Devils Tied By A Flower

The ruins of the orphanage exuded an eerie quiet, a silence that seemed almost unnatural despite the vibrant field of flowers surrounding it. As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows over the broken walls and scattered stones, Lord Caelum Avernal and Lady Seraphina Crimsonvale found themselves drawn deeper into the mystery of the child who had appeared so impossibly out of place.

Caelum's sharp violet eyes scanned the crumbling structure. The walls bore marks of time and neglect: splintered wood, fractured stone, and faded carvings that once spoke of care and community. He stepped carefully, his gloved hand brushing against a weathered doorframe, his mind already piecing together fragments of the story that the ruins might tell. The child's presence here—in such desolation—unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

"What are you looking for?" Seraphina's voice, smooth yet laced with underlying tension, broke through the stillness.

He didn't turn to face her, instead crouching to examine a pile of faded papers and broken toys scattered across the floor. "Answers," he replied curtly. "No child lives alone in a place like this without reason."

Seraphina, standing amidst the wildflowers, turned her crimson gaze back to the child. The girl—who had introduced herself simply as Lyra—was humming softly, her small hands weaving together a chain of daisies with practiced ease. Seraphina's hardened demeanor faltered as she watched Lyra work, the child's innocence tugging at something buried deep within her.

"Lyra," Seraphina said gently, kneeling to meet the girl's eye level. "How long have you been here?"

Lyra looked up, tilting her head as if pondering the question. Her silver hair shimmered in the fading sunlight, and her blue eyes sparkled with a mixture of curiosity and mirth. "For as long as I can remember," she said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"And where are your parents?" Seraphina pressed, though her tone remained soft.

The child's smile faded slightly, her gaze drifting to the flowers in her lap. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "But it's okay. The flowers take care of me."

Seraphina's breath caught. The words were so simple, so innocent, and yet they carried a weight that she couldn't ignore.

Inside the orphanage, Caelum's search yielded little. Most of the documents had disintegrated with time, their ink smudged and pages brittle. A ledger lay open on a desk, its entries too faded to read. But as he moved to leave, something caught his eye—a small carving etched into the underside of the desk. It was a flower, crudely drawn, yet unmistakable in its intent. Beneath it, a name was scratched into the wood: Lyra.

He straightened, his jaw tightening. The child had lived here, that much was clear, but everything else remained shrouded in questions. Where had the other children gone? Why had this place been abandoned?

Stepping out into the fading light, Caelum's gaze landed on Seraphina and Lyra. The sight of the imposing Crimsonvale lord kneeling in a field of flowers, speaking softly to a child, was so incongruous that he almost stopped in his tracks. But he didn't comment. Instead, he approached, his expression unreadable.

"She knows nothing," Seraphina said without looking up. Her tone was clipped now, more guarded. "Or if she does, she won't say."

"She may not need to," Caelum replied, his voice low. He crouched, meeting Lyra's curious gaze. "Do you ever leave this place?"

Lyra shook her head. "No. The flowers need me. If I leave, they'll be sad."

Caelum and Seraphina exchanged a glance. Her words, while innocent, carried an undertone of something neither could ignore.

"What did you mean," Seraphina asked cautiously, "that the flowers take care of you?"

Lyra's face lit up, as if she had been waiting for this question. She stood, spreading her arms wide to encompass the field. "They talk to me. They tell me stories and keep me safe. I'm their flower, too."

Caelum frowned, his mind working rapidly. There was a sincerity to the child's words that was difficult to dismiss, even if they made no logical sense.

"And how have you survived here?" he pressed, his tone softer now. "What do you eat?"

Lyra's smile returned. "The flowers give me berries and roots. Sometimes they tell me where to find water. And when it's cold, they keep the wind away."

Caelum's eyes narrowed slightly, the puzzle growing more perplexing. "And no one else has been here? No one comes to this place?"

Lyra shook her head. "No one but you two." She paused, her gaze turning thoughtful. "But I've always known you would come."

Caelum's expression darkened, his mind racing through possibilities. Before he could press further, Seraphina's voice cut in.

"Avernal," she called, her tone sharp.

Caelum turned to see Seraphina standing a few paces away, her crimson eyes fixed on him with an intensity that was rare even for her. She gestured toward Lyra, who had reached out to touch his gloved hand with her tiny fingers. The sight of the Devil of the North—his infamous title—in such proximity to a child was jarring. For all her stoic composure, Seraphina's expression betrayed a flicker of something she couldn't quite mask.

"You look unnatural like that," she remarked dryly, though her tone carried no malice. "The great lord brought low by a child's touch."

Caelum glanced at her, his lips twitching in the faintest shadow of a smirk. "And you're any better?" He gestured toward the chain of daisies hanging loosely from her hand—a product of Lyra's earlier handiwork.

Seraphina's gaze hardened, but she didn't rise to his bait. Instead, she looked at Lyra, her expression softening imperceptibly. "We need to decide what to do with her."

"We'll discuss it tomorrow," Caelum said, his tone firm. "For now, we stay."

As night fell, the ruins of the orphanage seemed to come alive with whispers of the past. Caelum stood at a distance, his sharp violet eyes fixed on the child. His thoughts churned: How long has this child been here? How did she survive? Amidst it all, Lyra hummed softly, a beacon of light in the encroaching darkness.