[One particularly warm afternoon, the magenta stem of a new flowered friend pokes through a dry, scorched patch of the Mystical House garden. It unfurls three sunset plumes as it grows to a modest height.
A soil dusted envelope pokes through the soil along side it. Drying moss soft withers under the scorch and a faint sizzle can be heard as wet paper meets dry heat.]
[The writing inside almost looks more like scrawling roots, but with the willowy attention of an adult]
I hope this letter finds you at a good moment. If you are reading this, it should mean my fiery little friend made it as well.
A fire lily. A true fire lily, at that. It will have made itself at home in the most recently fire-touched patch of your garden. I trust this will not take long to surface with your daughter around. For that parched soil is where it thrives, and blooms—in the wake of flames.
I’ve learned my lesson from another little friend—the shared dilemma of the ‘Merlin amnesia’ is not to be taken lightly. Instead of sending something more…direct, I’m sharing something to help remind you.
Fire lilies earned their named through sun sparked blazes dry Mauler grasses—from which they rise, and bloom in the ashes. The Mirael of my home shares their resilience, and their namesake as an affectionate moniker.
To not forgetting what’s important to us,
@magister-verdant
It's been a while since the garden has been tended too, but it seems like it's not necessary, maybe Dolly or Pandora had neatened the edges of the hedges and swept up the fallen leaves. Linnie shrugs, settling himself down on a nearby bench.
Then the flower appears, the letter beside it.
He fishes the letter away from the radiating flower with a small gasp, the heat a sudden but not entirely unwelcome surprise. Gently kneeling down somewhere not so dusty to read the contents.
He pauses at the last line, reading it over.
"Thank you, Dad, I mean it, truly. I don't know where I would be without you..."
Linnie's smile wobbles, a small sniffle, gently reaching out to gaze upon the lily, it's warmth now familiar, a freeing sense of relief washes over him.
Someone else knows what it's really like, and by Dura does it bring him peace,
"To not forgetting what's important to us, Magister Verdant..."
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