Yesterday, Lilly was returning home in a wonderful mood. Lighthearted, smiling widely and much more happy, that anyone would be after the long shift at work as she had. After the busy night at the tavern. After the eventful evening at the Curious Octopus, which couldn’t be described as calm and lacking some unexpected disarray. But she was simply a little different from the usual sort of folk. And all that for no specific reason. Maybe she was born under the lucky star, maybe she was just not bright enough to realize all bad things in the life, and maybe she got some reward for all the bad thing that happened in her life. Who know. The fact was, this small dancer was coming to the inn in Hatherford where she was renting a room, widely smiling and humming a merry melody under her hood. She nodded to mister Jones before she took her way upstairs, pulling a key from her pocket to unlocks the door as any other day.
She entered a small room where a single bed was in the corner, a closet in the other, a small table in the third one and a bath tub in the last.
Dusk, her tamed raven from Drustvar was woken by the sound of the creaking lock, and welcomed her with one single caw.
Lilly smiled at the cobalt bird and turned to lock the door behind her. Once done, she turned, taking a deep breath in, exhaling the excitement she brought with her from the tavern. A good night it was for sure. And with the promise of more like this. She moves to her bed to prepare herself for the sleep and her eyes landed on the wooden bowl sitting on the small table in which a plant was sitting in the water.
That was when her motions froze, her smile dropped and her look locked on the flower.
A culture of Kul Tiras has many tales, stories, customs and legends. The story about sea stalk was only one of them. A plant growing near the water, with leaves like a bird’s nest, cradling stalks in the peas-green color, almost translucent, and with blossoms of the light pink, almost white color. To natives, also knows as the Gentle Warning, Widow’s Veil or Sailor’s Doom. Among the alchymical purpose, the plant was widely used - as long as the tales remember - as a sign of the sailors’ fate. A blossom woven in the strand of the hair was nothing uncommon among native sailors. For the flower, even if growing close to the sea, was dying instantly when meeting with the salt water. So such was a way of knowing the destiny of lovers during a long journey. As soon as the blossom woven in the hair brand died, the rest of the plant, kept alive by just a little water at home, died as well.
Lilly’s gaze landed on the plant of the sea stalk she had there for over a week now, but today, the gaze stopped there and did not move to anything else. As the plant was dead. She wished it was just a trick of the moonlight, the cruel play of her tired mind. She would be happily to let her eyes betray her if it would mean the plant was still alive. But that was not the case.
Lilly rushed to the table to touch the sea stalk and make herself be convinced yet by another sense. But her fingers told her what her eyes knew already. The plant was dead.
