Aoife never wanted to be a healer.

She wasn't cut out for it, and everyone knew it. A good healer possessed a kind heart, a soul strong to bear the burden of another person's scars, and the discipline to continue working while knowing that lives rested in their hands every second. A healer required strength of mind, required the ability to pack up and leave everything behind if somewhere else needed you. A healer meant kept the village under their wing, acquired the trust and confidence of their patients with grace and ease.

Aoife had none of that. She was a small, high-spirited child that flitted from one place to the next like a rampaging baby bird, curious about everything and remembering only the bits of information that were the most interesting, but arguably least useful. She was a bad listener mostly because she was a bad talker, and could never figure out when to say something or what it should be. Her mouth opened and words spilled out, and often she couldn't get them in the right order to say what she meant before accidentally offending someone.

She didn't have the strength of character or sense of responsibility to keep a single person under her wing, much less an entire village. Unfamiliar people made her feel claustrophobic and skittish. She wasn't good with most normal plants, and special herbs evaded her skill entirely, even with practice and patience and tutelage.

However, if there was one thing Aoife did have on her side, it was an excellent memory. After much repetition, she became an expert in a wide range of commonly used remedies. Her memory allowed her to produce basic ointments, tinctures, and cures on the spot, and to make them well. After serving for a year in a noble house, she'd also become a little better at advanced potions. It gave her something to do that kept her away from the others, brewing potions out in the garden shed. And if she seemed a little like a fairy tale witch, all the better to keep people away.

It was for their safety, anyhow.

It was simple enough to find her way to the apothecary's shop without running into anyone. The shop was at the edge of the market area and most of the festivities were concentrated in the town square. Though there was certainly a strange, sad irony in the fact that the woman with a Touch of death brought healing potions to town, it didn't stop the shop owner from buying her wares.

After that, she steadily made her way towards the viewing area for the festival performances, taking the back ways and side streets to avoid the worst of the crowds. No need to put anyone in danger as she moved through the wash of festival goers.

Every year, the city blocked off the main area in front of the castle gates to put up a stage for music and theatrical performances, and to create a clear area for dancing. Events took place almost constantly during the festival, and the royal family even sat to watch. Instrumental groups, professional and amateur dancers, and artists from all around the country displayed their works at stalls, performed on stage, and generally did their best to make themselves known in the capital city.

The crowds became dense as Aoife moved closer to the square, brightly-colored rose decorations overtaking the streets as she went— white ones hanging from merchant stalls in artfully arranged bouquets, yellow ones pinned to gentlemen's lapels by their lovers, and pink ones woven into crowns atop little children's heads.

Absentmindedly raising a hand to touch her own hair, she wondered what it might be like to feel that subtle weight, to have ribbons dangling down her back...

Aoife pushed the thought aside, moving to the far edge of the street as she continued walking towards the square. Her skirts brushed against the cold stone of the buildings as she walked, but they did not even whisper against the fabric of another person's clothing.

The main square of Gradion, the capital city of Quilland, was situated directly in front of the palace gates. It was a perfect place not only for the main performance stage, but for a special viewing platform for the most famous people in the country.

The royal family, including the king, the queen, the young prince, and the seven-year-old princess, sat on a raised dais to the side of the stage, providing them with the best possible view of the festivities without any possible disturbances. They all wore beautiful, ornately embroidered ceremonial clothing in bright green and gold, the national colors of Quilland. The king and queen were middle-aged, with some silver peeking out among their otherwise dark hair and laugh lines around their eyes, and they religiously made appearances at the Rose Festival. The young prince was, unsurprisingly, the object of attention of several young women in the crowd.

Prince Corin, who had recently turned twenty-five, was set to inherit the crown in a short few years. He was still unmarried, much to the chagrin of his parents and the delight of many local young ladies. Aoife found their hopes and fantasies somewhere between endearing and annoying, if she was honest with herself. She had no delusions about marrying a prince, and she found the giggling sweet, but the overt fawning... was something else. Thankfully, none of her coworkers engaged in any of it back at the estate, though she could see one of the young maids from their group standing with other young ladies, giggling shyly any time Corin so much as glanced their way.

It was sweet, really. She wasn't overly hopeful, but seeing the shyness, the embarrassment... it made Aoife happy. It was almost nice to live vicariously for a moment.

The royals weren't the only people on the platform, either. The Captain of the Guard stood with them, accompanied by two additional guards. Most impressively, King Tristan's official Grand Enchanter had a place on the platform. He stood as still as the grave, cloaked in a deep crimson robe with a hood that hid his face, watching from the sidelines like some strange, bloody reaper. He might easily be mistaken for a statue if he didn't occasionally shift his staff from one hand to the other.

The Grand Enchanter was the living legend of all Quilland— possibly all the world. No one knew his name, but they said his Mark covered his entire body, that he was more Faerie than human, and that the magic had taken over his mind and reason long ago. Aoife had never seen him in person, but she heard from the other servants that they'd caught glimpses, and his skin was white as the moon.

Unfortunately, the only thing anyone could see of him now was a long, red cloak, pale hands at the end of his sleeves, and a hood that covered half his face. Even that much was blurry from a hundred paces away, too. A strange kind of lightheadedness tugged at the fog somewhere in the back corner of her mind, but she brushed off the dizzy spell and tried to focus on the performers on stage.

In the distance, fire dancers twirled flaming rods and tossed rings in the air between them, playing with them with an ease that made it seem like the fire could be a children's toy. Aoife wondered if either of them were Touched, but regardless, it was a beautiful spectacle.

The Rose Festival brought attendees from around the country, all hoping to draw the eye of the king or queen. Some hoped to draw the eye of the prince, Aoife was convinced, but she wasn't certain that performing at a festival was an effective tactic.

"Well, if it isn't the prettiest healer in the kingdom," a jolly, masculine voice said from behind her. Aoife tensed, plastered a genial smile on her face, and turned around to face the man behind her.

"Erik," Aoife deadpanned, unable to force cheer into her tone. She successfully bit back the urge to roll her eyes, but was happy there was plenty of room to back away from him in this particular spot.

He was the apothecary's assistant in town, set to take over the business when the older man passed. Erik also thought quite a bit of himself because of it, and the combination of his looks and inflated ego meant he was also a completely shameless flirt. His blonde hair and green eyes had fooled many a girl and a few women in town, though most were smart enough to know better by now. A pretty face only went so far with a philandering reputation, even when he had the status of the apothecary's assistant backing him. When Aoife picked up her supplies, he hadn't been there, so she thought she might have missed him this time. She appeared to be very, very wrong.

"You know, I was hoping I'd see you here. It's a perfect day for us to spend some time together." He tried to slip his arm around her waist, but she sidestepped the touch, taking a very large step backwards, away from the crowd.

"I'm sorry, I have, ah, errands to run," Aoife fumbled, clutching the handle of her basket a little tighter.

"You've obviously been by the shop already," Erik pointed out, gesturing to the pile of herbs and bottles of oil in her basket.

"Yes, but—"

"Aoife, you know I care deeply for you," he interrupted, stepping a little closer. "Please. Give me a chance to show you."

Aoife stepped back, like a strange kind of dodging dance, and stifled a snort of disbelief.

"Yes, the deep and abiding love that started out of the blue two months ago," she mumbled, turning to walk away without acknowledging him any more than necessary.

She was just his latest target, but she knew he liked to latch onto the stubborn ones, so it would take a while to shake him. A few of the maids had suggested that it might be a good idea simply to humor him, as Aoife was technically past the prime of marital age, but she refused. She'd rather die a spinster, and as a house healer she was now in a position to do so comfortably, living in security through the rest of her days... as long as she managed not to accidentally touch someone, which seemed to be going well so far.

In fact, that would be preferable. Since she could provide her own income, Aoife wasn't socially expected to marry in Quilliand's culture. Also, as a healer, she had a permanent and plausible excuse as to why she didn't touch people. Sanitation and cleanliness was a perfect alibi.

However, the man now following her along the road clearly both did not care about her social situation and could not take a simple hint that she wanted to be left alone.

"Leave me be, Erik," she said firmly, not needing to look over her shoulder to know he was following her. At the very least, she wanted to get away from the main square before he decided to cause a scene.

"The Rose Festival is a time for lovers!" he declared boldly, drawing a few eyes from the edge nearby crowd. "Give me a chance. I know you want to."

"No, thank you." She made to walk away, but Erik made the mistake of walking after her, reaching out to grab her shoulder before she could stop him.

"Come on, Aoife—" he tried, but the touch was enough to make Aoife panic.

"Do not touch me!" she shrieked, jerking away from him as she whirled around, stumbling back on the uneven cobblestones. A few people turned away from the onstage performance to watch this spectacle instead, and that only exacerbated her panic.

So much for managing to get away before he caused a scene.

Erik's eyes went wide as he jumped away, looking as if he'd been slapped more than just verbally. Thankfully, the touch didn't seem to have done him any harm... except, perhaps, to his pride, which would heal far more easily than the alternative.

"I have refused you politely," she said through gritted teeth. "Kindly leave me be."

Erik's expression twisted from one of shock to anger, looking from the crowd to Aoife and back again. A shockingly cold chill ran down her spine, her hands beginning to shake as he took another step towards her.

Intimidated by the commotion and bolstered by the witnesses, Aoife did the only thing that she could think of to do at the moment: She turned and ran.

Rushing through the streets, she looked for anywhere that might provide a sense of privacy, paying little attention to where she was going or who was around her. The basket on her arm swung wildly as she careened around the curves of the cobblestone streets. She didn't know where she was going, but as long as it was away from Erik and away from the crowds, she didn't care.

Eventually, Aoife managed to make her way out of the main square and onto a back street. There weren't any other people around in this part of town... but she also wasn't entirely sure what part of town this was.

The downside to her position on the manor staff was that she rarely had a reason to go into town, and certainly not this far into town. All the cobblestone paths and gray stone buildings looked the same in this area. She could see the castle towers in the distance, but the paths back to that area weren't straight.

Every turn made her feel more and more like a mouse in a maze, struggling to find any sign of something different, anything that might help her get her bearings, and every step felt like it brought her further away from the castle gates. She paused to catch her breath, leaning against a wall and trying to take stock of her surroundings as her heart hammered out a frantic rhythm in her chest.

Forcing herself to take a deep, slow breath, Aoife tried to find her position relative to the castle again. She seemed to have moved a little far to the west... but there also seemed to be a solid stone wall that went eastward, back towards the square. Following the wall was likely the best choice.

At the very least, it was quiet out here. All the festival-goers seemed to be back at the center of the city, and the sounds of the birds and the wind in the trees made a quiet kind of lullaby. As she walked, one hand tracing along the cold stone barrier beside her, Aoife's heart rate slowed. She felt at peace while she was alone

She stopped suddenly as her fingers caught on something that was no longer stone, at first afraid she'd caught a plant in her grasp. It was only metal, though, and her Touch posed no danger to an inanimate fence.

Her hand rested on a wrought iron gate in swirling flower patterns, flung wide open and leading down a gray stone path. On the other side of the wall appeared to be some kind of public garden. Aoife hesitantly rounded the corner, muscles tensed to bolt at any second, and was surprised to find that the garden seemed to be full of... nothing but roses.

Curious.

She'd never seen anything like this before, and that seemed especially odd for the Rose Festival.

There were bushes of roses lining the path, rose trees growing in the clearings, and climbing rose vines scaling the walls. The flowers bloomed in shades of pink, white, and brilliant yellow, fallen petals making a beautiful mosaic under along the path. Strangely, there didn't seem to be anyone else here, though the grounds themselves were in beautiful condition. Surely there should be more people here looking at the roses? A sight this lovely deserved to have someone gazing at it.

Aoife walked slowly, almost hypnotically down the path, drawn in by the beautiful sight and smell. It was almost like walking through a dream, through a scene so strange and lovely that it couldn't quite be real.

Though it did make her a little nervous to be so close to so many plants, Aoife found the sweet scent of the flowers and the gentle spring breeze calming. Her frayed nerves gradually knitted themselves back into place as she wandered the garden, turning her face to the warm sun and basking in the cleansing silence all around. Her fingers ached to be free of the gloves, to touch the soft petals and graze the sharp points at the end of waxy, green leaves, but she held back, lacing her fingers together to keep herself from unconsciously reaching out.

At a turn in the path, a small wooden bench sat in front of a large fountain. Aoife settled herself on the bench and tried to enjoy the small reprieve that fate had granted her. It was so peaceful that she thought she might skip the rest of the festival and simply sit among the flowers. In fact, she'd had quite enough of festivals for the next several years to come, and enough of Erik to last a lifetime.

At least it wasn't likely that he'd chase her this far. She could enjoy the roses and return home in peace, at least assured that she hadn't left destruction in her wake.

Time ticked by— seconds or minutes or hours, Aoife couldn't tell— and her thoughts calmed. She wondered about her sisters, and if they had a festival like this in their new homes. She thought about the manor, and the roses, and wondered if one day she might convince Lorna to plant some of the climbing ones out by the workshop. It was a kind of peace that felt like a luxury, all the tension temporarily gone from her body.

And if it was lonely sort of peace, that was fine. There was no danger, not for her or for anyone else.

Aoife let out a happy humming sound, swinging her legs a little as she took a deep breath. The floral scent filled her nose, the bright colors a treat for her eyes. She felt like she could stay in this space forever.

And then her peace was cruelly and suddenly shattered.

A solitary figure in a red cloak appeared from behind one of the topiary statues, a large hood covering his face.

The... Grand Enchanter? Why would he be... in a public...

Oh, no.

Aoife's throat closed as she finally realized-- the beautiful flowers, the well-kept gardens, the absence of other people? These were not public gardens. She must have made her way around to the back side of the palace grounds during all the twisting and turning, and she was not supposed to be here.

She quickly stood from the bench and began to back away, moving down the path towards the place where she first entered the gardens. If she stepped carefully, if she moved lightly, she might be able to make it out of the gardens and back to the main wall without notice.

However, it took approximately three and a half steps before her foot landed on a twig.

The Grand Enchanter turned at the snapping sound. For a moment, he seemed to do a double take, as though he couldn't possibly be looking at someone else in this garden.

Aoife wished he wasn't looking at someone else in the garden.

It was utterly unnerving to have his gaze on her. Though his eyes were not visible, she was certain that he was staring at her. The hair at the nape of her neck felt like it was standing on end, her whole body poised to flee.

"You?" he asked, taking a slow but deliberate step towards her. "What are you doing here?"

Aoife squeaked, immediately backpedaling, but her foot slipped on the same twig that had given away her presence. The wood slid against the stone path, and she lost her balance. Letting out a slight shriek, her arms windmilled futilely as she tumbled to the ground...

... Where she landed on top of the white rose bushes.

The bushes were massive, big enough to nearly cover Aoife's entire body in branches. If she'd been without her Touch, she might have been able to hide inside the gigantic plants. Instead, she barely had time to mourn the loss as she felt the first touch of waxy leaves on her cheeks.

The thorns bit into her skin even as the bushes withered around her. The sensation was nothing short of uncomfortable, even invasive, as she felt the life force of the plants around her dull and fade entirely.

As the bushes turned dry and brittle, Aoife fell further into the thorns, gradually moving towards the ground as the dying plant collapsed around her. She squeezed her eyes shut reflexively, only opening them when the light changed as a shadow fell over her field of vision.