Pose, Click, Repeat

Vitamin Sea — "I'll only stay for an hour," she said as she hastily packed snacks, sunscreen, and exactly zero responsibilities.

Fairy's Day Off — Occasionally, on her days off, someone will knock on her door with an urgent request.

"The daisies aren't blooming~" "The fireflies are acting strange..." "A traveler says they saw a dragon!"

Instead of replying, Lielle simply adjusts her glasses and points to the notice hanging beside the door:

No Flower Left Behind — Whenever she discovers a flower she likes, she quietly adopts it. This has created several problems.

The gardeners of Florawish keep finding rare blooms growing in completely unsuitable places. The faewish sprites have complained that flowers keep appearing around their homes without warning. One very confused Piecey once discovered a ring of blossoms surrounding his mailbox.

When confronted, the fairy always gives the same defense.

"But they looked lonely..."

Orange Blossom — She spent her days helping flowers bloom, untangling climbing vines from rooftops, and every evening she somehow ended up drinking tea in someone else's garden, offering gardening advice nobody had asked for.

Most of it was useful. Sort of.

The Flowers Are Not Following You — Visitors began to arrive from all over Miraland. Scholars. Travelers. Artists who insisted the flowers looked different every time they painted them.

She spent most afternoons pointing people back toward the proper paths.

"No, that way leads to the cliffs."

"No, you can't keep that skull."

"No, the flowers are not following you."

The last one was usually a lie. Sometimes the flowers were actually following them. She just thought it was funnier not to explain.

She also kept a running list of things visitors asked in the Boneyard.

"Can souls read? Why are there so many flowers? Are those real dragon bones?"

Field Notes — The air was warm. The water was quiet. Somewhere nearby, someone was singing badly and with great confidence. All in all, it had been a pleasant afternoon.

Every day, she sat by the pier, listened to stories, and filled another page. The local Parksolians had stopped asking what she was writing months ago. At first, it had been just names. Then favorite foods. Hobbies. Places people missed. The occasional bad joke. Just small, simple facts about souls she had met who thought someone ought to remember they were here.

"Favorite fruit: peaches." "Afraid of spiders." "Terrible lute player." "Won three pie contests." "Forgot where he left his bag."

Black Veil — When she was younger, she imagined writing both their names on a piece of wish paper and watching it disappear into the sky above Florawish.