I explore the greenhouse for a few more minutes, then head upstairs. I find myself drawn to two tall wooden doors carved with wildflowers. They creak softly as I push them open.

The room inside is like something from a dream.

The bed is enormous, carved from a deep, smoky-gray wood. Sheer fabric hangs from the canopy. Pale light pours in from a skylight directly above the bed. I want to jump into all of the different layers of soft-looking blankets.

I walk toward the double doors near the bed and gasp when I pull them open. Inside is a closet lined with dozens of dresses. All of them look as if they were made by the meadow—sparkling greens, petal pinks, bright yellows.

And above them, carved into the wood, is my name: Eden.

“All of this… for me?” I press a hand to my chest. “I don’t understand.”

There are drawers full of soaps, brushes, and balms that remind me of Sage’s scent.

I find a second bathroom tucked behind a curved doorway. There’s a vanity full of different jars of pigments for my face, and an enormous tub carved from pale stone. It’s already full of warm, steaming water, rose petals floating along the surface. There’s even a robe folded over the edge, like someone knew I’d come.

Should I?

The room gives a cheerful groan.

I glance around. There’s no one to be found.

I lock the door and remove my silk gown. I take one last look at the stranger in the mirror before lowering myself into the water. I wince as the heat sinks into my stiff muscles.

“Oh, this feels so good,” I groan.

The room gives another groan.

“A-are you trying to talk to me?” I murmur. The light in the room pulses four times. “A talking house,” I giggle. It should be baffling—it would have been had I not woken up in a glass tomb, perfectly well after not eating or drinking for God knows how long. Guarded by a giant green male with wings larger than me.

“Nice to meet you, house,” I whisper as I scrub the dirt from my skin. “Do you have a name?”

The room groans.

“Hm.” I tap my finger against my chin. “A house that is full of everything I need. What shall I call you?”

The floorboards rattle excitedly.

“… Home?”

The house stays silent.

“You’re right. Too on the nose.”

The house smells warm… like syrup on cedar.