The next morning, Briar awoke to the sound of distant humming—soft, melodic, and suspiciously floral. She groaned, burying her face in her pillow, hoping against hope that she was still dreaming. But the faint hum persisted, growing louder as the sunlight filtered through her curtains.

She sighed and reluctantly sat up, squinting against the brightness. The house was quiet, which meant her mother was likely still out running errands. Briar rubbed her eyes and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. As her feet touched the cool wooden floor, she glanced out the window.

Her garden was glowing.

Briar stared in disbelief. The plants had somehow organized themselves into neat rows overnight, with the flowers now arranged in perfect harmony—literally. The soft hum she’d heard was the roses, still crooning a gentle melody. The once unruly vines were coiled neatly around the fence, and even the floating pumpkin had settled closer to the ground, bobbing lazily in the breeze.

"Well," Briar muttered, "this is… unexpected."

She quickly threw on her clothes and rushed outside, feeling a mixture of relief and confusion. The enchanted soil had clearly done something to calm her plants, but this level of coordination felt… off. Plants didn’t just wake up one day and decide to form a choir.

Briar crouched down next to her vegetable patch, which looked suspiciously quiet, and reached for a carrot. To her surprise, as soon as her fingers brushed the green top, the carrot wiggled.

She froze, her heart skipping a beat. Slowly, cautiously, she pulled the carrot from the soil, half expecting it to jump out of her hand. It didn’t. But as she held the bright orange vegetable in her hand, it blinked.

Yes. Blinked.

Briar yelped and nearly dropped the carrot, stumbling backward.

"Watch it!" a small, scratchy voice protested.

Briar stared in horror as the carrot—the actual carrot—wiggled in her hand and glared at her with tiny, beady eyes.

"Excuse me?" she whispered, her voice shaky. "Did you just… talk?"

The carrot rolled its tiny eyes. "Of course I talked. What, you think plants don’t have opinions?"

Briar blinked several times, her brain scrambling to make sense of the situation. "But… you’re a carrot."

The carrot shrugged. "And you’re a witch. Life’s full of surprises."

This was too much. Singing flowers were one thing, but talking vegetables? That was where Briar drew the line.

"Okay, no," Briar said, standing up and holding the carrot at arm’s length like it was a dangerous animal. "This is not happening. You’re not supposed to talk. You’re supposed to—" She hesitated, unsure how to explain the proper role of a carrot. "Be a carrot!"

The carrot gave her a deadpan look. "I am a carrot. I’m just an opinionated one."

Briar felt a headache coming on. "I don’t have time for this."

"Oh, sure," the carrot huffed. "You witches never have time for the important things. Like listening to what your vegetables have to say."

Briar opened her mouth to protest, but before she could form a response, Myrtle’s voice rang out from behind her.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"Briar!" Myrtle came running down the path, her arms full of what looked like potion ingredients. "I brought—" She stopped dead in her tracks, staring at the scene before her. Specifically, at the talking carrot dangling from Briar’s hand. "Is that carrot…?"

"Yes," Briar said through gritted teeth. "It’s talking."

Myrtle’s face lit up with delight. "Oh, this is fantastic! A talking carrot? You’ve got to let me show this to the village!"

"Absolutely not!" the carrot snapped. "I refuse to be paraded around like some sort of circus act."

Myrtle burst out laughing. "Oh, I love this thing. Can we keep him?"

"No," Briar said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We’re not keeping the carrot."

The carrot crossed its tiny leafy arms. "I’m not a thing. I have a name, you know."

"Of course you do," Briar muttered. "Why wouldn’t a talking carrot have a name?"

"It’s Reginald," the carrot announced proudly. "Reginald the Carrot. And I’ll have you know I’m the smartest vegetable in this garden."

Myrtle snorted. "Not much competition, is there?"

"Hey!" Reginald snapped. "I resent that."

Briar shook her head, feeling like she had officially lost her grip on reality. "This is ridiculous. I can’t believe I’m having an argument with a carrot."

"Look, Briar," Myrtle said, still grinning, "you’ve got to admit, this is hilarious. You’ve got a vegetable revolution on your hands. What’s next, talking tomatoes?"

"Don’t even joke about that," Briar muttered darkly. She glanced down at Reginald, who was still glaring up at her with his tiny carrot eyes. "Alright, Reginald. You’re clearly… different. But I need you to explain how this happened."

Reginald huffed, his leafy top bristling. "How should I know? One minute I’m minding my own business in the soil, and the next minute I’m awake and thinking about how unappreciated I am as a root vegetable. Then you come along and yank me out of the ground like I’m some kind of common produce."

Myrtle burst out laughing again. "This is gold."

Briar sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Okay, but why now? Why today? Did the enchanted soil do this?"

Reginald squinted up at her. "Enchanted soil, you say? Hm. That might explain it. Plants absorb magic, you know. Feed them enough of the stuff, and sometimes… well, they wake up. Lucky for you, I’m not the type to start a revolution. Not that the other vegetables share my restraint."

Briar blinked. "The other vegetables?"

Reginald shrugged. "Oh yeah. There’s been talk of organizing. You know, fair treatment for all plants. Equal watering schedules, better sunlight distribution, that sort of thing."

Myrtle was practically doubled over with laughter. "You’ve got a unionizing vegetable patch! This is amazing."

Briar stared at Reginald, her mind spinning. "Wait. Are you saying the rest of the plants can talk, too?"

"Not all of them," Reginald replied, "but give them enough time, and they’ll get there. If I were you, I’d keep an eye on the zucchinis. They’ve always been a bit… rebellious."

Briar groaned and dropped Reginald into a basket, shaking her head. "I don’t have time for this. I need to figure out how to fix this before my garden decides to start a protest."

Myrtle wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. "Oh, come on, Briar. This is incredible! You’ve got the most unique garden in the village—no, the world! People would pay to see this."

"I don’t want people paying to see my garden," Briar grumbled. "I just want it to be normal."

"Define normal," Reginald said from his basket. "Because, from where I’m sitting, normal sounds pretty boring."

Briar glared at the carrot. "Normal is a garden that doesn’t talk back."

"That’s a low bar," Reginald muttered.

Myrtle, still trying to contain her laughter, nudged Briar. "Come on, Briar. You’ve got to admit, this is kind of fun. Maybe this whole talking vegetable thing is a good thing. Who knows what else your garden could do?"

"I don’t want to find out," Briar said flatly.

But deep down, a tiny part of her was curious. Reginald was right about one thing—normal was boring. Maybe there was something to be gained from embracing the chaos. But for now, she’d settle for figuring out how to stop her garden from staging a coup.

"I need to talk to someone who knows more about magic," Briar said, standing up and dusting off her hands. "Maybe the local witch in town can help me sort this out."

"Oh, goody," Reginald said, rolling his eyes. "A field trip."

Myrtle clapped her hands together. "Now we’re talking! Let’s go visit old Magda. She’s got to know something about enchanted plants."

Briar nodded, grabbing a basket to carry Reginald. "Alright. But if any other vegetables start talking on the way there, I’m putting them in the compost."

"Rude," Reginald muttered, but Briar ignored him.

As they headed down the path toward the village, Briar couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of excitement. Sure, her garden was out of control, but maybe—just maybe—there was something more to all of this. Something bigger than a few talking plants.

But for now, she just had to survive a conversation with Magda. And, hopefully, prevent Reginald from starting a vegetable uprising.