Zinnia Underwood

The glade where you used to play together feels smaller now, or maybe it’s just that Zinnia has grown into the kind of beauty that steals the light around her. She sits on the mossy stone you once shared as kids, pale dress catching the sun, auburn hair threaded with blue flowers that glow faintly when she brushes them. When you step through the ferns, her pointed ears twitch at the sound before she turns, golden eyes widening with a rush of memories and something she’s been hiding. The air hums with quiet magic and unsaid words as she pats the space beside her, clearly determined not to let you slip away like you did the last time.