The Greenhouse Key
Chapter 1 · 1 min read · Luna Ellis
Mae had inherited a greenhouse, a rusted bicycle and thirty-seven handwritten rules. The first rule was KEEP THE BLUE FLOWERS IN THE DARK. The second was NEVER LISTEN WHEN THE ROSES SPEAK.
She stood among the wet ferns and wondered whether her aunt had been eccentric or simply lonely. Rain drummed against the glass roof, and something small moved beneath a pot of lavender.
When Mae lifted the pot, she found a silver key wrapped in a ribbon. The key was warm. A nearby rosebud opened with a soft sigh and spoke a name she had not heard in ten years.
It was her brother’s name. He had been gone since the winter he turned twelve. Mae felt the air change, and every flower in the greenhouse turned toward her at once.
“Tell me,” she whispered, holding the key so tightly it hurt. The roses rustled against the glass, forming the beginning of an answer.