Page 44 of Anomalies

The light, the heat, the fire.

I let it roar until it’s a steady drumbeat in my ears, thrumming in time to my erratic pulse. I zero in on the larkspur to the best of my ability, my breaths coming out short.

That’s when the world fades away.

I become distant from my body, from the grass beneath me, and the crisp blue sky above. Delia’s voice becomes distant too, and whatever she’s saying is nothing but mumbled words, as if a pane of thick glass has sprung up between us.

I think she might be shouting, but I’m too far gone to hear her. I’m too far gone to care.

There’s a rumble like the impending rush of a stampede, and then the ground shakes. Or maybe it’s me shaking… I can’t be sure.

I am sure, however, of the exact moment my vision goes black.

My body is no longer mine, and gods, I feel heavy…heavy and limbless. There’s muffled shouting from some faraway plane of existence—a place I don’t belong to anymore. Then something cracks—no, bursts. And then there’s⁠—

Silence.

Sweet, blissful silence. I never want it to end.

My vision returns before my hearing does, the hot sun forcing me to squint, but the rest of me is still numb. Am I standing still? Surely not. Surely, I’m not whole enough to stand. Familiar feelings trickle through me, like static at first, and then it’s⁠—

Blades of grass against the backs of my arms… poking the nape of my neck.

Not standing.

And holy mother of gods, the headache I have is outrageous.

My shoulders quiver as I pull myself up to my elbows, hauling my legs beneath me, knowing damn well I have no strength to stand.

“Lucina!”

I wince at my name, at the pounding that rattles my skull in response, and I try to peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth, but I can’t. I can’t do anything.

“Lucina!” Delia shouts again, and my eyes adjust, her silver robes coming into focus seconds before she’s hauling me to my feet. I open my mouth to tell her how incapable I am of standing, but the words fall away.

Everything falls away when I see what I’ve done.

Before us, there had been a beautiful field of wildflowers—hundreds of them. Blues, purples, yellows…but they’re no longer rooted in the earth.

Every single flower hangs suspended, hovering inches above the grass, spinning in slow circles. Larkspurs, marigolds, zinnias, dandelions…they’ve all been ripped at the root.

The Dame’s mouth is a thin line as she surveys the pasture, then her wild gaze falls to my hands.

“Close them,” she orders, a slight tremble in her voice that sharpens my senses. “Close them, Lucina.”

I do as she says and curl my fingers into fists. Every flower falls to the ground.

Hundreds, if not thousands, lay against the long blades of grass, tiny splotches of color as far as the eye can see. Delia lets go of my arm, and I will my feet to stay beneath me, a buzz in my head sweeping down to my toes as she wordlessly picks up a nearby flower and holds it up to the sun. She spins the Larkspur once between her thumb and forefinger, and my stomach churns when all its petals fall lifeless to the grass below.

Then a breeze shifts through the field, and thousands of shriveled petals blow away like ashes in the wind.

Realization dawns on me only seconds after it finds Delia.

They’re dead. All of them.

I wipe sweat from my brow, squinting still against the unforgiving sun. “I didn’t mean to⁠—”

“Get something to eat and spend time in the sun today. You’ll need to replenish what you’ve just spent.” Delia’s eyes are almost somber when they meet mine. She isn’t disappointed, and she isn’t angry. She looks almost…apologetic.