When the magic had finally settled, Flora and Felix could barely move. Their legs were numb and wobbly. Madrigal helped guide them to the cottage, but every few paces Flora's legs would give out beneath her, and she would be kneeling in the grass again. When they made it in, they collapsed onto the rug in front of the fire. The last thing Flora remembered is Madrigal shutting the front door and beginning to restore the enchantments Sylvia had taken from the walls.

Flora woke from the blackness only when the sun had reached its highest point. She came back to herself in increments, feeling the carpet fibers through her fingertips, the sensation of the floor pushing up against her back. The house was silent, still except for the dust motes blinking in the sun. Felix was curled into a ball next to her, breathing softly.

She stretched her arms towards the ceiling, noting blearily that everything ached. Yet, for the first time in days, she felt hungry. She stood carefully and padded to the kitchen, looking for food. She scrounged a heel of bread and some cheese, then watched as a dormouse skittered off with her last bite of crust.

Felix yawned and stretched backwards across the floor like a rainbow.

Good morning, he sighed, rolling onto his belly and tucking his feet beneath him.

"Good morning,." Flora started braiding her hair. She could feel little shimmers of magic still dripping from the strands. "Are you sore, too?"

Mm, he replied, rolling to his stomach.

Knock knock.

Flora started, then glanced at Felix, eyes wide.

I'll get it, he told her firmly, moving to the door. As he approached he crouched, and the door opened just a crack.

"Hello, Felix," a familiar voice said.

"Madrigal," Flora sighed.

"Good morning, my dear," she said cheerily. "I came to check on you. I thought we might have some lunch."

She plopped a covered basket on the kitchen counter.

"Just to check on me?" Flora asked. Madrigal looked at her strangely.

"Of course," she said. "You battle your first vestigium and I leave you here alone in your tiny cottage? I think not."

Flora helped Madrigal set the table as they talked and gratefully tucked into her first good meal in days. Felix purred from Madrigal's lap and Pax skittered across the table, helping himself to bread crumbs. Flora felt warm and comfortable, drinking cups of hot tea and eating twice her usual share. It was easy. She'd almost forgotten.

Her eyes flickered over the wreckage of her cottage: singed papers, broken quills, ink spills, all her books pulled from the shelves and laid open. Imprints of Sylvia's voice looped in her ears, the ghost of her fingernails still gouged lines in her armchair. Flora ran a finger over the edge of her cup, thinking.

"You said my first vestigium?" she asked after a while.

Madrigal took a sip of tea, then set down her cup with a sigh.

"You're a powerful witch, Flora," she said, "And you have a strong sense of purpose. I think you'll find more than one vestigium in the years ahead."

The words wilted Flora's smile.

Flora could map the trails of pain left by Sylvia's lashing, wild magic all through her torso. Memories of her haggard face appeared vividly, a ghostly feeling of Sylvia's hand clamped like jaws around her arm in the yard still lingered.

Felix hopped down and wound around her legs with gentle eyes. She caught his stare and blinked back to the present.

Madrigal smiled at him, then reached across the table to briefly clasp Flora's hand in her own. Flora took a deep breath, and looked out her window towards the forest. She tried to remember the real Sylvia, who sold baked goods in the streets and loved Vita like a daughter. Drifting through the world like a deer, she recalled. Even in the golden afternoon sun, the world seemed a little duller.

"I need to see Caius," she said quietly.

Madrigal nodded, looking out the window, too. Felix Jumped to Flora's lap and started kneading into her skirts, the pressure reassuring. Flora ran a hand down his back, feeling the weight of his and Madrigal's presence, their love.

"Would you come with me?"

Even as Flora said the words she knew now that she didn't have to ask.

When they arrived at the entrance to the village, the trio paused. Villagers walked about the cobbled streets together, smiling, laughing, and going about their errands. Children played and ran about between people and stalls. It was as though nothing had happened, although she knew that that was not true.

"Are you ready?" Madrigal asked. Flora smiled weakly and nodded, walking out of the trees and through the square. When they got to the bakery, it was empty. The door swung lazily in and out with the breeze, its tiny creaks notable in the silence.

"I'll wait outside," Madrigal said, squeezing her shoulder. Felix hopped up on the step and gently pushed the door open with his nose, stepping one paw inside. Flora followed.

"Welcome," a voice said quietly from behind the counter.

Caius was sitting on a stool behind the counter. He was smiling, but it was perfunctory. His face was still shadowed, eyes dull and glazed as the dusty shop windows.

"Good afternoon," Flora said, coming to set her basket on the counter.

"Flora. I'm happy to see you." he said, slowly getting to his feet. "What can I get you?"

"Well..." she began. The bakery was full of all the usual goods, warm and fragrant, but Flora couldn't bring herself to browse. "I didn't really come for bread. I meant to come see you."

Caius's smile faltered, then he nodded.

"I've been meaning to see you, too," he said,. He looked away, blinking quickly.

Flora reached across the counter, folding a hand around his.

"You have my deepest, genuine sympathies, Caius," she told him gently. "Sylvia was loved here."

He nodded, wiping a handkerchief over his eyes..

"I appreciate that," he said. "It's been difficult. For both of us."

Flora nodded. She brought her hands back together, rubbing and wringing them, thinking how to translate the different pains she carried. They had all knotted themselves together, obscuring their many twists and turns so that she didn't know what they were.

"I'm sorry I stayed away so long," she began. This was the easiest one to name. Caius shook his head quickly.

"No, I thought..." He looked guiltily up at her. "I hope you know that no one blames you for what happened."

"Not at all. It was only that I'd blamed myself," she told him, picking the threads loose. "I felt so horrible for what happened to your sister. I wish that I had been here, instead of away in my cottage. That I hadn't run from you both the day she died..."

Flora took a deep breath now, seeing Caius's gentle expression. She felt suddenly that none of the mattered here after all. Instead she said, "We will always be good friends, Caius."

He nodded. There was nothing to be forgiven.

Flora set about buying a loaf of bread to take home. They talked and joked easily, and as Caius wrapped her breads and pastries, some of the dust lifted from the counters.

Flora thanked him and turned to leave, but he stopped her.

"Wait! Before you go, I have something for you," he said, hurrying off upstairs. He returned quickly, dropping something into her hands.

It was the tiny quartz she'd given Sylvia for her bedside table. Even after two weeks, it still glowed faintly with a healing blessing. She felt the magic radiating from it like a captured sunbeam.

"It's the strangest thing," he said, wrinkling his brow. "Only a day or so after you left it, it was dull as a rock on the street. But a few nights ago, little Vita was holding it and asking after you, and it started glowing again."

Flora raised her eyebrows. "Vita! Do you think she...?"

"I'm not sure what to think yet. She's so young," he trailed off. "Whatever happened, it is yours. And I think the magic in it is Vita sending her love."

Flora smiled and held it closer.

"Thank you," she said.

Flora returned to the street feeling empty, like a barrel scraped clean to the bottom. It was not quite a joyful feeling, but there was more space now to let the light in.

Felix wound around her legs as Madrigal chatted with a villager, and she turned the crystal over and over in her hands. She felt suddenly how remarkable it was, how essential that the healing she offered had been offered to her in return. The magic pressed against her fingers and she accepted it, allowing it to flow through the tributaries of her grief. It warmed her skin, it filled her in. Then it slid, sweet and golden, over her soul like honey.