Page 6 of Cursed Dreams
Tomorrow, she would be leaving for Vertrose. Leaving. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying. She had dreamed of it, longed for it, and now that it was happening, she didn’t quite know what to do with herself.
Chapter 4
As she approached home, the warm glow of the cottage lights spilled onto the garden path, casting flickering golden patterns across the vines and wildflowers that clung to the stone walls. The scent of late-summer blooms mingled with the rich, earthy aroma of the herbs her mother tended with loving care. It smelled like home.
And she would be leaving it behind.
Slowing her steps, she paused just outside the wooden door.
Through the open window, laughter spilled into the evening air. Her mother’s soft giggles were met with the deep, rumbling chuckle of her father.
Thalia peered in, an unshakable fondness settling in her chest.
Rodric had Goldora wrapped in his arms, swaying them both in a slow, exaggerated dance as she half-heartedly swatted at him. His broad shoulders shook with laughter as he twirled her around the kitchen, his golden-brown hair tousled and unkempt. Goldora, usually so composed and fussing over something, was laughing, her hands pressed against his chest in a failed attempt to stop his antics.
“I have work to do,” she huffed between giggles, but her delighted expression betrayed her protest.
“You always have work to do,” Rodric countered, grinning. “And yet, the festival won’t start for hours. Plenty of time to admire your dashing husband.”
Goldora rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as she finally gave in, resting her forehead against his shoulder.
Thalia felt a pang in her chest.
She would miss this. She would miss them.
Pushing the feeling aside before it could settle too deeply, she stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the cottage wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. The air was thick with the scent of dried lavender and chamomile, the hearth crackling softly in the background. Woven baskets filled with herbs lined the wooden shelves, their vibrant greens and deep purples standing out against the smooth stone walls.
Her mother had clearly been busy preparing for the festival, freshly picked flowers were spread across the worn wooden table, their petals carefully sorted into arrangements. A mix of fragrant oils and balms sat beside them, likely meant for the festival-goers who wanted to add a touch of glamour to their evening.
Rodric turned at the sound of the door, his face breaking into an easy smile. “There’s our brilliant healer,” he said, spreading his arms wide as if expecting her to come running into them.
Goldora turned as well, her sharp eyes immediately scanning Thalia’s face. “How did it go?”
Thalia barely managed to hold back her grin as she set her satchel down. “I passed.”
The words had barely left her mouth before Goldora was pulling her into a tight hug, her warmth and the scent of chamomile surrounding Thalia completely. “Oh, my girl,” Goldora murmured, holding her close. “I knew you would.”
Rodric let out a triumphant whoop, grabbing Thalia’s hands and spinning her in a circle despite her protests. “I told you there was nothing to worry about! You are my daughter, after all. Brilliance is in your blood.”
Goldora smacked his arm lightly. “And mine, I assume?”
Rodric feigned deep thought. “Mm. You have your charms, my love, but let’s be honest,”
Before he could finish, Goldora flicked her fingers, and the vines from the ceiling dipped down, swatting Rodric lightly on the head. He yelped, laughing as he batted them away.
Thalia shook her head, a breathless laugh escaping her. This was home. This was them.
It would be hard to leave, but at least she would be leaving with this moment in her heart.
As she turned toward the hearth, something caught her eye.
A dress.
A deep green gown with intricate gold embroidery rested over the wooden chair near the fire, clearly made with care. The fabric shimmered faintly in the firelight, and the detailing delicate vines and leaves, was undoubtedly her mother’s handiwork.
Thalia’s lips parted slightly in surprise. Normally, she would groan at yet another dress made in her mother’s taste, elegant, a little too decorative for her liking, but tonight… tonight, she didn’t mind.
Tonight, she had passed. Tonight, she would celebrate.
