The dead girl’s palm was colder than ice.

  Hyacinth had only stopped crying because she ran out of tears to give. Even those had been robbed from her. Hours after Robin drew her last breath, she hadn’t let go of her hand, because doing so would make it real. 

  And Hyacinth wasn’t ready for it to be real. 

  Promise me, her final words had been. You'll fall in love. Cry. Laugh. But most importantly... find peace with yourself. Do everything I'll never get to do. 

  Hyacinth hadn’t deprived Robin of the only wish she had asked her to grant, so she made the promise— one she wasn't sure she could keep. 

  She looked out through the circular window with tear-stained eyes, at the cloudy abyss above the trees, dimly lit by the silver light of the moon. The branches outside the cottage rattled in the howling wind, leaves shuddering as though they too were shaken by the sudden loss. A few raindrops hit the glass. 

  “Oh, Robin,” she murmured to the skies. “Why did you have to leave me?” 

  Hyacinth fluttered her crystalline wings, which had fallen asleep from the hours of sitting, silently reliving the moment Robin’s soul had left her body. The moment her blue eyes had lost their light. The moment her head sank deep into the pillow, breathing going still. 

  Even the vivid redness of her hair had seemed to dim. 

  Looking at the messy bedroom littered with open books, mud-caked shoes, and bottles stuffed with tree bark and mushrooms, knowing her friend would never live in it again— it made the very idea of carrying on feel traitorous. Made it much easier to stay there and rot away for the rest of her days, wishing it had never happened. 

  But Hyacinth had a mission— a promise to keep. And she would stop at nothing to achieve it. 

  As she swiped away incoming tears, a flash of light caught the corner of her eye. Startled, Hyacinth dove for the bedside lamp beside her.

 Gilded rays shone on either side of the lamp’s neck, trapping her behind it. The brightness held for a short moment, then sputtered out, fading back into the dreariness of the night. Hyacinth, pressed hard against the back of the post, dared to peer around the side. 

  A shadow passed by the window, and Hyacinth leapt back around to her hiding spot, squeezing her wings together so they didn’t poke out the sides.

  “Hyacinth,” a commanding yet honeyed voice said from the other side of the room. “I know you’re hiding back there.” 

  The fairy’s heart tripped in her chest— how did someone know her name? She had never met anyone in her life besides Robin and her grandmother, and whoever had spoken wasn’t either of them.

  “Come out,” the woman said. “We aren’t here to hurt you.” 

  Hyacinth was shaking from head to toe. What was it Robin had told her? 

  Never trust strangers. Not everyone's like grandmother and I.

  “The poor dear just lost a friend,” a second voice joined the one-sided discussion, its owner located right next to the first. It was deeper and raspier, rich with age and wisdom similar to Robin’s grandmother. “Go easy on her.”

  Ever so slowly, Hyacinth sidled around the curve of the lamp post and turned to face whoever was waiting for her.

  Beady black eyes greeted her from the other side of the room. Hyacinth squeaked.

  “Don’t worry, dear,” the old woman said. “We won’t bite.” 

  Her gray hair was like straw, hanging over her face of pale, wrinkled skin. Her plump body was garbed in a deep emerald cloak with a golden clasp, molded in the shape of an oak leaf. She wore an oversized acorn top as a hat and necklaces made from teeth. The only thing inherently pleasant about crone was her smile and the way it pinched the corners of her dark eyes.

  Beside her stood a much prettier woman, with chestnut hair and rose petal lips. Her dress was red, and a matching pointed hat rested atop her thick head of hair. Gold-tinted wings sparkled behind her. 

  Hyacinth froze. Robin mentioned that other fairies existed, but had gone into hiding in the forest many years ago. They weren’t very fond of humans, but Robin and her grandmother were different.

  “We’re here to warn you, Hyacinth,” the fairy in the red dress looked concerned, her mouth set in a frown undeserving of her graceful lips. 

  “How do you know my name?” Hyacinth peeped.

  “I am Clematis,” she answered. “The seneschal of Queen Laurestine and the head of the Council of Vervain. This,” she gestured to the hag beside her. “Is Bergamot, the forest hag.” 

  Bergamot’s eyes sparkled as she winked at Hyacinth, who only stared in return.

  “I know the name of every subject born in this forest,” Clematis continued. “Especially you.” 

  “Why?” Hyacinth was lost.

  The seneschal hesitated, looking around as though searching for the right words.

  Then, “Do you happen to remember the day you were born?” 

  Oh, did she ever. One could never forget being birthed through the petals of an enormous blue flower. 

  At Hyacinth’s nod, Clematis proceeded. “As much as it may surprise you, not every fairy is birthed from a Bellblossom.”

  A Bellblossom?

  “These… humans you have been living with,” Clematis said the word with such contempt Hyacinth flinched. “May not have informed you that the flower only blooms once a century, and only lasts a day. The fairy conceived from its petals is born physically flawless and with the ability to grant wishes to anyone but themself. It is considered a sacred gift to the people of Vervain.”

  Hyacinth let those words sink in. She had lived her entire life in the cottage with Robin and her grandmother under the impression that her gift to grant wishes to all but herself had been a common feature of her species. She hadn’t guessed it was anything extraordinary. 

  On top of it all— why had they waited until now to seek her out?

  “I know it’s a lot to process,” Bergamot said. “Take your time, dear. We’ve got a lot of it.”

  Clematis shot her a look. “On the other hand, my schedule looks tight,” she turned her attention back to Hyacinth. “So, will we be going?” 

  Promise me you'll fall in love. Cry. Laugh. But most importantly... find peace with yourself. Do everything I'll never get to do.

  “I’m sorry,” Hyacinth said. “But I can’t.” 

  “And why is that?” 

  “I made a promise,” she took a step back in the direction of the lamp, not knowing if it was a wise decision to reveal her plans. “To Robin. I will venture into the human city beyond this forest and do everything she never lived to do.”

  The seneschal’s brows arched. “How, exactly, do you plan on achieving this all in a single day?” 

  “A single day?” 

  “You are aware that once a Bellblossom youngling is born, it has one week to come in contact with the human world. After the seventh day, if the fairy does not cease contact, they will die. That is the cost of the gift.”

  Hyacinth turned this over in her head for a moment. She had been alive for six days. 

  Her magic would kill her if she stayed with them for one more.

  “The exception, however,” Bergamot cut in. “Is if true happiness is found in the mortal world before their time runs out, the youngling will be granted a mortal life and therefore permission to live as one of them.” 

  This filled Hyacinth with a renewed sense of purpose. As soon as the clock struck twelve, she had twenty-four hours to find happiness. If she was able to achieve it and live among them forever, then she could do everything else she promised. 

  And more.

  “If you know what’s best for you, Hyacinth,” Clematis’ tone was stern, yet a chord of desperation lingered behind her guise. “You’ll come with us. Cut all ties you have with mortals. They are not worthy of your time; there is a reason we no longer cross them.” 

  Hyacinth knew the queen’s seneschal had a lot to lose. And yet, she had a point. It would be easy to just turn around and live her life as an immortal. To forget it all.

  But Hyacinth didn’t know if she could live with herself if she broke the last tie she had with Robin.

  The girl was different from the way these fairies thought about humans. Maybe they were just bitter, maybe mortals weren’t all that bad.

  If Robin wasn’t, then they couldn’t have been. 

  When Hyacinth said nothing, Bergamot turned to Clematis with a look of understanding. “It appears she has made her choice.”

  Clematis looked away in disappointment— it was apparent she had more than failed the queen. The hag, on the other hand, appeared rather triumphant at the unexpected turn of events.

  “Good luck, Hyacinth.”

  She winked again. Light flickered, and they were gone. 

  Hyacinth clenched her fists and inhaled. “Looks like it’s just me and you, Time.”  

  As though in answer, the grandfather clock in the living room chimed midnight. Hyacinth dared one last look at the still form of Robin before swiveling to face the window.

  “On your mark,” she flew underneath it and pushed up. It cracked open. “Get set.” 

  She flexed her wings. 

  “Go.” 

  So it began.

  Hyacinth flew as fast as she could against the harsh winds, trying to ignore the pain it caused to leave Robin’s grandmother behind, knowing it was only a matter of time before she discovered the body. 

  But there was no time to think such thoughts— this is what Robin would have wanted, and Hyacinth had less than a day until her time was up. 

  Promise me you'll fall in love, was the first thing Robin had asked of her. 

  Hyacinth remembered how the girl had admitted that her greatest desire in life was to fall in love, and her greatest fear was to never find it.

  So that must have been the place to start. Falling in love couldn’t have been that hard— could it? 

  Hyacinth pushed aside the immediate doubt. 

  Easy or not, she would do it. And once she turned mortal, she would do everything else.

  Hyacinth’s wings carried her to the edge of the forest. As the trees parted before her, she was blasted with a million lights, like stars that had fallen from the sky and landed just miles ahead of her. 

  The city was only recognizable from the picture books she had read back at the cottage, but on the pages, the lights had not shined the same.

  You don’t truly know something unless you experience it, Robin once said.

  Hyacinth didn’t hesitate to hurdle herself in the direction of the fallen stars, beckoning to her from the distance.

  As she zoomed across roads, she could hear Time devouring precious seconds, bringing her ever closer to the moment her heart would stop beating and her promise would die with her friend.

  Tick. Tock. 

  Tick.

  Tock.

  Welcome to San Francisco, California

  Hyacinth was flying so fast, she hardly had time to read it. Her wings were strained, but her determination hadn’t once faltered.

  But as she flew past the sign, Hyacinth began to feel different. The familiar weight of her wings whittled away until they were so small, flying became impossible. Her senses went next, dulling until she could hardly smell the grass and sting of exhaust emitted from passing cars. Her heart slowed to a steady, mortal rhythm. 

  Hyacinth’s squeak turned into a full-blown scream as she plunged into the unforgiving ground. 

  She felt a hundred times heavier than before. The blades of grass fit between her enlarged fingers as she gripped them to steady her discombobulated self. Her hair fell out of its bun in dark, thick curls, brushing against her cheeks. 

  Thankfully, Hyacinth’s dress had shifted with her now-human form. From skirts made of purple aster petals, an indigo dress was made, clinging to her figure, flowing down to where her thighs met her knees.

  Hyacinth made an unsuccessful attempt to climb to her feet, giving into her wobbling legs and stumbling back into the damp grass. 

  Navigating unfamiliar territory in the dark was hard enough without a new body, but she had to keep moving if she wanted to win. 

  After several more moments of struggling, she managed to make it to her feet. Dizziness fading, the only thing left to do was to get used to traveling through the grass without wings. Just a mile or two from where she stood, the stars greeted her. From a closer view, Hyacinth could make out the towering buildings grazing the black skies, glowing in colors she never knew existed.

  Skyscrapers. The word came to mind as she peered out, just past a staggering red bridge that sat in her way. 

  Hyacinth hurried across the road, and it felt like millennia had passed before she emerged in the city.

  If she had more time, she would have stopped to admire it. 

  But now, she needed to find love. A boy. Someone Robin would have immediately wanted to spend the rest of her life with, because that was what true love was.

  Right? 

  Tick. Tock. Time was not halting.

  Hyacinth picked out the first passing candidate— a young man, likely a few years older than she looked, maybe nineteen or twenty years old. His murky eyes were distant beneath his head of black hair and the brown cap he wore.

  Hyacinth wondered how someone could ever feel distant from this place.

  “Excuse me,” Hyacinth caught his elbow, startling him from his daze. “What’s your name?”

  The man cast her an incredulous look, eyes dragging from her head down to her toes. Hyacinth suddenly felt the urge to turn away, a self-conscious flush coming to her cheeks. 

  “No,” he said finally, before shrugging from her grasp and continuing on his way. 

  Disappointed, Hyacinth watched him go. There were dozens of people walking past her on the sidewalk, dressed very much like him— so mundane, so unlike the humans she had imagined. 

  Cars sped and skidded to halts in the street to her left, and no one seemed to notice the way Hyacinth startled every time one honked.

  The chaos made her head pound.

  How would she ever find someone to fall in love with in a place like this? 

  The sun was too high in the sky for her comfort by the time Hyacinth gave up. Her bare feet ached and stung from where she burned them darting across the hot streets—nearly surviving the cars that almost ran her over—and stepped on sharp rocks.

  She had traveled through muggy underground train stations, funeral homes, pawn shops, and grocery stores, searching for hours— and her delicate soles, unused to it all, couldn’t take any more. 

  Finding someone was hopeless— every single boy she came across hadn’t spared her even a glance, not unless they were about to run into her.

  Or she tried to grant them a wish, to which they declined.

  Stumbling into an alley decorated with hanging pots for sale, Hyacinth found a wooden bench and collapsed into it. 

  Tick. Tock.

  Her eyes welled with tears. 

  Why was everyone here so awful? Why didn’t they see her when she walked past them? Why, in the few times she had been noticed, was she looked at like she was crazy? 

  Promise me you'll fall in love. Cry. Laugh. But most importantly... find peace with yourself. Do everything I'll never get to do. 

  Hyacinth burst into tears.

  Finding love was hard.

  In fact, it was impossible. 

  “Rough day?” 

  Hyacinth sprung back on the bench. 

  “Oh— sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

  Hyacinth peeked bewilderedly up at the boy. All messy brown hair and eyes like melted gold, he was handsome, and had a smile with dimples that whispered many secrets. 

  “I— what?” Hyacinth chirped, blushing stupidly.

  The boy laughed. “Don’t be embarrassed. People in cities like this aren’t the most open-minded.” 

  When Hyacinth only stared, nonplussed, he stuck out his hand. “I’m Ace. McCartney.” 

  “Hyacinth.”

  She shook his hand, dazed. It was warm, and she couldn’t stop looking at his eyes and the way he smiled, like he was drunk on life and would remain so until the end of his days. 

  It reminded her so much of Robin. 

  Hyacinth was jolted out of her thoughts as Ace yanked her to her feet. 

  “Want to hang out? Go to the park, or something? I’ve had a pretty boring day,” he said. “I’m assuming you have, too.” 

  She grinned. “Boring would be an understatement.” 

  “Well, thank God I’m here,” Ace still hadn’t let go of her hand as they walked down the street. 

  Heart stuttering, Hyacinth didn’t, either. Instead of keeping her head down as they passed swarms of pedestrians, she made eye contact with every single one of them, feeling an odd sense of rebelliousness in the contrast of a ragged girl holding the hand of a finely-dressed boy. 

  Never cut yourself up so that others can swallow you, Robin taught her a few nights ago while reading in bed. They can afford to choke a little.

  Hyacinth’s heart sang. Walking down the street, her hand in Ace’s— it felt right. Like it was love at first sight, like she was everything Robin had wanted her to be. 

  Like maybe she would live here to the end of her days, promise fulfilled, with Ace at her side.

  “So,” he started, long legs stretched across the grass. “People have been saying that you can ‘grant wishes?’”

  Hyacinth tried to ignore the way he was examining her. While she admired his face, Ace’s gaze roved all over her body, past all her curves and edges— much like the first man had done that morning.

  It sent an uncomfortable chill down her spine, but she ignored it and instead focused on the question. 

  “I can grant wishes for everyone but myself.” 

  The boy’s eyes were skeptical, curious. “Prove it.” 

  “What do you wish for me to do?” a rush of excitement swept through her. 

  Ace looked around the park— past parents pushing their toddlers on strollers, clusters of trees and their sun-dappled leaves, and couples walking their dogs.

  “You see that lady selling fruit over there?” he pointed to her right, where Hyacinth caught a glimpse of a tan-skinned woman selling a cart overflowing with seasoned fruit. “I wish for one of her lemons.” 

  Hyacinth felt the tingling, prickly warmth of energy rushing through her veins before something coarse and spherical materialized in her palm. She pulled the lemon out from behind her back, setting it in front of Ace.

  His eyes widened, and he let out a breathless laugh. “No way.” 

  Hyacinth giddily watched him pick it up, examining it in awe. Ace’s eyes met hers for a split second before they drifted to her lips. 

  Kiss me, the thought came faster than she intended. A wish for a wish.

  When he didn’t, Hyacinth only smiled. “Lemons were always Robin’s favorite.” 

  His eyes flashed with disappointment almost imperceptibly, as though the mention of Robin hurt him in some way. But the look was gone so quickly, Hyacinth questioned whether it had been real.

  “Robin?” 

  Hyacinth was flattered rather than alarmed at his intense curiosity. “My best friend. I grew up with her, but she passed away.” 

  Ace nodded, lips twitching in a slight grin. “Are there any limitations on the wishes you can grant?” 

  “I don’t know,” Hyacinth replied. “I haven’t tried.”

  I’ve only been alive for six days, she thought, but kept her mouth shut.

  Hyacinth glanced up through the gaps where the sunlight streamed past the towering trees. It was afternoon— and Time was ahead, running fast. Running out. 

  She could even hear his footsteps as he bounded for the finish line. 

  Tick. Tock.

  “Hello, what can I get for you today?” the worker peered out from the other side of the bar. 

  “Two cones,” Ace answered from the front of the long line. “One butterscotch, one vanilla, please.” 

  Hyacinth watched from beside him with interest. As the scooper got to work, Ace reached for her hand and held it in his. Hyacinth startled— then glanced sidelong at him to find he was smirking back.

  “How do you eat this?” Hyacinth observed the cold lump of cream in the waffle cone. 

  “Are you telling me you’ve never had ice cream before?” Ace laughed, but when Hyacinth just stared, he sighed. “You lick it. Like this.” 

  He demonstrated. Hyacinth couldn’t do anything else but stare at his lips as he ate, and wondered what it would feel like if they were pressed against hers. 

  Tick. Tock. 

  When he gestured for her to try, Hyacinth tasted it. The whiteness was thick and creamy, but due to the heat, it was melting. Some of it dripped down her chin. 

  Ace laughed and swiped it off with his thumb. “Good. Now you’re a pro at it.” 

  Hyacinth laughed— really laughed. Ace grinned as he searched her face, lingering on her eyes. 

  “Your eyes,” he remarked. “They’re purple.”

  Hyacinth felt her face heat as they walked further down the alley between the ice cream shop and the adjacent building. “Is that a good thing?” 

  “It’s sort of weird, actually,” when she shrunk under those words, he corrected himself almost immediately. “Not in a bad way.” 

  Ace stopped walking just before they stepped onto the sidewalk of the next street. The smugness from several minutes ago had returned. The corners of his lips lifted. Butterflies rose in Hyacinth’s stomach.

  Tick. Tock.

  Kiss me, she pleaded.

  “If I kissed you right now, would you grant me another wish?” 

  That smile was irresistible. 

  More desperate than she had ever been, Hyacinth nodded almost too eagerly. “Yes.” 

  He was on her so quickly, she dropped her cone onto the pavement in surprise. Hyacinth gasped as her back was pressed against the building wall, and his lips, warm and soft, covered hers. 

  Every moment, every tickle in her stomach she felt at the contact, she savored.

  Promise me you'll fall in love. Cry. Laugh. But most importantly... find peace with yourself. Do everything I'll never get to do. 

  Hyacinth had done it. She was in love. 

  She would live a thousand more days as a human, and not just fulfill Robin’s small list of desires. No, the girl had just been unselfish with her last request.

  She could have asked to live, but had instead chosen to believe in fate.

  Hyacinth would do so much more.

  And she would do it with Ace, the boy who wished more from her.

  For a short moment, Time’s footsteps seemed to slow. 

  The kiss ended a little too quickly for her liking. Ace pulled back just an inch, still smiling, desire coating his lips.

  “I wish,” he whispered. "For your lips to be just a little wider.” 

  Hyacinth allowed her mouth to betray the ache that gave her.

  “Granted."

  When her lips were slightly fuller, he kissed her again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Ace took Hyacinth to the beach and kissed her in the sand, then to the rooftops, and kissed her above the city.

  But with every fierce, desperate kiss, just like anything else, came a price.

  Ace demanded a wish in return. 

  I wish for your hips to be wider.

  I wish for your teeth to be straighter.

  I wish for your eyes to be bluer.

  I wish for your voice to be quieter. 

  Hyacinth granted every last one, her well of happiness growing when he told her how much more beautiful she looked.

  Yet she still couldn’t ignore how Time had gotten up from his fall and resumed the race. How each step he took echoed across the walls of her mind.

  Tick. Tock.

  But before she was able to think too deeply about it, Ace and his dimples always managed to distract her. 

  Because every smile, every look was just for her.

  Just for Robin, who had never asked for this much from Hyacinth. But she was done with playing small. Robin had always deserved more. 

  Robin deserved Ace. Because this was, Hyacinth realized, real magic.

  And she wanted nothing more than to fall deeper under his spell.

  When the sun rested on the horizon, Ace took her to the city’s highest roof. After spreading a blanket over the concrete, he lit candles and poured two glasses of a golden, bubbling liquid. 

  “What’s this?” Hyacinth giggled.

  “Drink now, ask later,” the mischievous glint in his eyes was enough to convince her.

  After several glasses of the sweet, carbonated beverage, Hyacinth’s eyelids felt heavy. Her laughter became less controlled, and she began to speak nonsense, completely drunk on the warmth the drink provided.

  Ace wrapped his arms around her waist as they watched the sun duck ever lower beneath the distant ocean. The day was ending and midnight would be there in a few hours. Time had tired at last.

  Hyacinth had won.

  “Robin,” she whispered, taking in the mesmerizing colors of the skies. “Would have loved this.” 

  Ace’s grip on her slackened. 

  “Robin.” He echoed.

  Hyacinth looked up at him. “Hmm?” 

  “You talk about her a lot.” 

  “She was amazing.”

  “Was.” 

  When she searched his expression, even her drunken eyes could pick up on what he was feeling.

  Ace was angry. 

  “What do you mean?”

  “All of this was for her… wasn’t it?” 

  Hyacinth sobered up quickly. “Ace—” 

  “When we were at the beach, you fell asleep,” he explained. “You only talked about Robin. How beautiful she was, how you promised you would fix it.”

  A wave of mortification slipped over her. He wasn’t supposed to know that much— that had never been the plan.

  Even still, Hyacinth found a reason to admire his possessiveness of her.

  How much he wanted her. How intensely he loved her.

  “Cinn,” Ace tilted her chin up and brought his mouth to hers, the kiss slow and painfully convincing.

  When he inched back and opened his eyes, they shone with an iron determination.

  “I wish,” he said, and Hyacinth’s heart stopped. “For you to forget about Robin.”

  Tick… Tock?

  No— it was too late for this. Robin had been the plan, had been everything. She was the reason Hyacinth was there in the first place. 

  If only she hadn’t been so foolish and allowed Ace to see her so vulnerable.

  I wish for your hips to be wider.

  I wish for your teeth to be straighter.

  I wish for your eyes to be bluer.

  I wish for your voice to be quieter.

  I wish for you to forget about Robin.

  I wish…

  “Ace?” 

  “Forget about her, Hyacinth.” 

  She shook her head, disbelieving shudders escaping her trembling lips.

  “It’s her or me,” Ace was yelling now. “Choose!”

  Never in a million years had she thought someone could be so cruel. To win her trust— her love, and tell her to forget the person who mattered most.

  Tick. Tock. 

  Time was laughing now. The sun had dipped well below the horizon, painting the sky the colors of a dwindling, dark rainbow. 

  A tear slipped down the fairy’s cheek. 

  “I can’t,” she breathed.

  Ace tilted his head back and laughed a mirthless laugh.

  “Fine,” he nodded. “We’re done.” 

  “Why are you doing this?” Hyacinth sobbed.

  “Because if I can’t have every part of you,” Ace replied, rising from the blanket. “Then I don’t want you at all.” 

  And then he too was gone. 

  Hyacinth’s new body, with wider hips, straighter teeth, and bluer eyes, racked with sobs as she ran through the city in the direction of the bridge. 

  Her new voice wasn’t even loud enough to scream for Clematis and Bergamot for help when she returned to the hill before the forest, when the clock had already struck midnight.

  Time had crossed the finish line. 

  Tick. Tock.

  Tick. Tock.

  Ticktockticktockticktockticktock—

  Hyacinth scurried across the road, darting for the forest. She could feel something inside her muscles tighten, a halt in her pumping blood.

  Something was moving. Growing.

  When she looked down at her forearms, green veins had begun spreading, bent like the roots of a plant. 

  The movement of her legs slowed and running up the hill became a difficult task. As she found the top, panting, sputtering, begging for air, her vision began to wane like the moon watching her race from above.

  When Hyacinth reached the forest, she was blind. 

  When she tried to scream again, only a sickly, strangled noise came from her seafoam lips. It felt as though sharp, snake-like vines had wrapped themselves around her lungs and tightened.

  As she fell into a cluster of ivy, two answers remained, clear as day.

  But most importantly, find peace with yourself.

  Never cut yourself up so that others can swallow you. They can afford to choke a little. 

  Never trust strangers. Not everyone's like grandmother and I. 

  The first was that Hyacinth had never been in love. 

  The painful, agonizing second was that she had lost against Time, not because she had failed to fall for someone else, but because Hyacinth had failed to fall for herself.

  And as purple flowers blossomed from her eyes and tendrils of vines sprouted from her lips, Hyacinth realized something else.

  She was no better than Ace. No better than that man in the brown hat. After all, she had been named after a dead girl’s favorite flower for a reason. 

  How awfully poetic it was, to know that the death of the girl she loved had unknowingly saved the life she had ended up wasting.

  Born from her still, lifeless body, a garden of purple hyacinths rose as a gentle whisper of the final words that died on her tongue: 

  It had all been a tragedy from the start.