~The Wisdom~

The enchanted world as Fiora knows it is about to change. When the man she is promised to forgets who she is, she must follow him into danger on the faith she holds in the one who made that promise. Her ability to see the words of the wind will be needed if she ever hopes to survive. Can love truly overcome all things, or will Fiora's faith be shaken enough to give up all hope? Only the whispering wind knows.

The wind swirled around her, rejoicing in the day. It swayed her hair subtly and ruffled her gown. The wind was as excited as Fiora was, maybe even more so, to have reached the end of her wait. It had been such a long wait… they had been patient, both she and the wind. 

The Wisdom smiled down at her from the throne. Though Fiora had not faltered in her respectfully bowed position to see the curve of the woman’s lips, still the wind had whispered Lady Darya’s pleasure across Fiora’s bare arms. Her heart pattered more quickly in the knowing, for often did The Wisdom of Kavaccet sit passively when presented with the next Bloom to leave her sanctuary.

Today Fiora was of age, sixty-five seasons to the day. Sixty-four of which she had resided in these cold marble halls among the other daughters of promise. It had been unheard of, sixteen years ago, for The Wisdom to pledge a three-month-old infant in promise, but Lady Darya was not named for Wisdom casually. None else of Kavaccet held the gift of seeing the rains of the future through the clouds of the past, and none other would until the Lady transcended the earth. The water would then choose another to flow through and The Wisdom would live on through new eyes. 

Fiora did not begrudge her sisters in waiting for only having to live at the sanctuary four to twenty seasons while she had spent her whole life. It had not been a terrible childhood; she was never in want for a playmate and her family was never far away. Plus with a cavalcade of tutors around every hall corner, her learning was second to none. That Lady Darya smiled on her today proved she had been a good student. 

The Lady’s words flowed from her lips, a fluid brook promising refreshment after a long day.  “Stand, Bloom Fiora Sae Grue, and take your place among the Flowers of Kavaccet. Your promise, though long awaited, has come to fruition at last. May the rains of the heavens cleanse you, the flames – when they wake – refine you, the bounty of the earth strengthen you, and the wind at your back always guide you.” 

The End

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