There has been a sweetness in the air since last week. Father says to pay no mind. There is nothing sweet here, has not been for a long time. I say it is well enough for him to say that since he's a grumpy old Orc. He remembers this village when it was a mining town. He thinks that every promise is poison, so if the air smells sweet it is a trick, foul magic. But I smell the sweetness, at night as I dream. A lover comes to me in the night, wrapped in honeysuckle and lavender. He is my wildflower prince. He promises to take me away from this backwater, this dead town.
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