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When Summer Ends

A Love Story

By Raine Bracken Published 3 years ago 7 min read
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Petra had never believed in love at first sight. You couldn’t know someone at a glance, couldn’t learn to appreciate their strengths and accept their weaknesses in the span of a breath. Anyone who thought differently was a fool in her mind, people trying to weave their mundane lives into fairytales. In truth, such things only led to disappointment. In her mind she knew all this to be true. It didn’t stop the way her heart raced the first time she saw Marigold on that bright summer day.

Petra supposed her life had always resembled a twisted sort of fairytale, the kind a poet might write so they could delight in the tears of their audience. She’d followed the path her father had walked before her; she’d dreamed of being a knight since she was a child. She trained alongside all the boys the other girls swooned over and never saw their appeal. She’d always assumed it was proximity. Nothing looked appealing when you stared at it too long or too close.

Or maybe she never liked any of them because no one ever liked her. A girl with a sword was a strange thing to them, something almost obscene. Still, no one objected outright. They all respected her father too much for that. The fact that their distaste for Petra was born from her desire to do the very things they praised her father for did not escape her. Their sideways glances and venomous whispers never managed to dissuade her. Petra had dreams and once she’d lived to see them fulfilled they’d all choke on their years of insults. Hopefully that day would come sooner rather than later but first she’d have to complete a number of convincingly heroic feats.

That’s what she’d been on her way to do the day she’d wandered into that meadow. It was the path that would lead her to a trove guarded by a moderately large dragon. This dragon was rumoured to have countless riches in its mountain lair but Petra cared not for its gold or gems. She searched for the sword rumoured to lay among the treasures a sword that legend said allowed whomever wielding it to know when anyone spoke a lie. Being the hero to recover the sword would do wonders for her reputation. Others had, of course, tried before. Some fled with minor injury and some never returned, their ashes likely still lying somewhere on that mountain.

Petra would have to get to the mountain before she worried about escaping it and the path to the mountain required she pass through this meadow. Many of the others she’d heard of had taken different routes. They said the beauty of such a place was deceptive, that it was home to nymphs who would lure in and deceive young men with their feminine wiles. Petra had always thought such stories were men trying to blame their cowardice and shortcomings on women.

Petra was never deceived. She knew Marigold was a nymph the moment she laid eyes on her. Dressed in yellows and crowned with golden hair, she shone brighter than the sun as she tended to the flowers of the meadow.

Their eyes met at the same moment and the golden haired woman smiled in a way that made Petra’s heart stop.

“Hello there,” the woman called out, “Do you seek passage through these grounds?”

Petra nodded and the woman drew closer.

“I’m Marigold and I am the guardian of this meadow.” She didn’t look like much of a guardian in her silken robes and flower crown but Petra didn’t question her. She herself didn’t match the image others had of a knight and she’d always hated the confused glances and prying questions that none of the boys were ever subjected to.

So all she said was, “Marigold? Like the flower?”

She smiled brighter, “Exactly like the flower. Follow me.”

Marigold led her through the maze of tall grass and wildflowers, taking the time to name each flower along the way; chrysanthemums, roses, lilies, and of course marigolds. She told stories, myths of how each one came to be, the tilt of her smile and glimmer in her eye made it seem as though she herself had been there.

By the time they’d made it to the end of the meadow the grassy hills seemed so bleak in comparison to the fields of flowers.

“I have a long journey ahead of me,” Petra said, “would you mind if I rested here just for one night?”

Marigold smiled.

Petra had never believed in love at first sight. Until that day.

Petra told her about where she’d come from and what she hoped lay ahead. Marigold in turn asked questions about dragons, and treasures, and swords.

It led to Petra trying to teach Marigold the basics of swordplay. Something, she soon learned, that didn’t come naturally to Marigold.

Petra flinched every time the novice almost lost her grip on the hilt. She couldn’t help but picture all the ways these lessons might go badly, though they never did.

“Why are you the guardian of the meadow?” Petra eventually asked. “How can you be the guardian of the meadow if you don’t even know how to fight?”

Marigold took no offence to the questions, in fact she seemed entirely unbothered.

“Oh, I don’t think it will ever come to that. I just take care of the flowers.”

That was why Petra told herself she had to stay, just a little longer. What would Marigold do if danger ever came to her in the meadow. Every evening Petra would ask for permission to stay just one more night and every time Marigold agreed.

Sometimes Petra remembered the stories of the men who warned her not to take the path through the meadow; “Nymphs are wily creatures, they’ll lead you astray from your path and you won’t even know it.” But she never feared that Marigold kept her trapped there on purpose.

Every night that Petra stayed, Marigold’s brow would knit with growing concern.

“What of your quest? Surely you must be going soon?”

Petra waved her off for she could not voice the truth she could not even admit to herself; she no longer wanted to leave. Once she had wanted to be a hero, to fight dragons and see the world. Now all she wanted was to lie in this field of flowers with Marigold forever. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Days passed, then weeks. Even as Petra forgot her quest Marigold never did. In fact, the more resolute Petra became in staying, the more Marigold persisted she leave. She tried not to let it wound her for she was certain Marigold enjoyed Petra’s company as much as Petra enjoyed hers. And she was right. It wasn’t until when the end of summer drew near that Petra began to realize the truth.

The air grew colder and the ground hard. One by one flowers began to wilt. The green grass dried to brown, the sunflowers shrunk away from the sky, and the marigolds slowly lost their petals.

With horror Petra realized that as the garden withered so did her beloved. Marigold’s skin grew pale and her movements weak. Eventually there was no denying it; Marigold was dying.

Petra stayed by her side as she grew frail.

One day Petra broke. “I don’t understand, you’re a nymph, you’re immortal, you should live forever.”

“No dear, I’m a flower. We don’t live very long at all.”

“What will I do when you’re gone?”

“Exactly what you should have done a long time ago. Go on your quest, slay a dragon, become the greatest hero the world has ever known.”

There was such hope in her voice that Petra could only nod and smile through her tears. In truth she felt more lost than ever. She thought she had known what she wanted but no dream could ever measure up to the life she was losing. If Marigold was gone there was nothing left in the world that she wanted. How did one keep going once they’d known perfect happiness only to see it disappear?

It was something she’d have to learn to do. When fall had truly come Petra stood alone at the edge of the meadow for the last time. She would not be able to bring herself to ever come back. She looked upon the path Marigold had shown her mere months ago.

Perhaps she would slay a dragon and become a great hero. She tried to find solace in that but found nothing. Colour had once flooded her life so easily. Now everything seemed dull and grey. As summer ended Petra knew in her heart that this winter would last much longer than a season.

Short Story
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About the Creator

Raine Bracken

Raine Bracken is a writer and filmmaker whose work is fueled by her childhood love of literature and story telling. It can be categorized as either whimsical or murderous, although it often lies somewhere in between the two.

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