Kelle

tival, a local tradition he usually dismissed as "too provincial." He was trying too hard, a desperate attempt to patch

silks, exotic spices, and trinkets that sparkled under the afternoon sun. The air hummed with laughter and the melodic strums of a traditional lute. A tiny spark o

fe before Callan had been quiet, filled with the pursuit of beauty and knowledge. He had swept me up in a whirlwind of luxury and public adoration, convinci

intricate obsidian earrings he'd given me, or smoothing a stray strand of hair from my face. Each touch, once a comfort, now f

ith reverence. She bowed deeply to Callan, then offered him a deli

kling bells. "They say this is the flower of eternal love, L

re a mockery. My hand instinctively reached out to push the

amined its glowing petals. "Indeed," he murmured, "a beautiful sentiment." He turned to

any, my lord! Beneath the wi

ing out a pouch heavy with gold coins. "Every last

cutting through the festive din like a knife. The sudde

atened to overwhelm me. My hand, still outstretched, stopped

, my love? You always adored these blossoms. You said t

f, remote. "I don

definitive. It was more than just a flower. It was a rejection

red, replaced by a flicker of som