Chapter Text
Lily woke on her second morning at Stardrop Farms feeling as though she had been trampled by her family's entire stable. Every muscle ached. It took significant effort just to sit up, and she groaned softly as her joints protested.
She pulled on the same mud-stiff clothes she’d worn for days. New ones could wait. There was work to do.
When she stepped outside, warm sunlight hit her face. The wind rustled through wildflowers, and dew sparkled on the tall grass.
As she descended the porch steps, she noticed something resting at the bottom. A parcel wrapped neatly in brown paper and twine. A note lay on top. The handwriting tidy but a bit unsteady, ink pressed deep into the paper.
Lily,
Thought these might help you get started. I wish you luck with your first harvest.
—Mayor Lewis
Inside lay a packet of Parsnip Seeds. Warmth filled her as she traced the letters. People here did not merely tolerate her presence; they welcomed her. She didn’t quite know what to do with that.
She took her tools to the overgrown field. Saplings, brambles, broken fences, stumps, and buried stones filled the land. The work was enormous. She suddenly felt very small.
"Well," she muttered, "it certainly won’t clear itself."
Sweat gathered at her temples. Her palms blistered. Her arms shook with each swing of a tool. She wanted to stop. Instead, she raised the axe again.
Hours passed. Grass stuck to her boots. Dirt streaked across her face. Birds circled overhead. She paused occasionally to catch her breath, leaning on her knees and trying not to collapse entirely. She could almost hear her father scoffing at the sight of her clothes torn and hair tangled, laboring like a field hand.
The thought made her work harder.
By midday, she had cleared enough space to plant. It was uneven and messy, but the soil beneath was rich and dark. She knelt and pressed the first seed into the earth. The moment felt unexpectedly sacred. She smoothed the soil around it with her palm. She whispered, “Please grow," as though pleading with a seed would do anything.
—
Later, while clearing brush near the tree line, she shoved aside a stubborn tangle of thorny vines and stumbled when her foot hit something solid. Brushing away more debris, she uncovered stonework. It was an old path. As she cleared further, crumbling framework and broken glass walls emerged.
Her breath caught. She was standing before the ruins of an old greenhouse. The roof was collapsed beneath the encroaching vines. Inside, broken pots and whatever else remained lay half buried in the soil.
She crouched and picked up a ledger, rotted with pages stuck together from years left out in the elements. She pressed it to her chest. “What did you grow here, grandfather?” she whispered.
She imagined him here, hands in soil, sunlight streaming through glass, tending something delicate and wondrous. She wondered whether he had also once stood where she was, breathing hard, staring at the land and wondering if he could really do it. If he had felt alone as she did now.
She took the ledger back to the house where it could dry out. She hoped to be able to unstick the pages later.
—
By the afternoon, Lily made her way toward town. She hoped fresh air and a walk would loosen her sore muscles. She followed the road; until she rounded a curve and nearly collided with a man crouched behind a bush. He looked up sharply, his eyes wide and his beard tangled. His hands were full of wild leeks. Lily stumbled back.
“Oh! I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
He stared, as though startled that someone was talking to him. “Most folks pass by without noticing me.” he said slowly.
She straightened, embarrassed. “Should I not have?”
He studied her a moment before standing. “No. Just unusual.” He brushed dirt from his hands. “Name’s Linus.”
“I’m Lily.” She hesitated, then asked, “Are you… gathering food?”
“Foraging,” he corrected. “The valley provides what one needs, so long as one takes it with respect.”
He showed her edible wild plants, spring onions near water, dandelion roots beneath loose soil, berries hidden beneath brambles. His hands were steady, movements careful, as though the land might be offended by thoughtlessness. Lily followed, attentive. In the manor kitchens, food had always appeared plated and polished. The idea of gathering it herself felt humbling.
Before she left, he handed her a handful of onions and a wild leek. Her dinner for tonight.
By the time she returned to the farm, Mayor Lewis was waiting beside a large wooden bin. He greeted her warmly and explained its purpose, anything placed in the bin would be collected and sold overnight. The system felt strangely magical, though he laughed when she said so, insisting it was simply civic cooperation.
When she opened her pantry, her stomach growled. She looked down at the freshly foraged vegetables, her first real food not served on silver. She divided them carefully: some to keep, some to sell.
The next morning she found a small pouch of coins beside the bin. The earnings were meager, far less than she needed. Fear tightened in her chest. Her remaining savings scarcely filled the bottom of her purse. If she didn’t expand her crops, her situation could become dire before summer.
So she walked to Pierre’s.
The store smelled of dried herbs and polished wood. Sunlight streamed across neatly arranged displays of seeds. Pierre greeted her enthusiastically, recommending varieties based on season length and profit. She chose potatoes and kale. When she counted out the coins, almost everything she had vanished across the counter. She tried not to let her face fall. Pierre rested a hand on the counter, softening his tone.
“Your grandfather started with even less,” he said. “This land rewards those who believe in it.”
She thanked him.
She returned home, hands trembling slightly, and planted every last seed before dusk. The soil clung to her fingers like wet clay. Her arms burned, her back throbbed, and the sun slipped behind the hills as she pressed the final seed into place.
Standing in the twilight, she gazed out across her patchwork field. The rows were crooked, the soil uneven. Stones still dotted the edges. But she had planted life here, she just needed to wait. She wrapped her arms around herself, heart swelling with a mix of terror and hope.
Luna swooped overhead, landing gracefully on the roof. Her feathers glowed under the rising moon, dark eyes fixed on Lily with a quiet understanding. The crow seemed to watch over her.
Lily closed her eyes, breathing deeply. This was not the life she’d left behind. It was raw and uncertain and nothing like a princess’s future. But it was hers. And for the first time, she believed she might be worthy of it.