The Glyph of Rainmoth Fold
The Unbound Heart
The bell above the door startled itself into song as a woman stepped inside, trailing the scent of wet wool and old rain, her umbrella dripping quietly onto the floor, the air folded small around her shoulders like it didn’t want to be noticed.
Brigid set down a bunch of white tulips and stood from her workbench, sensing that soft shift …the weight of a heart about to speak when it shouldn’t have waited so long.
“I heard you make flowers say things,” the woman said; Brigid nodded toward the corner table, “Sort of, sometimes it’s a message, sometimes something else — please, tell me what needs saying.”
The story spilled like cut stems across the counter: angry words meant to wound, love tied too tight, silence where apology should’ve lived, “I wanted him to hurt, and now it’s me who’s bleeding.”
Brigid let her hands move while she listened: fern for what held, primrose for what could begin, red cyclamen for pain spoken aloud, sage to hold it all together, and baby’s breath to make the grief a little easier to carry …and as she worked, the air shifted, like the petals themselves remembered how to breathe.
She tied the bouquet once with ashen-rose twine, light but firm, and slipped on a small tag marked with a symbol shaped like rising smoke, and when the bell gave a soft, answering chime, Brigid said, “This one’s not for him — it’s for you: forgive yourself first.”
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Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story including the word ‘tag’ Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.
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