Gray Hearts Episode Four: Bloom

Gray Hearts by Raspberry | Content Warnings

The first thing I notice before I even open my eyes is brightness. The sun is glowing warmly overhead, without a cloud in the blue sky to stop it from shining down on me. I can see streams of sunlight falling in gentle beams, warming my cheeks as a breeze brushes strands of dark hair around my face.

The second thing I notice is the flowers. The smell hits me first, like I’ve just spritzed myself with a perfume, one that tickles my nose but (surprisingly) doesn’t make me feel like I’m about to sneeze my lungs out. I’m surrounded by pink, yellow, red, orange, and purple wildflowers so large they come up to my knees and fill the space from my toes to the horizon. I think it’s the first time I’ve been in nature without taking a box-worth of Claritin first. 

A memory hits me like a cool mist, washing over me and transporting me to the San Antonio Botanical Gardens.

“I don’t see why I can’t just wait on the bus,” a thirteen-year old me whines as I trudge after Quinn. 

Her ginger hair looks even more vibrant against the bright yellow t-shirt we all had to wear, and I’m jealous that it looks good on her (even though she insists yellow is the second-worst color on her). I take a big, snot-filled sniffle and try to cover my nose. 

“Because we have to leave the bus to see the plants,” she says with a sympathetic smile. “And we have to see the plants to write our reports, so we can get good grades, so we can graduate and leave.”

I frown at the end of her sentence, but my grumpiness is cut off by a round of violent sneezes. I feel a tissue brush against my face. 

“I brought a whole box,” Quinn jokes, showing the contents of her backpack. “And extra allergy medicine, in case your mom forgot to pick some up for you last night.”

“Well, I only gave her a week’s notice, and she thinks my allergies are an ‘overreaction,’” I retort, wiping my nose. “So, yeah, she forgot to give me meds.”

“It’s a good thing you have me then,” Quinn retorts brightly, flashing me a pink braces-filled smile. 

That was where my memory ended. I probably had about a half hour or so of sneezing in the garden, but it was a blur for me. Quinn had to remind me that I took too many pills when she wasn’t paying attention and ended up sleeping on her shoulder (and drooling lots, according to her) for the rest of the trip. 

The thought of Quinn sends a pang in my heart, and I look around wildly. I came here for her, I remember. I was in a shop before. A woman took her. She was short and cold and—

I see movement in the corner of my eye and spin around. 

“Sorry to sneak up on you.” 

The voice comes from a woman who looks very different from the woman in the mirror. She’s taller, and her hair is a curly, long, chestnut-brown hue that seems to dance in the wind around her. She’s wearing a floral dress that comes down to her ankles, which is almost like camouflage in this field, and her brown eyes gaze at me softly but not at all confused. Like she expected me. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she continues, her voice soothing. “I’m Printemps, but you can call me Prin.”

“I’m… Iris,” I reply slowly. 

“Iris,” she repeats, her smile growing. “Like the flower?”

“Yeah,” I say with a nod. “I’m… uh… I’m looking for my friend. Maybe you’ve seen her? She’s a bit taller than me and has, like, reddish orange hair and a lot of freckles—”

“You’re the only traveler I’ve seen here in a long time,” she cuts in with a shake of her head. 

“Oh,” I say, looking around. “Well, then… can you tell me where to find Winter? I think she has my friend.”

“Winter is a long way away from here,” Prin replies, bending down. “It will take a long time to get there.”

She stands up, and I realize she’s carrying a basket filled with flowers. She smiles at me and then looks up at the sky. 

“Since you’re here, perhaps you could help me gather more,” she suggests, nodding to the field around us. 

Her tone feels so compelling, I realize I’m picking at stems before I fully register what she’s saying. 

She hums a soft tune. It feels familiar, like an old song on the radio, but I can’t quite place it. I feel my mind drifting off, methodically pulling flowers and placing them in the growing pile in her basket. I try to stay focused. 

“Is there a path I could follow?” I try at one point. “To get to Winter?”

The voice in the back of my head is telling me that finding a path is urgent, even as I fiddle with the stems in my hand and sway to the music and soft breeze reminding me that there’s no reason to rush.

“Of course there is,” she replies, breaking off her song for a moment. “There’s always a way there.”

She continues humming, and I bend down to drop the flowers in the basket. I wonder what she’s planning on doing with them. Maybe there’s a room filled with colorful bouquets somewhere—

I shake my head and try to refocus. 

“Where’s the path?” I don’t like how uncertain my voice comes out, like it’s also doubting that I really want to leave right now. 

Especially if that means leaving the beautiful field and the warm sun and the soft breeze.

“I don’t have a map,” she says, glancing at her basket. “And it’s getting too dark to set out now.”

I look at the sky as she says this. I could have sworn the sun was still high in the sky when I picked the last flower, but now it’s very obviously sinking in the horizon, casting an orange light across the field. 

Prin picks up her basket, resting it in the crook of her elbow. She seems to be glowing with warmth under the setting sun. 

“My home isn’t far from here,” she says. “I don’t have much, but I can offer you warm food and a soft bed.” She looks me over. “And a change of clothes.”

I glance down. My jeans and blouse are covered in dirt, and I brush at them awkwardly.

Well, I shouldn’t travel after dark, I reason. I could get lost, and I don’t know about the dangers of this place yet.

“Maybe just one night,” I relent. “But tomorrow I should really leave to find my friend.”

Prin just smiles softly in reply. The arm that isn’t holding her basket loops around my arm, and she leads me across the meadow. I can see a small dirt path form at the edge of the meadow, and a cottage appears almost by magic in front of me. It didn’t feel like a long walk, but my legs suddenly feel heavy and my eyelids are fluttering. I numbly follow Prin through the oak door.

The inside of the home looks like the poster-child for cottage-core. There’s a large wooden table in the center of the room, surrounded by mismatched carved chairs. A fire is crackling in the stone fireplace against the far wall. I see a sink with an old-fashioned pump faucet and a wooden counter with countless jars stacked on top. The walls are white-washed, and it feels dark and cozy in here, like a warm hug. 

Prin sets the flowers on the table and hands me a pitcher half-filled with water. 

“Why don’t you arrange these while I get supper started?” she suggests. 

Once more, I find myself moving in response before I’ve fully registered what she’s saying. I feel like I should tell her I don’t really have the eye for decorating, but she’s already at the counter, chopping some carrots and potatoes methodically. I don’t know how much time has passed, but I’ve managed to fill three pitchers (that she seemed to hand to me as soon as the one I was using began to overfill). There’s an appetizing smell coming from the large cast-iron pot that’s hanging over the fire, and Prin has disappeared behind one of the doors of the cottage. 

I wonder what’s in the other rooms, but I resist the urge to poke around. I know there’s something I’m supposed to be looking for… but the thought escapes me as I pluck the last flower from the basket and place it into the cracked white pitcher. 

“That looks lovely, Iris,” Prin says from behind me. 

She’s holding something in her hands, and she gently passes it over to me with a warm smile. 

“Your clothes need a good wash,” she says. “But you can wear this for now. I made it myself.”

I find myself hesitant to put on the dress, and I remember thinking that yellow (even this soft, floral, cotton yellow sundress) isn’t for me. Which is a ridiculous thought, because it clearly is for me. I force a smile on my face.

“Thank you, but… I prefer my clothes.”

Prin’s smile falters for only a moment. “You can have them back later, my dear. After they’ve been cleaned. Your bedroom is on the left, remember? Why don’t you get changed and come out for some dinner?”

My feet shuffle the familiar path to my room, and the door swings open. There’s my twin poster bed, white sheets with red roses embroidered into the border and a white gauze to protect me from mosquitoes at night. I see my large wardrobe in the corner with its frosted glass mirror on the door. I pull the dress on gingerly and check my reflection. 

Yellow always looked better on Quinn, I think ruefully. 

I feel like I’ve slapped myself across the face. 

Quinn. 

I look around the room again. This isn’t my room. This isn’t where I belong. What was I thinking?

I grip my hair in my hands and squeeze, wincing when I painfully realize this isn’t a dream. I’m really here, and I must have really lost my mind earlier. 

I remember the old lady said something about being careful with the Seasons. This must be what she meant. Prin must have used some enchantment on me. 

Darkness or not, I have a feeling I might be safer outside of the cabin. There’s no window in this room. I can only hope I’ll be able to slip out without Prin seeing me. 

“Iris!” her voice trills through the door. “Supper is ready!”

I crack the door open, and my stomach grumbles traitorously, begging me to wait a little longer. Maybe it’ll be fine, now that I know to be guarded against Prin. 

I don’t even realize I’ve made up my mind until I see that I’m sitting at the table across from Prin. There’s a hunk of bread (soft inside, crunchy outside—my favorite) and a bowl of steaming stew in front of me. 

“I’m so happy to have you here,” Prin says, dipping her spoon delicately into the stew. 

“I’m… happy to be here,” I say politely. “But I can’t stay long.”

Her spoon pauses its ascent towards her lips, but she just smiles in response. I try to press on. 

“I think I’ll leave in the morning. When it’s first light.”

“It’s nice visiting, hmm?” Prin asks with a soft smile. “Sometimes changing your surroundings can have a healing effect. It’s like a fresh start.”

“I suppose,” I say slowly. “But change isn’t always for the better.”

I don’t know why, but my mouth turns bitter and I start to think about Quinn. 

She’s wandering around the sporting goods store she’s brought me to (against my will). 

“See this?” she asks, picking up a straw. “There’s a filter inside that cleans water as you drink it. It’d be perfect for hiking.”

“You don’t hike,” I point out with a bemused smile. 

“And this?” she continues, ignoring me and tossing the straw into her cart. “It’s a sleeve for your passport and credit cards so no one can scan your info onto their phones.”

“I’m pretty sure that only happens in movies.”

She ignores me again and continues down the aisle, stopping at the far wall. She turns to me with a bright gleam in her eyes. 

“And these bags?” she says, gesturing to the array behind her. “Perfect for backpacking.”

I feel my heart stop a beat as she pulls a red backpack from the shelf and tries it on.

“Who’s going backpacking?” I ask slowly. 

“Me,” she replies with a laugh. “I’ve decided. I’m going to backpack across Europe. Maybe past Europe too.” She laughs again. “Maybe everywhere all over the world?”

My heart stops completely, but Quinn doesn’t notice as she checks herself in the mirror, turning this way and that as if she needs me to see all angles of her happiness. 

I sniffle and realize I have a salty tear creeping down my cheek. 

“Your friend is already gone,” Prin says gently. “She was already leaving anyway. It’s better to let her go and start anew.”

“No,” I say with a violent shake of my head. “She… no. I can’t leave her like this.”

“She left you,” Prin points out, tearing off a piece of bread. “You can wallow in the loneliness or move on and regrow into a better version of yourself.”

I continue to shake my head, to the point where I’m starting to get a headache. I want to cover my ears, but Prin continues. 

“Don’t you want to give yourself the chance to find happiness for yourself?” she presses. “You didn’t have that when you had her around.”

I want to tell her that it isn’t true. I was happy with Quinn. But not a single memory flashes to the surface of my mind. I scrunch my eyebrows together and try to think. 

What’s my favorite memory with Quinn?

What’s Quinn’s favorite color?

What color are her eyes?

I know I must have known this before, but I can’t remember. Prin’s hand reaches across the table and gently squeezes mine. 

“Let go of the past,” she says softly. “The cold, unfeeling, heart-breaking past. And embrace your new life.”

I suddenly wish I had never stepped into the cottage. The old lady at the shop was right: the Seasons are dangerous.