Creeping from within the trees is the shadow of a cabin, tucked away in the boughs of redwoods and conifers. Instead of her castle, Anya finds herself passing through gate after gate of chain-link fence. Papa explained it as a way to keep something out, but Anya felt that it was to make sure she stayed inside. The girl huffs. What good was coming out here if she couldn't explore? The cabin looked more like a wooden prison in her imagination: a towering fortress guarded by a menacing dragon. But as their car pulled into the driveway, Anya found no dragon.
Instead, she found flowers.
Dozens of them were spread across the garden within the perimeter, a rainbow of rainbows that seemed to have no end in terms of the variety of colors. Anya's eyes popped out of her sockets when she saw them sway in unison, a beautiful dazzling dance of hues.
"Waku waku! We're here!"
The car door opens just before the car slows to a stop, letting Anya barrel out of the vehicle. She clutches at her head and dives into the nearest pile: assailed by a plethora of smells and scents. Butterflies escape her rampage as she rolls within the flowerbed, uncaring of the dirt all over her shoes. She kneels within the ocean of plants, oohing and aahing at the pretty petals twirling in the air.
"Look Mama! Look Papa! This is just like in Gisney!"
Her mother smiles as she leaves the car, while her papa was more occupied with the forest ranger who was waiting for them at the cabin door. Anya swears that his thoughts sounded familiar, almost like Uncle Scruffy. Bond dives out - ignoring the flowers and going straight to sniffing the edges of the perimeter. He seemed to be focused on one particular spot, pacing back and forth as if expecting something.
Anya watches as he abruptly lunges forward, before gently carrying a rabbit with a mouthful of flowers. Tail wagging, Bond gracefully wanders off to the gate: dropping the critter off like a guardian knight.
"Ooh, this one is quite pretty isn't it?" Mama says, kneeling next to her daughter to indicate a purple flower. "Do you know what it is?"
"Is it - a sunflower?"
"No Anya.." Her mother giggles. She carefully plucks the flower from the ground, twirling it around her fingers. Mama was clumsy, but the way she moved the delicate bud was graceful and elegant. It was something her teachers would praise at the Academy, so perhaps Anya could ask her for tips.
"This is a cornflower."
"Not very yummy- but quite pretty to look at…"
"Yummy?" The girl gasps in horror. "Mama, do you eat flowers?"
"That's so gross!"
Anya belches, and her mother chides her for her lack of etiquette. But when it was her and Mama, things were usually never remotely serious. Mama was the more relaxed of her parents, a gentle hand to contrast her father's rigor.
"Do you want to hear a story Anya?" Her mother asks, having finished her rant. Anya looks at her expectantly, her gaze is answer enough. Her voice is gentle, but behind it is a hint of longing. And pain.
"When I was younger, my brother and I used to find lots of these growing in our backyard."
After a musing sigh, Mama continues.
"They have medicinal properties, if you make a soup out of them- they can cure anything. Or so I heard."
"When my family was low on money, I would gather all these little flowers up- and try to sell them at the farmer's market. Very few people ever bought them, but I was able to make some money out of these little guys."
"After the war, they've become quite rare because of how many factories were built during the Revolution."
"Ah, you're too young." She sighs, stroking her daughter's pink hair gently. "I'm sorry- I shouldn't be talking about this kind of thing with you."
"I'll make sure you never have to worry about money Anya."
Anya feels a well of emotion rousing inside of her, and at that moment something awakens inside of her. It was like a dam breaking, a familiar and unfamiliar presence rushing into her mind.
The forest's surroundings change and morph - Anya's head suddenly becomes noisy with countless whispers in her mother's voice. She turns to see Mama looking elsewhere, staring upward into the sky silently. It was as if she was in a dream: being taken up, up into the air. Anya would have panicked, but something about this situation felt calming.
Anya blinks, and enters into her mother's memories.
Her little brother lays on a cot, a wet towel on top of his forehead. He looks to her when she enters the room, the rusted door creaking loudly. He murmurs her name weakly, reaching for her with one hand. The room was dark and cold, and the wind made it hard for Yuri to smell the dried blood on her clothes.
Yor Forger kneels at the bedside, laying on the floor a tray.
A spike of nervousness ties itself around her heart. She lifts up a bowl of warm soup, nothing more than medicinal herbs boiled in what little clean water they had. The boy in the bed smells the cooking, and he coughs up a storm when she brings it closer.
"Yuri… Please, drink."
"No.." He croaks. "I'm not hungry…"
Unperturbed, Yor waits. Even as the building rattles around her, a telltale sign of tanks rolling past their little town to the Western front, she waits.
And waits.
Eventually, when his pride falls to his pain, Yuri finally takes a sip.
"Bleh! It's weird.."
"Be grateful," She chides kindly. "Some people outside aren't even able to eat."
Yor would sit by his side for the whole night, feeding him soupfulls of medicine. By the time Yuri was comfortable enough to sleep, the sun was approaching: meaning that Yor should have had to return to the Garden.
But she stayed, holding her brother's pale hands, even as her own stomach remained empty.
"Anya?" Mama looked concerned, her face a front of worries and anxieties. "Are you ok?"
"Are you crying?"
"No, I think it's dusty here…"
While she may have been sad, Anya hated that she could not tell her mother why- who knew what Mama would think if she found out about her powers.
"Dusty?" Her mother pulls out a tissue packet from her purse, wiping the little esper's face with it. Mama's hands are soft but firm: and Anya took the fabric to do it herself like a big girl.
Gah! She had so many questions, especially now that she could apparently see memories from other people's heads. But there was no one to ask, no one to help her. She looks down at her hands, upset.
"Are you sure everything is ok Anya?"
Keeping quiet, Anya wipes her tears with her sleeve. Her mother looks unconvinced, but Anya's stomach rumbles at just the right time to change the subject.
"Would you like to eat something? I have snacks in my bag."
She reaches into her purse, pulling out a packet of peanuts. Like a hungry chipmunk, Anya nods in agreement. Mama wraps one arm around her, the despair from her memories slowly disappearing.
"There, there. Don't be sad Anya."
A cough.
Anya notices her father, standing just outside of the flowerbed. His mind hums as it calculates the costs to Wise of fixing the mess they made in the garden.
"I just spoke with the ranger, and we're good to go."
"We have this place all to ourselves until a few weeks from now."
Thunder. Anya flinches, but her mother's warm embrace makes her feel safe. As the ladies stand up, Papa warily eyes the encroaching gray clouds. If a storm did come, Anya was worried that the cabin would not be able to handle it.
"Let's get inside, before it rains."
As her parents pull her into the cabin, chatting among themselves about the cabin and whatnot, Anya spots a rose- a deeper red than anything she had ever seen. It's surrounded by a mountain of green leaves clustered at the very edge of the garden, a single bush that stood outside from all the other flowers.
"Ooo- pretty!"
"Look! Papa! Mama! That rose is so pretty!"
"A rose?" Her father nudges Mama knowingly with his elbow. "Is that your favorite Anya?"
"Yup!"
"That's a coincidence right?" Mama chuckles nervously out loud. "They wouldn't know about me right?"
Feeling a little guilty about nearly exposing her assassin mother, Anya switches frequencies: focusing on her father instead. Papa's thoughts are clear and concise, but the message they bear is anything but. Anya's eyes widen, staring at the innocent looking flower with a new wealth of emotions.
"W.I.S.E didn't plant any roses here."
"Where did that come from?"