"I knews ya' was mute girl, but not deaf," the head Matron spouted, tromping through the mud-slicked entrance of the mines. "First it was the gos'don lavender peelin', now you've literally gotten yer'self in a rut!"

Florence scoffed under her breath.

With slicked elbows and wet hair matting to her cheeks, she dug her fingers into the tunnel floor and pulled herself deeper. The muffled voices of Matron Henva and her house-sister, Kandace, warred with panic and irritation.

Eyes on the prize.

If the Infirmary hadn't run out of mugwort and wood sorrel during torrent season, she wouldn't be burrowing through Comare's industrial caves on a supply run. She couldn't blame them for nagging, but someone ought to be thanking her the minute sailors start dragging their wet carcasses inland for aid.

"Florence!" her friend whined. She could almost imagine the wrinkled up brows and pouty lips on Kandace's face from the rain. "Florence, we need to go back into town!"

With a damp chuckle, she inhaled stale crumbs of earth and grimaced. The mud tasted like rotten fish and rust from the train tracks a few meters above—a savory soup of metal sliding down her tongue. No need for lunch now.

"Ya' wasted brat, get back here!"

Nausea crept up her throat as she hoisted herself into a dip and shimmied past twigs from half a century ago. Their cloying scrapes at her bare skin sent shivers down her spine as faint purple petals stole her attention.

Shrouded in leaves like clover and illuminated by a small break in the wall, Florence tucked in her knees and inched forward until she could grab a couple handfuls.

"Wish I'da left ya' at the hut," the Matron's grumbling echoed. "Takin' up healin' when you can't even save ya'self. What you 'spose gon' happen if the tunnel collapses, eh? A dead orphan on my hands, that's all I got. Who you 'spose is gon' be to blame? Should'a left ya' in that hut with yer draw'ins."

Florence's nose wrinkled.

The word orphan always struck her.

Even if she was growing more certain, Matron Henva didn't know the meaning of any word she used–that one always stung most.

They told her over and over again, the house was her home. The village was her family. No one spoke of the wailing baby girl who appeared on hallows eve when the Veil was at its thinnest or the parents who'd vanished without a trace.

Matron said faeries stole babies in the night, replacing them with their own children for a laugh.

But her guts told her a different story.

"The skinwalker's are gon' getcha girl, ain't nothin' I can do 'bout it," she said again, huffing a loud breath. Florence could hear the chill of her voice, the way fog fled her lips. "Take the train if yer' so certain. I be back at the house."

"I can't sit around either, Flore, Mabon ends tonight," Kandace called, her shadow dimming the light. "I'm supposed to help Ma prepare the feast."

Mabon.

Men splitting harvest with village and God alike, a bonfire lit as each farm sacrificed a tithe to the heavens. While some might offer two stalks of corn to Bessa for her ancient green thumbs or fresh catch to Johon, the minor god of good tides, the infirmary would be responsible for preparing strength tonics. One for each household.

Kandace and the Matron had seemingly forgotten she was preparing for Mabon.

Florence couldn't blame them, not really. The absence of her voice had made her practically invisible to the town and when it came to her quick thinking and reliability? Well, she learned people often praised the tonic that healed them–not the hand.

Creeping between the streams of light and dark, she managed to wedge herself deeper into the hole where the wood sorrel bloomed in a small clearing. The open pocket of earth had become a nut stash for the squirrels, untouched by society as bugs and bones bordered her way out.

Yellow and white flooded her vision as Florence gripped the bottom of each stem and twisted. Once she'd managed to collect five—leaving about half to continue growing in the dark—her thumb pressed the ovary and anthem from the sixth and poked a hole in the ground.

Hopefully another plant could sprout over the next nox or so.

She'd be back in a few moons to check on its progress.

Tucking her knees into her ribs as tight as possible, Florence slowly stepped herself around to face the hole. A pair of brown ears and black eyes watched her from a tiny tunnel to the right.

"Flore!" her friend's voice yelled again.

The ground began to tremble around them and Florence froze, bracing herself for the oncoming train to pass. She was beneath the railways and knew this might happen. Pushing her fingers into the earth around her, she tightened her core and waited.

The rumbling faded.

"Flore, are you okay?!?"

Florence scoffed.

She didn't know how Kandace expected her to answer that.

Instead, she inched into the hole and tried to make her way back, clutching the flowers under her shirt. Without the mugwort and some aerling mist, this tonic would only fight the ego and manipulate the drinker into a fearless state.

Maiden Inka had taught her better than that.

Instead of obsessing over the god's meaning behind her arrival or hexing her as a bad omen, she'd taught Florence how to mend, heal, and break in equal measure.

Skills which attained growing favor despite the whispers of her witchdom.

Anything straying from what the town thought was normal ended in misery. At least her house-sister's parents had either passed away or surrendered them. No one knew what to do with a child that came from the shores, with no name or claim other than a luxury blanket the Matron stole away.

Florence has seen it framed over her fireplace upstairs on a few occasions, completely surprised by the ornate design but also confused.

Why on earth had she kept it?

Uncaring of the actual blanket, Florence never needed to touch the fabric of her past. It was only curious why the Matron had.

Her parents were gone.

Inka surmised it had something to do with traveling sickness or a robbery gone horribly vile. The idea of some criminal with a last minute conscience dumping her here wasn't comforting.

So Florence decided she would learn everything it took until she was old enough to go out on an adventure of her own.

Maybe then she'd never have to see Comare or Matron Henva again.

Swallowing past the musings and insults roving through her mind, Florence became as thin and flexible as the worms around her, avoiding anymore major disruptions to their environment.

Her mouth watered at the fresh air brushing over her cheeks as she drew closer. The taste of fog and storm wrapping around her tongue in a briney wave.

"Florence..." Kandace called, strange terror lacing her voice. "Florence, we need to go, now!"

Her brows furrowed.

What could possibly be happening out—

Her house-sister screamed, the sharp pitch coating her skin in gooseflesh as the ground began shaking again.

Panic turned her to stone.

She couldn't scream, couldn't climb out fast enough—

Florence's sight was engulfed by an extraordinary white light pulsing down the tunnel. Swaths of gold peaked through, forcing her head down into the dirt. The sensation of fingers tracing down her skin followed, hands touching and grabbing with the wind until she was falling.

Flipping head over heels.

The ground was gone.

And so was she.