The days in the small village on the outskirts of Celestia were always lively, especially at the humble cottage on the flower-lined road of Velora, where two women from different generations lived.
"Nana! I told you to water the daisies twice a week, not twice a day!" Alina's voice rang out as she rushed through the door, just in time to stop Nana from pouring more water onto the already soaked soil. With a swift motion, she snatched the watering pot from Nana's hands, her eyes narrowing in gentle exasperation.
Nana, a nickname Alina had given to Marna, was well into her sixties. She had taken Alina in when she was young, and despite the age difference, they had settled into an unspoken rhythm—one where Alina became the meticulous keeper of her garden, while Nana, with her endearing forgetfulness, played the role of the well-meaning but hapless caretaker.
"But they look dry," Nana protested with a playful grin. Alina could hear the amusement in her voice and caught the fleeting, mischievous glint in Nana's eyes.
Alina loved her flowers more than anything, but Nana couldn't quite understand the fuss. For her, plants were just plants—nothing more.
"I was quite the gardener in my youth, you know," Nana said with a wink, but Alina only snorted, still holding the watering pot.
"Nana," she said with a fond smile, shaking her head, "I've lived with you since I could barely open my eyes. And in all those years, I never saw a single blooming flower in our garden until I took matters into my own hands."
Since she was younger, Alina had always loved the vibrant wildflowers she'd spot during her village outings—their colors alive and bright. But whenever she looked at the flowers in her own garden, all she saw were wilted, brown petals.
One day, curious, she asked Nana about the colors of the flowers in their cottage. Nana had simply laughed, replying, "They're just waiting for the right moment to bloom… whenever that may be." It was then that Alina knew—Nana couldn't be trusted with flowers.
"Well, to be fair, centuries ago, the garden would bloom without us needing to fuss over it. Flowers always knew the right time to bloom," Nana added, gazing wistfully at the daisies. "Sometimes, some things just don't bloom until the world is ready for them."
Alina couldn't help but glance at the soil. It had been ages since Nana spoke with such wistfulness, a softness in her voice that reminded Alina of her old age.
Those stories of the past, the ones neither she nor Nana had lived through, spoke of a time when the world seemed to hum with magic, when all things good and beautiful grew without effort.
"But now," Alina said, raising an eyebrow as she wagged a finger, "they need us to water them properly. You can't water the daisies twice a day, no matter how much you wish they'd bloom faster!"
Nana feigned innocence, her smile widening. "I was just trying to help them hurry along," she said, trying—and failing—to hide the glint of mischief in her eyes.
"Uh-huh, and I'm the one who ends up with soggy daisies," Alina teased, shaking her head.
The weather was always bright and sunny in this part of Celestia, a kingdom where humans, blessed with divinity, lived in harmony. It was the perfect place for Alina's flowers to bloom, filling their cottage with a vibrant mix of colors and drawing in butterflies and bees that flitted by, adding life to the garden.
Though the Celestia Knights often patrolled the village, most of the inhabitants were elderly, making a living by selling handmade goods to nearby villages or to the residents of Velora.
Alina herself sold her carefully tended flowers, occasionally receiving special orders from the Capital. She took great pride in the fact that people would seek her out, asking around the village for "the cottage with the most beautiful flowers."
Nana, perhaps the liveliest sixty-five-year-old in the village, was a dressmaker, and Alina had most of her dresses personally made by her. She was currently working on a new dress for Alina, as Alina had grown a few more inches after turning twenty, making most of her old dresses too short and exposing more skin than she liked.
Alina was now wearing one of her new dresses, a bright yellow one, perhaps one of her favorites. She relished the fact that Nana was a skilled dressmaker, enjoying the privilege of wearing a different-colored dress every day, each one matching the brightest flowers that bloomed that morning.
As the youngest lady in the village, Alina was adored by the elders and often showered with compliments—especially for her dresses. "Ah, is it sunflowers today?" they'd say with a knowing smile.
She loved everything about Velora—from the kind elders who always had a story to share or sweets tucked into their pockets, to the scent of freshly baked pastries that wafted from her favorite bakery at the end of the road. She knew every cobbled path by heart, every crack in the stone and flower that peeked through them.
Her neighbors always greeted her with warm smiles as she passed by, and in return, she'd gift them flowers from her garden. Most would politely decline or insist on paying, but Alina always refused. To her, the flowers were simply a way to show her love—a small gesture for the people who made the village feel like home.
Sometimes, it felt like everyone in Velora was part of one big family, one that's filled with love and warmth, and Alina had comfortably settled into the role of the youngest grandchild. Living in Velora made her forget, just for a moment, that she was an orphan, left alone on Nana's doorstep just days after she was born.
Though her appearance had taken Nana by surprise, and she had cared for Alina as if she were her own flesh and blood, it would be a lie to say that Alina had never wondered about her real parents—why they had abandoned her, and where they could be now. She had no answers, only the necklace she had worn ever since Nana found her, the only trace of her past.
The necklace was plain, adorned with only a single red ruby, but as Alina grew older, she soon realized it was more than just an accessory. It was a gift from her parents, a token meant to shield her from harm and conceal the secret she carried—one she could never share with anyone.
After Aulus, the God of Creation, bestowed his divine gift upon humanity, most people were born with light-colored hair, a symbol of their blessed nature. The lighter the hair, the greater the divine gift, marking them as exceptional among their kind. But Alina was born with hair darker than the night, and if her secret were ever uncovered, it would brand her a threat to humanity—a sign of her connection to the darkness that lurked beyond Celestia's borders.
As soon as the necklace left her neck, her brown hair darkened into an almost unnatural black, so deep it seemed to swallow the light, leaving only an endless void where color once lived.
When Alina learned the truth about her hair, fear gripped her heart. But Nana, always a calm and reassuring presence, eased her worries.
"As long as you keep the necklace with you, nothing will happen," Nana had said gently, her voice both tender and firm. "You are my beloved granddaughter, and no one can tell me otherwise."
Alina was certain she was no different from any other normal human, yet the weight of the secret she carried made her feel anything but ordinary—like a lone wolf among a flock of peaceful sheep, hiding in plain sight.
Though her days were peaceful, the secret lingered like a silent darkness, just out of sight, but never gone.