Chapter 11
Whispers of the Bloom
Amy deciphers more of the ancient texts, learning that the night-blooming flora can absorb and redirect lunar energy, but requires a specific catalyst.
The ancient tome lay open on my lap, its pages brittle and smelling faintly of forgotten tea leaves and dust bunnies. I traced the faded script with a finger, Baby Blue Bears snoozing on my shoulder, a tiny, warm weight, and Russo Baby Bears curled up at my feet, his snores a gentle rumble against the floorboards. Outside, the Spooky Moon was growing, a fat, bruised plum in the sky, and the air felt thick with anticipation. It was the kind of quiet that made your teeth ache.
“Okay, so… 'absorb and redirect lunar energy’,” I muttered, squinting at the spidery words. “That’s… good. That’s definitely good. Like a magical sponge, but for moonbeams. And not the nice, sparkly kind.” I paused, letting the words sink in. “But it needs a… a catalyst. What’s a catalyst? Is it like a tiny, magical spark plug?”
Baby Blue Bears twitched an ear. He’d been unnervingly quiet lately, his usual yappy enthusiasm replaced by a sort of watchful stillness. Russo Baby Bears, on the other hand, had been a ball of nervous energy, his tail thumping a frantic rhythm against the rug whenever the Spooky Moon’s sickly glow seeped through the window.
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