It was the start of a perfect day. She knew that today would be perfect because the perfect day always started with fresh honeycomb. The sky was still a dark blue when Little T. climbed down the tree. The sound of the stirring of bees just beginning their daily assignments and the crickets playing their final melodies tickled her ears. As her feet touched the freshly dewed earth, Little T. stretched her arms and leaned backward, like a reed in the wind. She released a deep sigh into the frosty morning air. The day felt crisp. Yes, she knew that today was going to be a perfect day.

  Around her, the forest awoke into life. The flowers bloomed, the birds sang, and the dew evaporated when touched by the first rays of sunlight. She breathed in the petrichor and, digging her heels in for just a moment and gathering as much wet earth between her toes as possible, she took off in a dead sprint.

  Little T. knew these woods backward and forward. Where most little girls snapped twigs and caught their hair on branches, Little T. executed an effortless dance through the deep forest woods. Leaping over large fallen logs and ducking under the brush, she got not a single cut, nor did she misplace a single step. If one were to carefully watch, they could’ve seen that the forest itself bent to her will in the space between her steps. The ground responded to her silent call. This forest was her home, and her home knew her well.

  She spent many nights underneath the stars, listening to their songs. And truthfully, it was gossip of all kinds. One wouldn’t think so, but a great measure of hearsay takes place upstairs.

  The deep forest began to bend and weave itself as she drew closer to her family's home. The wild, unkempt nature of the forest changed into a feral meadow. Wildberries and fruits were spread out over this open space. Tall vines climbed up trees and crossed over and down into the bright, gleaming grass, which gave the ground a warm glow like a morning smile. Just barely out of breath, Little T., warmed up by the run, moved closer to the sum, exhaling as she did so. She licked her lips as she began to survey her vast selection.

  “Quite the feast,” she said in mock severity. She grabbed a handful of mixed berries and consumed them in a fashion she thought was attentive. But in the end, like all wild children, she made a wonderful mess.

  Moving in the meadow, Little T. continued sampling off the plants, giving each one the appropriate oohs and ahhs. When her tummy was full, she turned her back toward the meadow.

  “Well, it was a hard one this morning, but… the plant that stole my taste buds this time was…” She paused for dramatic effect as the meadow leaned in, hanging on her answer. “The blackberry bush!”

  Wind swirled around the meadow, causing the tree branches to crash together, making it sound as though the forest was giving a roaring applause. Clouds circled above, casting shadows upon the other bushes, creating a simple spotlight over the blackberry bush. She skipped back over to the bush and collected three more handfuls of berries before continuing her run back to the family home.

  Most days, Little T. circled her grounds of forest woodlands, the low meadows, and the highland woods that reached toward the cliff edge all morning long. She would play with her dog or climb another tree, possibly even practice her diving skills off the cliff, for the entirety of most days. But today, on a perfect day, such opportunities as this could not be passed up.

  She let her mind grow a bit darker, letting a more mischievous plan form in her thoughts. The space between her tongue and teeth grew dark as she rolled the idea through different iterations. The forest biomes seemed to bend and twist to the shifting of her nature. She didn’t notice, but the forest was exposing more roots, gnarled branches, and thorn flowers as it responded. As she crossed the threshold of the dark woods and into the open spaces of the hill country, where she could see the family estate, her plan was set in her mind. She looked over the family home and sighed contentedly.

  Massive, pearl white marble columns held up the walls of the estate. Tall, flat ceilings with rounded edges covered portions of the house surrounding the courtyard, nestled in the middle. From where Little T. stood at the top of the hill, she could almost see the entirety of that courtyard. There, she saw her target. The sun kissed the edges of the rooftop, reflecting a bright glow around the estate. Every morning, the house looked strong and sturdy. Father called the house a peristylium.

  She walked along the edge of the dark woods, sticking her hand in her pocket, absentmindedly playing with the handful of blackberries she had picked previously. Pulling her hand out of her pocket, she examined how many berries there were. Three particularly dark, almost purple, colored berries peered back at her. She cupped her hands and brought the berries close to her mouth. The mischievousness lingered in between her teeth and found purchase, latching themselves onto the fruit as she whispered her dark plan to them.

  Rushing down the hill, Little T. curved to the back of the estate where the livestock was being released for grazing. Hastily, she crossed over the farm fence, deftly rolling onto her shoulder, and silently tread through the back door to the inner peristylium.

  Like a shadow, she darted into the rest of the estate, only to trip on her own toes and fall, flattening herself onto the stone with a loud KUTHUNK!

  Slowly rising, Little T. felt her face grow hot. There was a slight smudge looking back at her from the nearly reflective marble floor. The surface displayed a dazed little girl staring back at her with quite a stupid face.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  She tried to remember why she came back inside. She wouldn’t dare come back inside this early, but as she looked back out the door toward the forest, her memory returned like a lightning bolt, striking down from the heavens. The genius of the idea came back to her. Climbing to her feet with most of the wind still knocked out of her, she hobbled along to her destination. Her hobble turned into a steady-paced skip.

  In one of the many hallways, she came to the door she’d looked for. As she opened it, she saw ribbons and sheets of purples and bright pinks strewn all across the room. Most bedrooms in the house are simple and small, with only a few square feet enough to fit a twin bed; however, this room had enough space for a desk at the bedside as well.

  Only the best for my oldest sister, she thought to herself, rolling her eyes as she entered the room. On the desk was a mirror that didn't show a reflection. The thing always gave Little T. the creeps.

  She knew she didn't have much time. Crouching down, she began to pull out of her pocket three seeds. The blackberries had changed to dark, gnarled, and twisted seeds. She called these corpse flowers, and the rank smell they produced would outdo her squirrel riot from last week.

  Lifting a tile up beneath the post of her older sister’s bed, she placed the seeds underneath and began to quickly leave the room. In a few hours, they would bloom, and her work would bear fruit.

  The glinting sheen of the mirror held secrets, as if someone on the other end was always watching her. Shivering, she left the room and headed into the hallway, where a sweet smell caught her nose, and her hunger overrode her reason to leave the crime scene.

  Father’s cook took care of the estate and most of the cooking. She was dressed in a beige burqa with only her eyes showing. Her hands betrayed dark skin, weathered, experienced. This was Indra, the closest thing Little T. felt like she had to a mother. She mothered all the children well, but shared a special bond with Little T.

  Hungry Little T. scanned the room, letting her nose lead her eyes. There, on the other side of the kitchen, inside the oven, was what was playing with her hunger. Indra’s fresh-baked goods. The growl of her stomach betrayed her presence. Indra looked over toward Little T.

  “I see my little wildflower has returned,” she said with warmth in her tone. “Tell me, is it a hungry tummy I hear?”

  Little T. only nodded in agreement, coming up beside her. Indra reached down and picked up the small girl, setting her on the countertop. Indra’s deep, dark brown eyes gazed back at her with amusement.

  “My succulents turned gnarled and gray, and all of my herbs shifted into poisonous roots. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?” Her voice still held amusement, though it carried a hint of accusation.

  Little T. looked down at her bare feet, nodding solemnly. “I did not mean to, Miss Indra.” Her voice was small and respectful.

  “One’s true intention comes with age, my little wildflower,” she said in a gentle but reprimanding tone. “The breadth of the woodland forest is still in your command, and it reflects the truest of your feelings.”

  Then Indra gave a rueful smile.

  “I did find it amusing, trying to figure out what these plants represented about your true feelings.”

  She looked back at Little T., still with a smile, and lifted an eyebrow.

  “I better not be one of the victims of your pranks this time. The squirrels got everywhere last time, and I am still finding little nests of them here and there in the pantry and in the nook and in the cupboards.”

  Indra moved away to a cupboard.

  Little T. smiled darkly again as she remembered last week’s escapade into her father’s estate. She led the charge of an army of squirrels.

  “The carnage was legendary,” she said in an approving tone. “But no, it is never my intention to fully prank you, Miss Indra.”

  “But what if I’m caught in the crossfire of your chaotic political campaign to terrorize the house?” Indra asked, moving over to the sink to wash out a glass.

  “Sacrifices must be made. Your memory will be etched into the ruins of the battlefield itself.”

  “I understand and accept my fate,” Indra replied, nodding somberly.

  Indra expertly glided through the kitchen, for this was her space. Little T. knew that even blindfolded, Indra could get everything she wanted done and more. Indra loved this kitchen, and in return, the space loved her.

  Oh, how the kitchen loved Indra. It was almost as if she could touch the space between, but that would give up the mystery of the simple, small things of life.

  Finally, Indra returned to Little T. the same cup she had cleaned, now dazzling in her hand.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” she said in a bright tone. “If you can get your sheep, Charles, to give up some milk, I’ll make you some sweet maple bread.”

  Little T. laughed, delight filling her body. She knows the sheep is a girl, but the name Charles just seemed to fit so rightly.

  She followed Indra through the back door into the pens. Animals of all sorts lived back there, managed and tended to by Indra. Little T. could see the small brass dragon curled up underneath the sycamore tree, snoozing, and the twin griffins playing with each other.

  But her favorite was always the golden fleece sheep, Charlie. Out of all the farm animals, her father, Adam, allowed her to name this one. She approached Charlie, her coat glittering in the sunlight, golden and full. Warm colors danced all around her. Little T. knelt down and wrapped her arms around the neck of the sheep, taking in the scent of fresh farm life in the morning.

  Indra approached the sheep from the other side, bringing over a stool and a bucket as she reached for Charlie’s udders. Little T. held Charlie’s neck gently but firmly, stroking her here and there.

  “You know, your father left today,” Indra said, absentmindedly. “It seems the gods are going to make a genuine effort to understand the position in the way of the New World.”