"Path of Petals" By Linda Bergkvist
The moss, underneath the touch of her fingertips, was thick, and sticky; when she retracted her trembling digits, it clung to the satin skin. Stubbornly, bitterly; scented in a cloyingly sweet way that became almost overwhelming, as she rubbed her fingertips together.
It smells like blood.
That was her first thought, and it was strong. It nailed itself firmly to the walls of her mind, and lingered there as she turned to rush deeper into the woods. Soft, silky tears streaming down ivory white cheeks.
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