Aurebel guards the shortcut.
Cherry Lane Wall isn’t really a wall – it’s a narrow rooftop path, edged with her camellias, watched by her dove, used by every child in Florendelle who’s late to market.
“Don’t crush the blooms,” she warns. They never listen.
Her flowers lean out over the path, brushing knees, catching ribbons, once pulling off a shoe. Aurebel keeps a tally of lost things tucked beneath her rim: two marbles, four hair ties, a paper plane.
Yesterday, the dove left a peach pit.
Today, there’s a sprout.
“I didn’t agree to this,” she mutters.