This is part of the prologue for Moonstruck Consent (book 4 of NTSR).
Gravity is a weighty concept for an eight-year-old whose mind is bewitched by the fanciful. I didn’t know anything about magic until I met Leia, but lying on our bellies in her garden while she told me story after story, I began to believe in the impossible.
So, when she picked a daisy and said, “Do you think if we dig the daisy out and leave its roots on, it will float away into the sky?” I said, “Yes.”
I didn’t even think about it. What else could tether a flower to the earth but its roots? A picked flower couldn’t float away because it wasn’t whole without its roots. That seemed obvious.
We dug the tiny flower out, sharing secret smiles, determined to grant the daisy its freedom. But there was no freedom in death, not for the still flower lying next to the hole we dug to preserve its roots, and not for those left behind, whose secret smiles turned to churning guts and guilty hearts. There was no messing with gravity. Not yet.
Photo from Pixabay.