Petals against stone

Alice’s mind was clouded with images of the smoke and the noise. It clawed her throat and made her eyes burn, hearing Hibiki’s loud, violent voice piercing through the background. The clashing of weapons, the cracking of bone, and Re’s voice disappearing amongst the other sounds. She was focused on her weapon, hands shaking too hard, eyes watering, trying to remember the rhythm Miyako drilled into her. Then a hand on her shoulder—she turned, and then there was only black. Her feet lifted from the ground, and her weapon had been knocked from her hand. She’d tried to scream, but the smoke filled her mouth, and the fight drowned her out. Then she awoke.

The room she was in wasn’t a cell in the way she knew, like from the world she knew with iron bars and the bare minimum. It was quieter than that. Four stone walls, covered with old water stains, and a heavy wooden door with dark metal fittings. A lantern hung in a cage, locked to prevent it being taken, making the shadows dance like little dancing puppets. She wasn’t tied, and she had enough room. No chains. No ropes. No bruises she could find, except the scrape across her shoulder where the strap had been cut and the small bruise where she had been grabbed too hard. The absence of rope or chains made it worse—it meant they didn't think she was a threat, or maybe it didn't matter if she tried.

Her hand shot for her chest. Thankfully the pear was still there and she breathed a sigh of relief. The bloom still curled from its crown, dark petals trembling faintly as though alive. She clutched it in both hands and pressed it against her lips until her breathing steadied. It grounded her more than anything else could. Ren would come. Miyako too. Hibiki wouldn’t let her go, not after all the time they’d spent together. Even if she had her doubts, she believed they could do it.

She pulled her knees up and wrapped herself around the fruit, rocking slightly, waiting for something—noise, footsteps, even pain—but nothing came. Just the drip of water through stone somewhere beyond her sight. She counted them until she lost track, then started again.

Every so often her memory dragged her back into the warehouse, replaying the fight in parts—the lifeless stare of the man she shot, the spray of his blood, the weight of her weapon after she had pulled the trigger. She pressed the pear harder against her chest to push it away. She told herself she didn’t want to kill him, not really, that it hadn’t been her first choice, but if she had a choice of someone she cared about passing or a stranger, a stranger always lost. The door began to rattle, and she jumped back due to nerves. She froze, clutching the pear tighter, willing herself smaller against the wall. The rattling stopped, and silence followed, which was almost worse.

She tried to sleep, but every time her head dipped, she woke with the same memory: the smoke engulfing everything, the clang of swords, Hibiki roaring, and Miyako’s knives hissing through the haze. Each time she woke, she thought she would see them. Instead, there was only the light and the small room. The second time the handle turned, it did not stop. The lock clicked, and with a creaking of the wood, the door swung open.

A woman walked through the door; equal parts fear and hope streamed through her body. It was the woman with the white robe from the prisoner escort job. Her robes were too clean for this place. White, immaculate, as if the mould refused to touch her. She moved quietly, her sleeves brushing against one another calmly. Alice pushed herself back until the stone dug into her spine, the pear clutched tight against her chest, the petals trembling in rhythm with her breath. The woman closed the door softly behind her. The lock slid into place with a click that carried louder than any slam. She didn’t look at Alice immediately, only set her hand against the lantern, and the flame rose, spilling light into every corner of the room. It was significantly brighter now...

When she finally spoke, her voice was low and measured, almost kind, though it crawled across Alice’s skin like frost. “You’re awake. Good.” Alice swallowed hard, but with trouble, like she was trying to devour a stone. She wanted to shout, to demand answers, to fight—but she didn't have the courage. All she managed was a whisper. “Why me?” The woman tilted her head. For a moment the hood shifted enough to reveal the curve of her mouth—pale lips, a faint smile that had nothing warm in it clearly visible. “You’re different, you’re special and I love ‘special’ things.” She licked her lips as she stared at the meek girl.

Alice’s chest tightened. Her gaze dropped to the pear in her hands. The bloom was wider than before, its petals unfurling as though stretching toward the woman. She gasped and clutched it harder, curling herself tighter around it, but the flower quivered still, as if drawn to the voice. The woman took a step forward, and the smell in the air changed, thick with a scent, something undeniably sweet and cloying, almost floral. The woman crouched low, robes pooling around her. The woman’s movements were slow and deliberate, like she had all the time in the world and Alice had none. Her hand lifted, pale and long-fingered, and hovered just above the pear. Her lips moved again, calm and steady. “Do you feel it? The breath in it. The pulse. Alice shook her head quickly, the words coming before she could think. “I’m nothing. I don’t want this.”

The woman laughed softly, a sound that bounced off the walls without warmth. “Nothing? No, no, child. You’ve already stepped beyond that. Ordinary girls don’t bring flowers out of rotten fruit. Ordinary girls don’t make dead things bloom.” Her eyes were locked on the fruit. “You should be proud.

That you carry something alive when the rest of this city only carries rot.” Alice's voice was weak and fearful. “How…how did you know?” The woman let out a weak laugh; the Concordium have their eyes everywhere. The woman’s laugh was small but sharp, cutting through the room like a knife. Alice pressed the pear harder to her chest until her hands ached. The bloom trembled against her, petals twitching as though it could hear the voice too.

“You don’t hide things like this. I told you what I could see, didn’t I?” the woman said. Her tone was calm, almost soft, but it crawled along Alice’s skin. Alice shook her head quickly. Her words came out full of anxiety. “I never asked for any of this; you can have it.” Tears streamed down her face.

The woman leaned closer, her hand hovering just above the fruit. Her fingers didn’t touch, but Alice could feel the weight of it anyway. “Want has nothing to do with it. You’ve already shown what you are. And once it’s shown, it can’t be undone.” Alice began rocking without realising she was doing it. “They’ll come—they’ll come.” The woman lost her smile. “They’ll come. But they’ll see the same thing I do. And that is what will break them.” The bloom in Alice’s hands unfurled wider, petals shivering as if dragged by an unseen thread. She gasped, clutching it tighter, but it wouldn’t stop moving. The woman’s eyes lingered for one last moment before she rose, calm and unhurried.

“Not yet,” she said, turning her back. She slipped through the door, locked it again with a click, and was gone. The room fell silent. Alice sat in the corner, arms cradling the pear like an infant. The bloom twitched in rhythm with her pulse, black petals opening and closing like it was breathing too.

The dark pressed in from the corners, swallowing the little light the bloom gave, until it looked less like a flower and more like a wound glowing faintly in the dark. Alice curled tighter around it, but the walls felt closer each time she moved, stone sweating against her skin. The silence of the room was not empty—it pulsed in time with her heartbeat, a rhythm that wasn’t hers, echoing through the bloom as if something else was listening from the other side. “They’ll come,” she whispered into the dark. Again and again, until her voice broke into nothing.