Bloom of Misfortune

Her light golden hair was so bright it almost seemed white, the same color as the mysterious flowers that grew only near the lake.

Those flowers were her favorites, because she could sell them at a higher price!

But she had already sold some at the bakery and in the village market not long ago. Even at her young age, the girl understood what supply and demand meant.

If she wanted to sell today, she needed to bring something different.

That was why her sapphire-blue eyes carefully scanned the forest, searching for any flower that looked pretty and in good condition.

The pink ones were liked by the village chief’s wife, and the blue ones were the most popular in the bathhouses.

"Mmm… only the green ones."

This time, only the green flowers seemed ready to be picked in the clearing she was visiting that day.

"Maybe the tavern keeper will want them. Scary folks must also enjoy seeing pretty things every now and then."

The girl began gathering the flowers with care. She couldn’t afford to damage her goods, or they wouldn’t give her enough to pay the miller for a little flour.

Bread was too expensive. With just some flour and water, she could manage.

After arranging all the flowers in a rickety wicker basket, the girl set off at a small trot toward the village.

***

"Galand, we barely have enough left for the inn. We need to do something soon."

"I know that already. No need to remind me."

A handful of rough, unkempt men were downing drinks on the tavern terrace in broad daylight.

There was little food on the table. Some stale bread, a couple of pieces of pork jerky, and a few bowls of soup made from the leftovers of the previous day.

"I have no plans to go back to being an adventurer. I like my head right where it is, above my shoulders," complained another of the men sitting near this Galand, who seemed to be the leader of the group.

"In any case, they wouldn’t take us back," Galand replied with a grimace. "Once you’re a mercenary, your hands are already dirty."

"Speaking of dirt, look at that brat."

Following one of his men’s gazes, Galand spotted a little girl in rags with tangled hair. Whatever she had on her feet could barely be called sandals; they were already falling apart.

The girl was arguing with the tavern keeper (or rather, insisting on something with her hands stretched out).

In them was only a single iron delin, rusty and worn. It was doubtful whether ten of those coins would even make a single copper delin. It all depended on the quality of the iron, in other words, how much it weighed on the scale.

But despite the girl’s persistence, the tavern keeper crossed his arms and waved her away.

The child picked up her rickety wicker basket and left with her head down.

"Hey, tavern keeper!" Galand called once the man was free. "What was all that? Do you have beggars in such a small town?"

"She’s a cursed child. I’d advise you not to get too involved with her," the tavern keeper replied curtly.

"Cursed? What do you mean by that?" Galand asked, taking a sip of what was left of his cheap barley ale.

The tavern keeper glanced around uneasily, then finally leaned closer to the leader of the men so he could speak in a lower voice.

"Isara, that’s her name. Her parents were good folk, but the girl was born cursed. When she came into the world, everyone saw she didn’t look like either of them."

"Pffff! Clearly the father got cheated on! What nonsense are you spouting, tavern keeper?" Galand burst out laughing, joined by all his men.

"Shhh!" the tavern keeper hushed them. "There’s more to the story. Her mother liked to rest by the lakeshore. Flowers grow there that look exactly like the girl’s hair. They’re nameless flowers, and they grow only there, nowhere else in Rindel."

"That is curious… but it could just be a coincidence. Maybe she takes after some ancestor, who knows."

But the tavern keeper went on.

"Ever since she could walk, the girl would wander off into the forest, and she was always found there, in that field of flowers."

"Ok, ok. The girl likes flowers and she’s a little strange," said Galand, setting his empty mug down on the table. "But how does that make her cursed?"

"Her parents, worried, decided to keep her locked up so she would stop running off into the forest," the tavern keeper replied in an almost inaudible murmur.

"And?"

"… Now she has no parents."

One of the mercenaries near Galand could be heard swallowing hard.

"How did they die?" asked the leader of the mercenaries, more interested than frightened.

"They simply died. No wounds, no sickness. They just wasted away."

"How can you live with a child like that…" muttered one of the mercenaries.

"No one adopted her, but we can’t throw her out either," the tavern keeper answered, again glancing around nervously. "Everyone who has treated her badly has suffered some kind of misfortune."

Now two more mercenaries swallowed hard.

"But as long as you don’t get too involved with her, there’s no problem. That’s why I warned you."

The tavern keeper finished his story and went over to another table to clear the empty dishes.

"Galand… I think we should leave this place soon," suggested the man beside him nervously.

"Of course we’ll leave. But with the girl."

!!

"What are you talking about, Galand! Do you want us to end up six feet under?!"

Galand looked at his men, and a wide grin spread across his face.

"Don’t be fools. In a village this small, if a branch falls too hard it’s already a curse to them."

He spoke while keeping his eyes on the little girl, who seemed to have just finished speaking with the miller.

"I don’t know what illness the girl’s parents died of, but it’s clear she didn’t catch it. From here I can see she’s a diamond in the rough. Her price will be high. All she needs is a good bath and some presentable clothes."

Galand stood from the table and motioned for his men to follow.

"The best part is, no one here will miss her."