They said I should bloom

As the sun breached the horizon, the golden light exploded across the plains. She stood there, the key grasped in her hand and held aloft, waiting for the light to reach her.

“Come on,” she whispered, “Just a bit further.”

It inched along, claiming ownership of each morsel of ground it fed upon.

Aurora’s favorite time of year was summer, but the summer solstice was so much more than just a day. It was the day the key could find its lock - find its purpose.

At least, that’s what the myth had told her.

When the sun strikes its head, the gem within will bloom.

She wasn’t really sure what that meant, what it could mean, but when the key had found its way into her hands, she eventually gave into it’s power. She came to know she would do whatever she could to germinate the promise within.

As she waited for the sunlight to climb across the land, Aurora’s mind swept back to her grandmother’s last few days. There had been some tears, but so many more smiles. And one thing her Nana refused to let go.

With shaking hands, Nana had moved her pale, withered hands to her neck, pulling out the chain that rested against her breast. At one time, her skin had been supple there, an ample bosom hiding the metal within, but now her bones almost caved inward, time and age stealing what it had once given freely.

“You must guard this key,” Nana had said, her scratchy voice clawing along Aurora’s ears. “And you must never let it see the light of day upon the solstice.” Nana’s eyes had bore into her, a drill cracking open the flesh between her eyes to find the mind within.

Aurora had asked why, had begged to know what was so special about this key, but Nana refused her each time. She’d only had a few days after that, but each one she still insisted that the key must stay hidden, must stay safe.

“They said I should bloom, but I choked on the vines,” Nana had whispered, her eyes growing glassier as the hours ticked.

With the key about her neck on that chain, Aurora had planned to stay true to that wish. But it was almost two years later now, and times change.

The sun crept up her legs, first dancing at her toes, then glistening on the rounded dimples of her knees, then her hips until finally it glanced upon the outstretched key in her hand.

The first hit of the rays was almost blinding, a cascade of green bursts exploding in the air about her fingertips.

“This is it,” Aurora whispered, eyes squinting against the light as it enveloped her hand. And then there was more than light.

From the tips of the stone, massive green vines began to burst forth. At first they were thin, questioning, tickling against her wrists to move to her elbows, like a sniffing dog checking to make sure you mean it no harm.

But then, they became hungrier, growing thicker and quickly wrapping around her arm.

A squeak left her lips, hope and curiosity transitioning so quickly into fear. She tried to flex her fingers, to let go of the offending metal, but a large stump slammed into the ground, holding her arm steady. She was a prisoner and the key, ironically, was the lock.

“No,” she whispered, her eyes scrunching as she tried to find a way out, a way to escape. But the vines moved on, grasping her shoulders and pulling her downward, toward the soil they sought.

“Stop!” She yelled, but her cries were muffled as the flowering green cut off her breath, shoving down her throat and esophagus.

Her air supply stripped away so violently, Aurora fought to cough, to live, but the vines were swift. The magic was upon her, pulling her down toward the ground, to the fertile field at her feet.

Thick cracks appeared, the ground cleaved open with an invisible shovel, and Aurora was swallowed cleanly up.

She’s always loved summer.

Especially the summer solstice.

As the sun moved on, claiming more and more of the land for the longest day of the year, a small vine poked back through the earth, reaching for the sky.

Dancing upon the wind, it swirled and swooped, growing swiftly. The flowers that bloomed were red and orange, dotted with bits of yellow and gold, and on the stigma of that plant, the key dangled.