When Brigora had found out about her and Ladaria’s thing she had done a dance. Then she began breathing deeply and said, “1, 2, 3, 4, 5-” Brigora shot Ladaria a death squint, for Ladaria was doubled over on the bench, laughing and hooting and making odd noises. Then Ladaria tried to speak through her laughter and in the attempt almost choked herself. Then a strange look of dread flashed over Ladaria’s face. It was only for an instant and then Ladaria plastered a sunny smile onto her face.
“I gotta go,” she said, and then dashed away before Brigora could get a word in.
That night Brigora lay in bed. She was so happy for her and Ladaria. She had to get her energy out somehow. She considered screaming into her pillow, but that might wake Symbol, who was sleeping in the room next to her. She decided she would go on a walk. She carefully pulled down her blankets, layer by layer. She styled her hair into a hasty braid and got a green and blue dress to pull on over her nightie. She quietly opened the door, wincing as it made a high creaking noise. She slipped out and eased the door shut. She didn’t know where to go. She could go anywhere or do anything. Then Brigora decided. She would go to the garden.
The garden was always beautiful at night. So Brigora crept down the twisting, winding, and forked hallways that most people would have thought impossible to navigate. Then she came to the ornately carved oak door with a lock. It was the door to Brigora’s private garden. She took the key out of her pocket, her hand catching on a thread inside. She fitted the silver key into the iron lock and turned it. The doors opened. Brigora felt herself relax. This was one of the only places where she could be herself. In joy she shot a jet of snow into the air and stuck out her tongue to catch it. Then she did a cartwheel. She giggled. She imagined her father’s face If he saw her now, cart wheeling amongst the daffodils. She took a long deep sniff. It was the smell of roses, daffodils, day-lilies, rhododendrons, tulips, and other flower’s scents that mingled so much that she couldn’t tell what they were. It was night-time in the garden.