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If anyone expected me to start glowing or levitating teacups the moment I was named Guardian of the Butterfly Glass, they were in for a disappointment. Because so far? My so-called sacred duties mostly included arguing with Evanor, dodging flour sacks at the bakery, and trying not to fall asleep while reading ancient magical ramblings that made less sense than Pim's nap schedule.
No quests. No magical training montage. No sudden visions. Just a lot of being very regular—with bonus sarcasm from a necklace.
I was currently elbow-deep in laundry.
I wrung out a lemon-scented bedsheet and glared at the clothesline like it had personally offended me. Pim was asleep in the laundry basket, Evanor was humming again, and the only thing magical about my morning was the way my socks had vanished again.
"Guardian of Moonhollow," I muttered, pinning a damp sock. "Protector of enchanted mirrors, master of the—wait, nope. Still doing chores."
"Truly," Evanor said from his perch on my necklace, "a legendary tale for the bards. Liora, the Laundry Sorceress."
"I will drown you in soap water."
"Joke's on you—I'm already trapped . Can't get more cursed than this."
I finished hanging the sheets and collapsed dramatically into the grass. Pim meeped in protest from the basket, gave me a stink-eye, and resumed snoring. I stared up at the sky. It was a peaceful blue, clouds drifting lazily by like they hadn't a care in the world.
I, however, had plenty. Starting with: What am I even supposed to do now?
They'd made it sound so important when I was given the necklace. There was a ceremony. Cake. Speeches. Lady Seraphine had looked all mysterious and floaty. Granny Elowyth had patted my hand and called me "Moonhollow's hope."
And then... nothing.
No instructions. No scrolls. Not even a "Congrats on the new title, here's a pamphlet!"
So now I was just… living.
Still working at the bakery. Still avoiding the attic at home because it was probably haunted. Still having weird dreams I couldn't remember when I woke up. Still trying to figure out if Evanor was flirting or just born with no volume control.
I tugged a blade of grass from the earth and twirled it. "Do you think maybe they forgot to give me my magical assignment?"
"Oh yes," Evanor drawled. "A clerical error. Someone probably spilled tea on the sacred Guardian Checklist and now you're just... winging it."
"Wouldn't be the weirdest thing to happen."
"You were chosen for a reason, Liora."
"Cool," I said. "Now if the universe could kindly share what that reason is, I'd really appreciate it."
Silence.
Not even a sassy comeback.
Which was when I knew he was worried too.
༓☾༓
Later that afternoon, I met Ciela by the fountain in Thimble Square. She had a basket full of marigold muffins and a very specific energy about her that meant she had news and was dying to gossip.
"Okay, so," she said, plopping down beside me, "the Thistlewick twins are trying to enchant their chicken coop again."
"Didn't it explode last time?"
"Yes. This time they're using marshmallows as stabilizers."
"Oh no."
We laughed until my stomach hurt, which was when she leaned in and whispered, "You know everyone's waiting for something."
"For what?"
"For you to do something Guardian-like."
I blinked. "Like what? Defend the village from rogue broomsticks?"
"I don't know. Just something. Magic. Drama. Sparkles."
"Sorry I'm not currently locked in an epic battle with the shadows of despair."
Ciela shrugged. "I think you're doing fine. It's just… people expected more."
So did I, honestly.
I just hadn't said it out loud yet.
༓☾༓
That evening, I walked home with a half-loaf of honey oat bread and a head full of questions. The necklace was warm against my collarbone—Evanor had been quiet for a while now, which either meant he was napping or plotting.
"You awake?" I asked.
"When do I even sleep?, well you sound like won a war, and truly tired"
"Nope. We did laundry."
"Truly heroic."
"I'm serious. What am I supposed to be doing right now?"
He paused. "You're doing it."
"Doing what, exactly?"
"Living."
"That doesn't sound like Guardian work."
"Maybe not. But it's important. You're learning to hold the mirror without it holding you. There's strength in that."
I frowned. "That sounds like something you heard from a monk."
"That's because I was a monk. For three weeks. Until I got kicked out for asking too many questions, kidding."
"Of course you did."
I turned the corner toward home—and nearly tripped over a basket sitting on the front step.
It was wrapped in midnight-blue cloth and tied with a silver ribbon. No note. No markings. Just... there.
Pim sniffed it cautiously and sneezed.
I peeked inside.
A small crystal vial rested on a cushion of black velvet. Inside it, a swirling silver mist.
"What is that?" I whispered.
Evanor's voice was sharp. "What is what?"
"I don't know . It's a strange box"
"Seems like someone sent you a gift"
"I don't know. But it's not from Moonhollow. Not entirely."
I pulled the ribbon tighter and picked up the basket. My heart was doing that jittery thing again—the one that usually meant something was about to happen.
And maybe... finally... it was.
Not with a bang. Not with a prophecy.
But with a quiet mystery wrapped in ribbon, waiting on my doorstep.
༓☾༓
That night, I couldn't sleep. The vial sat on my desk, faintly glowing like it knew I was watching. Pim snored under the blanket. Evanor was oddly silent.
I curled up under the covers, staring at the ceiling.
Maybe this was how being a Guardian worked. Quiet, subtle, full of questions. Maybe it wasn't about epic quests and fireballs.
Maybe it started with curiosity.
And maybe... it started now.
༓☾༓
I woke up to whispering.
Not the creepy, ghost-in-the-walls kind. This was... chirpy. Feathery. And slightly offended.
"You call this a perch?" the voice muttered. "I've slept on royal thrones less wobbly than this box."
I sat up with a jolt. My eyes darted toward my desk—and I froze.
The vial was gone.
In its place stood a bird. No. Not a bird. A dazzling, jewel-toned creature perched dramatically atop my open diary like he owned it. He was no bigger than Pim, but far louder and ten times flashier—his tail plumes shimmered like melted opal, his beak was shaped like a crescent moon, and his eyes sparkled with way too much judgment for a bird.
I blinked. He blinked back.
"Um," I said.
"Finally," he huffed. "Took you long enough. I've been cramped in that bottle for ages. Do you know what silver mist does to one's feathers? Horrendous."
Pim had bolted under my quilt the moment the bird spoke. Only his fluffy tail was visible, shaking.
"Who... are you?" I whispered, heart pounding.
The parrot puffed his chest with dramatic flair. "I am Quippleton the Fourth. Emissary of Her Most Grand and Radiant Majesty, Lady Orlaithe of the Dimensions of the Florp."
"The... what now?"
He flapped his wings, feathers catching the moonlight. "The Florp. Ancient realm beyond your stars. Towering crystals, rivers that hum lullabies, skies that never darken, and time that does not pass. Lady Orlaithe rules it all."
"And... she sent you?"
"Yes. For you. Specifically."
I was still trying to process "Dimensions of the Florp" when—
Knock knock.
My door creaked open, and Uncle Thayer's sleepy head poked in. His hair looked like it had wrestled with a pillow and lost.
"You all right?" he mumbled, blinking. "Heard voices."
I scrambled, grabbing Quippleton and flinging a blanket over him like he was a rogue sock.
"Just—just practicing a speech!" I said, standing in front of the desk like a suspicious statue. "For, um, Ciela. She's afraid of public speaking, so I was helping. With... confidence."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're whispering speeches? At midnight?"
"Stage fright is a serious condition."
There was a muffled squawk from under the blanket. I coughed loudly over it.
Uncle Thayer stared for a second too long, clearly unconvinced, but too tired to fight it. "All right. No summoning demons, please. I've had enough of flying furniture for one lifetime."
"Goodnight!" I chirped, slamming the door shut behind him.
I whipped the blanket off.
Quippleton looked like he was preparing a monologue on suffocation.
"You are chaotic," he grumbled.
"You're a talking parrot from another dimension! I think I'm allowed a moment."
"Fair."
I sank onto my bed, heart thundering. "Okay. Let's go back. Who are you, really? What do you want? Why me?"
He stepped closer, suddenly less theatrical. "I was once Evanor's companion. His pet, if you must reduce it. He named me Quippleton—mocking the royal titles of my ancestors, naturally—but I adored him."
"You knew Evanor?"
"Yes. Before... all this. Before the curse. Before the mirror. He was bold. Reckless. Brilliant."
"And Lady Orlaithe?"
Quippleton's eyes softened. "His mother. The Queen of the Florp. She sent me here to guide you. She cannot reach this world herself—not without great consequence—but she's been watching. Waiting for a sign. That sign... is you."
A thousand thoughts collided in my mind. "Evanor's from another world?"
Quippleton nodded. "Where no one grows old. Where time dances but never falls. He was our prince."
I stared at the necklace on my chest. "He never told me."
"Would you tell someone you were once royalty, now cursed and imprisoned in a mirror?"
"…Touché."
"I need to see him," Quippleton said, urgent now. "He must know I'm here. There's much to share."
I touched the necklace. "Evanor? Are you there?"
Silence.
I tried again. "Evanor?"
Nothing.
"He's ignoring me," I muttered.
"Or dreaming. Mirrors dream strangely," Quippleton said, settling on my pillow.
"Tomorrow," I promised. "We'll go to the garden. You'll see him."
He nodded. "Then it begins."
"What begins?"
"Your true work. The journey your soul was made for."
I sat there in stunned silence.
Across the room, Pim cautiously poked his head out from under the blanket. Quippleton met his stare. Pim growled.
"Meep."
Quippleton blinked. "What is that fuzzy loaf?"
"My... familiar."
"Adorable. Terrified. But adorable."
Pim inched closer, and after a few dramatic hisses and a territorial tail swish, finally curled beside Quippleton with an exaggerated huff.
I looked around the room—my plain, messy, lived-in room—and suddenly, it didn't feel quite so small.
"You know," I said softly, "this day started with laundry."
"And it ends," Quippleton said, "with destiny."
I smiled faintly. "Sounds exhausting."
"You've no idea."
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