“You can borrow the Tulip Set,” Tavrin said. “But only if you bring it back in better shape than you got it.”
That’s the rule. Always been.
The teapot’s the proud one – spout high, handle stiff, tulip badge shining like a medal.
The cups? Trouble. They like to wander off mid-pour, hiding behind potted lavender or sneaking sips from rain puddles.
And the tray? The tray’s tired. The tray holds them together.
Every rooftop in Florendelle’s borrowed them at least once: a wedding toast, a rooftop duel, a secret midnight picnic.
But they always come back.
Sometimes with a new chip.
Sometimes with a new story.