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"remember the grove" ♡ 🦋 chapters every saturday, 6pm CDT!

[witchofbutterflies]

The Butterfly Witch- Chapter Three: Where the Forest Whispers 🦋

The market was louder than usual.

Children darted between stalls with sticky fingers and pockets full of sweets. Merchants called over one another, advertising fresh bread, woven blankets, polished apples, and bunches of lavender tied with twine.

Liora had always loved market mornings.

Normally.

Today, every laugh sounded farther away than it should have. She absently traced the edge of the folded note hidden inside her coat pocket.

Remember the grove.

The words had followed her all morning like a song she couldn't stop humming.

"You've asked me the same question three times."

Henry nudged her shoulder.

"You alright?"

Liora blinked.

"What?"

"The apples."

"What about them?"

"You've been staring at them for a full minute."

She looked down. She was still holding the same apple she'd picked up several moments earlier.

"...Oh."

The orchard keeper chuckled.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Liora smiled sheepishly before setting it back into the basket.

"I'm sorry. My mind's somewhere else."

"I noticed."

Henry studied her for a moment.

"You've been strange since breakfast."

"That's comforting."

"I mean stranger."

She laughed despite herself.

"You've known me too long."

"Sixteen years."

"Seventeen."

"I was counting the year you insisted frogs could understand poetry."

"They can."

"They absolutely cannot."

"They simply choose not to critique it."

Henry snorted.

"There she is."

For a little while, things felt normal again.

They wandered between flower stalls and musicians. Henry had convinced an elderly baker to let them sample fresh honey cakes.

Liora bought dried chamomile for Eveline. A little girl offered Henry a daisy crown, and he immediately placed it on Liora's head.

She rolled her eyes.

"You look magnificent."

"I look ridiculous."

"Magnificently ridiculous."

She shoved him lightly.

An elderly woman smiled as they passed.

"You two make a lovely couple."

Both of them answered at once.

"We're not—"

The old woman laughed knowingly before disappearing into the crowd.

Liora felt warmth creep into her cheeks.

Henry scratched the back of his neck.

"...That happens more often than it should."

"It really does."

Neither of them mentioned it again.

By midday, clouds had rolled across the sky. The square slowly emptied as villagers returned home for lunch.

"I'm heading to Mrs. Bramble's," Liora said.

Henry sighed dramatically.

"Of course you are."

"I've finished my last book."

"You finished it yesterday."

"I know."

"You read too quickly."

"You walk too slowly."

"I do not."

"You stopped to pet three dogs."

"They wanted attention."

"They were asleep."

"They needed emotional support."

Liora laughed, shaking her head.

"I'll meet you by the bridge in an hour?"

"I'll be there."

He hesitated.

"...Promise you're alright?"

The question caught her off guard, and she softened.

"I promise."

It wasn't entirely true. But it was close enough.

Mrs. Bramble's bookshop smelled exactly as it always had.

Dust. Leather. Tea.

Home.

The little bell above the door chimed softly. Without looking up from her desk, the elderly bookseller said,

"You're late."

Liora frowned.

"I didn't know we had an appointment."

"You always come before noon."

Mrs. Bramble finally looked up.

"And you're usually smiling."

Liora tried.

Apparently it wasn't convincing.

"Hm."

The bookseller disappeared between towering shelves. A moment later, she returned carrying three books.

"I already picked these out."

"You know me too well."

"I've had twenty years of practice."

Liora wandered deeper into the shop while Mrs. Bramble wrapped the books. Her fingers drifted absentmindedly along worn spines.

History.

Poetry.

Gardening.

Travel.

Her hand stopped. One shelf looked… Wrong.

One book protruded farther than the others. She reached toward it. The instant her fingertips brushed the leather—

A rush of cold swept through her body.

The shop disappeared. She stood beneath enormous silver trees while butterflies filled the air like drifting snow. A woman dressed in ivory turned toward her. She couldn't see the woman's face, only gentle pale hands reaching forward.

Then a voice.

Soft.

Almost carried by the wind.

"Find me."

Liora gasped.

The vision shattered.

She stumbled backward into a table, books crashing to the floor and pooling at her feet. 

Mrs. Bramble hurried around the corner.

"Liora!"

"I'm fine."

Except she wasn't.

Her heart was beating so hard it hurt.

The book still rested in her hand. Unlike the others, it had no title.

Only a silver butterfly pressed into the cover.

Mrs. Bramble stared at it, heer face drained of color.

"...Where did you get that?"

"It was on the shelf."

"No."

The old woman whispered the word like a prayer.

"It wasn't."

Silence settled between them.

Neither moved.

Finally, Mrs. Bramble took a slow breath.

"I've owned this shop for forty-three years."

She looked directly into Liora's eyes.

"I have never seen that book before today."

Outside, thunder rolled across the valley. Far beyond Marrowind, hidden deep within the forgotten forest, another silver butterfly opened its wings.

Someone had been found. And somewhere, something very old had begun to wake.

♡🦋♡🦋♡

[witchofbutterflies]

The Butterfly Witch - Chapter Two: The House on Rowan Hill 🦋

By the time Liora had reached the kitchen, the sun had fully risen. 

With the note now tucked inside her skirt. 

She had considered throwing it away three separate times. Yet somehow it remained with her. 

As though her hand refused to let it go. 

The smell of fresh bread filled the cottage, whilst a kettle hissed softly over the fire. 

And seated at the table, as she was every morning, sat Eveline Vale. 

Liora’s grandmother looked up from her tea. 

“You look dreadful.” 

Liora paused. 

“Goodmorning to you too.”

Eveline took a sip from her cup.

“I assume something woke you.” 

“How do you know that?”

“You only make that face when you’re tired.” 

“What face?”

“The one you’re making now.” 

Liora rolled her eyes and sat down. 

The old woman hid the faintest hint of a smile behind her teacup.

And for a moment, everything felt normal. 

Comfortably and perfectly normal. 

The cottage creaked with age as the fire crackled, and sunlight spilled in from the windows. 

It was the same morning it had always been. 

With the exception of the mysterious note burning a hole in her pocket. 

She hesitated, biting the inside of her lip. 

Then she pulled it out. 

“I found this.” 

Eveline’s expression didn’t change. 

Not at first. 

Though, the moment her grandmother's eyes landed on the words, something shifted.

Only for a second.

A flicker.

Gone almost immediately.

But Liora saw it.

Fear. Real fear.

"Where did you get this?" Eveline asked quietly.

"It was on my desk this morning."

Silence.

The fire popped. Outside, a bird sang.

Eveline stared at the note for several long moments before carefully folding it shut.

"You shouldn't concern yourself with it."

Liora blinked.

"That's your answer?"

"Yes."

"What does it mean?"

"It means exactly what I said."

"Motheryn—"

"No."

The firmness in her voice surprised them both.

Eveline looked away, her gaze drifting toward the window. Toward the distant hills beyond the village.

As though she were looking at something much farther away.

Something only she could see.

"You've lived here your whole life," Liora said carefully. "Have you ever heard of a grove?"

Eveline's hands tightened around her cup.

The movement was small.

Almost invisible.

But Liora noticed.

Again. Fear.

Why?

"It's an old story," Eveline said.

"What story?"

"One best left alone."

Liora groaned.

"You always say that."

"And you never listen."

"Because that's a terrible answer."

That earned the ghost of a smile.

The tension eased. Though, only slightly.

Eveline stood and carried her cup to the sink. The conversation was clearly over. Or so she thought.

As she turned away, she spoke so softly Liora almost missed it.

"Some things are forgotten for a reason."

Liora frowned.

Before she could ask another question, someone pounded on the front door. Three loud knocks.

A familiar rhythm.

Liora brightened instantly.

"Saved by the bell."

Eveline sighed.

"Unfortunately."

Liora crossed the room and opened the door.

A young man stood on the porch. His dark hair was windswept. His grin entirely way too confident.

"Good morning, Vale."

"You're late."

"I wasn't aware I was expected."

"You are whenever you're annoying."

"Then I suppose I'm right on time."

Liora laughed despite herself.

Henry Finch had been her best friend since childhood.

They had climbed every tree in Marrowind together.

Explored every creek.

Broken several village rules.

Most of them accidentally. A few intentionally.

Theodore glanced past her.

"Morning, Miss Vale."

Eveline nodded politely.

"Henry."

The young man stepped inside.

"Ready for the market?"

Liora grabbed her coat.

"Absolutely."

The village market took place once a week in the town square.

It was hardly exciting.  But compared to chores, it was paradise.

As they headed down the road together, Liora found herself glancing toward the forest beyond the village.

Toward the distant hills. Toward somewhere she couldn't quite explain.

The note's words echoed in her mind.

Remember the grove.

Henry noticed her distraction.

"What are you staring at?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

Liora smiled faintly.

Maybe it was nothing.

Maybe it had just been a strange dream.

A strange note.

A strange butterfly, who'd somehow been able to survive this autumn's chill.

Yet the uneasy feeling remained.

As if unseen eyes were watching. 

As if something in the forest was waiting.

High above them, hidden among the branches of an ancient oak, a silver butterfly watched the pair disappear into the village square.

Then it opened its wings.

And for the briefest moment, the memory of a laughing woman shimmered in the air beside it before fading like mist.

The butterfly took flight.

Following Liora.

Waiting.

Remembering.

♡🦋♡🦋♡

[witchofbutterflies]

The Butterfly Witch - Chapter One: The Butterfly at the Window 🦋

Liora Vale woke before dawn.

Not because she wanted to, but because something was tapping against her window.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

She groaned and buried her face deeper into her pillow. The room was still dark, and the chill of early autumn lingered in the corners. Outside, the village slept beneath a blanket of mist.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Liora cracked open one eye.

"Whatever you are," she muttered, "you have terrible timing."

The tapping continued.

With a sigh, she pushed herself upright and shuffled across the room. Her bare feet met cold morning wood, and she immediately regretted leaving her bed.

The sound stopped the moment she reached the window.

For a moment, she saw nothing.

Only her reflection staring back at her.

White-blonde curls tangled from sleep. A wrinkled nightgown.

As well as a thoroughly annoyed expression.

Then something silver fluttered past the glass.

Liora blinked.

A butterfly.

Its wings glimmered faintly in the darkness.

Strange… she thought.

There shouldn't be butterflies this late in the year.

She unlatched the window, and the butterfly drifted inside.

Instead of flying around the room as she expected, it landed gently on her windowsill.

Waiting.

Watching.

Its wings shimmered like moonlight on water.

Liora felt an odd sensation settle over her.

Not fear, but recognition.

As though she had met this butterfly before. As though she should know it.

The feeling vanished as quickly as it had come.

The butterfly lifted from the sill and disappeared back into the darkness.

"Well," she said to the empty room. "That was unsettling."

The first rays of morning slowly began to creep over the horizon.

She rubbed sleep from her eyes.

Then she froze.

Something sat on her desk. A folded piece of paper.

Liora frowned.

She had been at that desk before bed. The paper had not been there.

Slowly, she crossed the room.

The note looked ancient. The edges yellowed and the ink faded. With hands suddenly unsteady, she unfolded it.

And only three words were written inside.

Remember the grove.

A shiver ran down her spine.

She read the message again. Then again.

The words meant nothing to her. At least, they shouldn't have.

Yet something deep inside her stirred.

A feeling. A memory.

The distant image of silver wings.

The scent of damp earth.

Someone laughing. Someone she couldn't quite see. 

The vision vanished before she could grasp it as she stood there, staring at the note.

"Remember what grove?"

No answer came.

Outside, the village bells began ringing to welcome the morning.

The ordinary sounds of Marrowind drifted through her open window.

Farmers beginning their work. Children laughing. Dogs barking.

Normal.

Everything was normal.

And yet, the note remained in her hand.

The butterfly was gone.

And for the first time in years, Liora had the distinct feeling that something was about to change.

While far away, hidden beneath the Royal Archives, another glass jar cracked.

♡🦋♡🦋♡

[witchofbutterflies]

The Butterfly Witch - Prologue 🦋

The old stories said butterflies carried souls.

Though, not all souls.

Only the ones that had nowhere left to go.

Long ago, people believed memories were living things. They believed a memory could linger after it had been forgotten, drifting through the world in search of someone willing to hold it again.

Like a flower, or a river.

Or a witch.

Perhaps if it was lucky, a butterfly.

Most dismissed such stories now.

The kingdom of Elarin preferred facts to folklore. Every birth was recorded, and every death was documented. Every significant moment was inked neatly onto aged parchment and locked away in the Royal Archives.

History was safe there. Contained, and preserved.

At least, that was what people told themselves. No one liked to consider how much of history had been lost.

Or stolen.

Or buried.

Deep within a grove forgotten by maps and memory alike, thousands of silver butterflies rested among the roots of ancient trees. Their wings glimmered faintly in the darkness, as though they had captured fragments of moonlight long ago and never let them go.

For centuries they had slept.

While kingdoms rose.

While kingdoms fell.

While children grew old and stories became myths.

They waited.

On the night they woke, no one saw it happen.

A single butterfly stirred.

Its wings unfolded slowly, scattering dust into the cool night air. Then it lifted from the branch.

One beat later, another followed.

And another. Then another.

Soon the grove shimmered with silver light, and thousands of butterflies rose into the darkness like sparks from a fire.

Across Elarin, people began to dream.

A baker dreamed of a little girl with missing front teeth who laughed when he spun her around the kitchen. 

An old woman suddenly remembered the sound of her husband's voice for the first time in twenty years.

A scholar jolted awake and scribbled a name onto parchment before it could escape him again.

They did not know those memories had been missing.

Only that something inside them felt whole for the first time in a very long while.

Far away, in the Royal Archives, candles flickered.

Dust rose from shelves untouched for generations, while pages rustled despite the still air.

It was as though the records themselves were holding their breath.

Something forgotten was returning. Something erased was finding its way home.

And on the edge of the kingdom, in a village so small it barely appeared on official maps, a young woman slept beneath an open window.

A book lay forgotten beside her bed, while the candle on her nightstand had burned low.

Outside, crickets sang beneath a blanket of stars. She slept peacefully, unaware of the storm crossing the kingdom to find her.

Unaware that thousands of silver wings were beating through the darkness.

Unaware that every forgotten memory in Elarin was being drawn toward the same person.

Toward the last daughter of the Vale bloodline. 

Toward the girl history had tried to erase before she was even born.

Toward Liora Vale.

And before dawn came, the first butterfly would arrive.

♡🦋♡🦋♡