Drowning in misery was a thing Aloe could not afford to do. That was the only reason why she stopped moaning and wailing. The only one.

The scribe, with much effort and pain, stood from the armchair and placed herself back in her wheelchair, being careful of her package. She rolled to the office's window. Lulu had opened it for her beforehand. Her fingers were slow as she opened the bag; the slowness wasn't born out of care, but lack of strength. Inside the cloth, a pot lay alongside another piece of ceramic.

Aloe placed the pot on the window's ledge. Her arms trembled, but she didn't permit any of the contents to fall. Inside the pot, there were only two things, soil and a seed. If it weren't for acuity, she would have been none-the-wiser of the burrowed seed, but her enhanced senses perceived a kernel of heat coming from the dirt.

Yes, the seed was but a Blossomflame.

Even after donning recovery for two weeks straight, Aloe couldn't feel her body recovering. It didn't help that she couldn't boast her newly acquired vitality as that would raise suspicion from the sultanzade's attentive gaze. Having thrice the vitality of an adult was better than none at all, or at least that was what Aloe told herself.

The healing properties of the Blossomflame were much an enigma to the scribe, the only thing she knew for certain was that they existed. Perhaps it could only heal recent wounds, maybe only superficial cuts like the one she had made to test the plant back in the greenhouse. It was uncertain. But the possibility existed and was ready for the reaping. She would be a fool not to take it.

The current seed on the pot was one of the few she had evolved during her desert trek, it was only now that she was far from the sultanzade that she dared to plant it. The sprouting evolved plant would stay here, away from everyone's gazes, even hers. It would only be useful to her once it blossomed – much like its name implied – but for the time being, and even after that, no one would be allowed to bask in its fiery glory.

Of course, Aloe was aware of the needs of a growing plant. She couldn't send Lulu to water the Blossomflame, nor she could afford to do it herself frequently, so she got her hands on a curious amphora that let loose a few drops of water each minute. Whilst not the best irrigation method, it would – hopefully – make the evolved plant grow and keep it alive. Aloe placed the ceramic contraption on top of the pot, not before emptying her waterskin inside. There wasn't much water inside, barely a few liters, the scribe hoped that would be enough.

Once the deed was done, Aloe removed herself from the office, not before drying her tears on the sleeves of her dress. Wheelchair-ridden she may be, but that didn't excuse her from following the court's fashion. Behind her, Aloe locked the office door. It was the only door, except the entrance, that had a lock.

"I am done," Aloe announced aloud, and soon enough Lulu her way upstairs. Nesrine just turned to her, her face stoic. The scribe was unable to discern if the guard had heard her cries, or if she cared.

Nesrine carried the scribe down the stairs whilst the maid did the same with the wheelchair. This time Aloe changed to toughness. She was already getting tired from being moved up and down, and she feared the way down could be too much for her. The guard placed her in the wheelchair with care, fully knowing that she was unwell even if she hadn't voiced it out.

"We will leave you for a moment, Lulu," Aloe explained once she accommodated herself in the wheelchair.

"Understood, Aloe." The maid bowed down to nearly ninety degrees.

"Also, one thing more." The scribe interjected the instant she felt Nesrine pull back the wheelchair. "I have locked the office upstairs. Consider yourself spared from cleaning it."

Lulu raised her back and dedicated Aloe a smile. "See you in a while then."

The scribe gave her a nod and the guard pulled her out of the house. Because they could only leave the palace once Aloe's scribal duties were fulfilled for the day, the sun now threatened to set. The skies had already grown orange with the will of the afternoon.

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"Where to?" Nesrine asked behind her.

"As much as I would like to navigate through the bazaar and lighten my purse, I have a destination in mind. Follow my directions."

"Your commands are my will." Even if she spoke such words, Aloe knew there was no loyalty between the two, only goodwill.

Their pace through the streets of Sadina was abysmal as Nesrine pushed the wheelchair the way Lulu had done. However, the slowness wasn't born out of a lack of strength but consideration. The scribe was donning toughness and her breath still got rugged from time to time. Her body was ailing, and it didn't help that she was constantly using up her vitality to keep her levels down. The only saving grace was that she didn't need to be as conscious of her usage as when she was in the palace as no sultanzade would appear out of nowhere.

Ironically enough, that ended up being more devastating to her body.

Aloe allowed her body to rest, but not for the sake of health and recovery. Only because she had infused a sizable chunk of her vitality into a black seed, turning it into a Flourishing Spring. The absence of sultanzade meant that she now had the margin to evolve seeds, a procedure that took even more of a toll on her body than the constant infusion of dates to keep her vitality regulated.

Being tired and evolving seeds didn't make much of a match, as for the time they arrived at their destination, the scribe was fighting a headache born from the lightheadedness of the vitality consumption.

Before she dared to talk, Aloe took a deep breath. It didn't help with her pain or her growing dread, but her body appreciated it.

"Can you knock on the door, please?" Her voice was weak, tired, spent.

Nesrine didn't ask why – whether of the knocking or who the house where they were in front of was – and simply complied.

"Who's there?" The female voice was muffled but it was obvious it had been a shout.

I guess she's in the kitchen if she's shouting instead of assisting the door. "It's me, Mirah. Aloe."

The scribe heard no response, but the thud she heard from the door was answer enough. The furious sprinting also worked as a confirmation. "Aloe?" Her aunt voiced out excitedly as she slammed the house's door open.

Then her eyes lay upon her.

Mirah's face lost all color and she fell to her knees. Aloe wanted to laugh, cruelty and pain overflowing her, though she painfully held herself. Not even Lulu reacted this badly. The housewife made a feint of talking but rapidly closed her mouth as no words came out. Nesrine motioned a hand to help her, but without looking at her, she slapped the guard's hand and stood up by herself with the help of the doorframe.

"W-what…" Mirah's voice trembled as she lent all her body weight to the doorframe. "H-how…" She bit her underlip. "Long time no see, Aloe." The housewife finally spoke with a wry smile on her beautiful yet pained visage.

"Indeed," Aloe responded with the same shared pain. "Far too long. Far too long."

The petite woman grabbed the skirt of her dress, putting so much strength in her grip that the cloth began to screech. It was hard to keep her façade, breath, and heartbeat in line.

"Well," Mirah unlatched from the doorframe, taking an unstable step forward. "Don't stay outside, please enter."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Aloe nodded. "Nesrine, would you be so dear to push me?"

"Of course," The guard moved from the door and grabbed the handles of the wheelchair.

"Oh," Mirah's eyes opened like plates and she took a step backward. "I hadn't seen you… Ehrm, who are you again?"

"Mirah, this is Nesrine, a guard of the palace and… my escort, I guess." The scribe presented the women to each other. "Nesrine, this is Mirah, a close friend of the family."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am." Nesrine offered a hand to Mirah.

"Likewise." The housewife accepted the hand with a smile, though the disparity between the women's build became apparent in the exchange.

Nesrine wasn't particularly tall, but neither Mirah was. Yet the guard's arm was twice as thick as her aunt's. The difference in muscle was astounding. Mirah was extremely thin; all her weight seemingly went to another part of her body. Few could beat Mirah in what bosom department was related, only one person capable of winning such a duel came to Aloe's mind, and it was the only person in the world that she didn't want to think about. She was thoroughly disgusted by how closely she knew the chest of both of those women.

Mirah escorted them inside, she and the guard unbeknownst to the bile gathering in the scribe's throat, and the housewife made space for Aloe in the kitchen.

"Would you mind telling me how… this happened?" Mirah inquired once they sat down with tea in their hands, Nesrine too.

"It's… a sour tale." The scribe told crestfallen; her eyes locked with her legs.

"I have sugar." Aloe couldn't help but raise her head upon hearing Mirah's words – her pathetic attempt at comedy – and she was met with a smile. "Please, tell me what happened. I want to know."

Mirah had been and was many things to her. Yet now, no matter how warm her words may be, she felt a darkness creeping out of her. Aloe didn't mind. She too had darkness of her own.

Aloe took a deep breath before telling the events of the last months. She did her best to narrate everything – even before leaving Sadina – without crying.

She utterly failed.