LLucy stood in the moonlit garden square long after the carriage had rolled away, the taste of Isolde's essence still lingering on her tongue—sweet, sad, and strangely bright, like rain on old roses. The duchess had fallen asleep in her arms, breathing slow and even, the hollow look in her eyes finally softened. Lucy had carried her to the garden gate, laid her gently on a stone bench under the ivy, and covered her with the velvet coat. Isolde had stirred once, murmured "thank you," and slipped back into peaceful sleep. The hunger was quiet now, curled up in Lucy's stomach like a satisfied cat, warm and content for the first time since the crypt.
Thorn perched on her shoulder, wings folded, petals along her tiny horns glowing a steady silver-blue. The little devil nuzzled Lucy's neck, tail curling affectionately. For once she didn't whisper temptations. She just stayed close, warm against Lucy's skin.
Lucy looked at her hands. They still trembled, but not from fear. From the sheer, overwhelming feeling of being *full*. She had fed without killing. Without breaking. Without losing herself. The silver-blue light that had wrapped around her palm in the sealed chamber still flickered faintly under her skin, like veins of moonlight. It felt… right. Like a second heartbeat, steady and calm, holding the rose-gold hunger in check.
She started walking again, moving deeper into the city's quieter edges where the factories thinned out and old noble houses stood half-forgotten. The fog wrapped around her like a cloak, muffling the distant clang of iron and the low hum of steam vents. Her steps were lighter now, faster, almost effortless. The hunger had given her strength—more than she'd realized. Every muscle felt strung with new wire, every sense sharper. She could hear the heartbeat of a night watchman three streets away. She could smell the jasmine on her own skin from Isolde's coat. She could taste the city itself—coal, iron, loneliness, desire.
Thorn fluttered ahead, darting between gas lamps, wings catching the light like stained glass. The little devil landed on a low wall, tail flicking, and looked back at Lucy with bright, curious eyes. Lucy followed, climbing the wall in one smooth motion, boots silent on the stone. The city spread out below her—gas lamps flickering like fallen stars, steam rising in slow white pillars, the river black and glassy under the moon.
For the first time since the crypt, she didn't feel hunted. She felt… awake.
Then the ground trembled.
Not a big shake—just a low, rolling pulse that came from deep beneath the streets. The gas lamps swayed. A loose brick rattled off a nearby roof. Thorn froze, wings flaring, petals shifting to rose-gold.
Lucy felt it in her bones. The hunger stirred again—not needy this time, but *interested*. It reached downward, toward the tremor, like a vine tasting soil.
Another pulse came—stronger. Somewhere far below, something answered.
Lucy placed her hand on the wall. The stone was cold, but underneath it she felt warmth—faint, ancient, alive. Roots. Thick as her arm, pulsing with slow, patient life. They weren't just under the city. They *were* the city now—woven through foundations, wrapped around sewers, drinking in every drop of spilled essence, every lonely sigh, every secret contract.
The Bloom.
It wasn't just calling her anymore.
It was growing.
Thorn landed on her outstretched hand, tiny claws gentle. The little devil looked up at her, eyes wide, petals blooming bright silver-blue again.
Lucy stared at the city below.
She had fed once. Just once. And already the roots had felt it. Already the garden inside her—Thorn, the hunger, the silver-blue light—had answered.
She closed her eyes.
The hunger purred—soft, satisfied, waiting.
And somewhere beneath Calder's Row, the ancient thing that had been sleeping for centuries stirred a little more, tasting the new essence she had claimed, tasting the first bloom of something wild and beautiful and unstoppable.
Lucy opened her eyes.
The fog was lifting. Dawn was coming—pale gray light creeping over the factory chimneys.
She smiled—small, sharp, real.
The hunger wasn't her enemy anymore.
It was her garden.
And she had just watered it for the first time.
Now all she had to do was decide how big she wanted it to grow.
Because the roots were listening.
And they were hungry too.