Sawtooth Spire zweiter teil

she held her breath without knowing the reason for doing so. 

this sacral place of her girlhood. this chapel of hurts in which she worshipped feelings that loomed large in a mind intruded on by self-doubt -- and it was all writ much smaller from a perspective in proximity to adulthood; the wholesome goodness that was felt here could never be defiled by the bad out there. certainly then. even now.

untended, her garden grew beyond what little aspirations young phaedra had for it. a seed dropped here, silver lupine; there, proud lush dahlias; everywhere, orchids. she brushed each of them, revered by their persistence in light of neglect. 

the girl noticed her father's quiet and felt he might understand more about this place than she, who only had flashbulb memories to go by. "did you help?" she asked after a moment, shy. phaedra rested the pendant head of bluebell in her palm, tilting her head at a pollen drunk bee wriggling from its chalice.