Flashback ( PDFDrive )

I wondered if you might be willing to let me test my new song on your
echoes.”
“You finished it?”
Flori smiled as she nodded, padding over to the bed and placing one
plant next to each pole of her bed’s canopy. One held a sprig of
vesperlace. The others were plants Sophie didn’t recognize, but Flori
called them dimmetines, respitillis, and hushspurs. “These are from
the four places where I drew inspiration for the verses—and I only
found the hushspurs because of the festival. They trailed up the trunks
of the trees we chose to hide in, and halfway through the night they
changed their tune. I don’t know if they sensed the coming danger or
if they simply wanted to show me what they could do, but that was the
piece I needed. May I?”
“Should I sit up, or . . . ?” Sophie asked.
“No, just close your eyes.” Flori’s gentle fingers brushed Sophie’s
cheek as her fragile voice hummed a slow, sweet melody—a rhythm
that felt like a pulse as Flori breathed out soft lyrics in that ancient
earthy language.
The first verse was a celebration of night—a ballad of dancing
shadows and creeping mist and all the tiny, soothing shifts that let the
world slip into restful slumber.
But as the lyrics carried on, they curved to an ode to darkness itself.
A reminder that there was purpose and power, even in the blackest
places. Even to the shadows within herself.
The anger.
And doubts.
And sadness.
The memories that were too painful to replay.