A night like many others: it was the middle of Spring, the night of a new moon. But that didn't matter. The timing, for once, was unimportant. This time, the important element, the reason this story can even begin, is because of a teenage girl. A multi-generational witch with long black hair tightly woven in two braids hanging on either side of her face, ends thumping against her thighs as she slips through the dark forest. A small fire in the palm of her left hand lights her way forward through the darkness, illuminating the lush greenery surrounding her.

A small smile spread across her face as she came into view of a large stone archway, surrounded by trees and covered in vines. She moved around the gate, passing it by without crossing through it, and continued forward. She nearly skipped, hurrying along. She hummed an old pop song to herself, quietly. It dissipated softly amongst the trees, blending with the whispers of wind dancing through branches.

The trees broke, revealing a clearing filled with roses. Wilted petals and creeping vines, all coated in ice despite the warm weather. As she slipped by, weaving her way between aisles in the rose garden, she made her way though the maze of vines toward the center. The center of the garden protected a small gazebo. Further centered--it was clear the designer had a thing for symmetry--was a pedestal on top of which was a small dome of glass coated in a thick layer of dirt and grime from untold years of exposure to the elements.

This was what the girl had come for. This was what she had snuck out from her house in the middle of the night on a new moon when even the cats would have a difficult time seeing what lurked in the shadows. She had heard the tales from her grandmother of the garden but her grandmother had never said anything about this. She wondered if even her grandmother was clueless as to the contents. It was the only thing that did not need to be carefully frozen--it was the only thing in the garden that didn't matter.

She closed her fist, allowing the flame in her palm to extinguish. She wasn't capable of multitasking with her magic yet and she would need to focus carefully for what she was about to do. She had to know what was in here. She'd had to know ever since she'd spotted the gazebo earlier that day when her grandmother had finally agreed to take her to the garden. While waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, she briefly wondered if this was betraying her grandmother's trust, if she would get in trouble for doing this.

The darkness seemed to clear as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Something about the garden just seemed brighter, most likely from the thin coating of ice magic on the wilted roses surrounding her. Her vision was not as clear as it would be with a proper source of light, but she could just make out the outline of the glass dome on the pedestal. Reaching out with her magic, she lifted the dome from it's resting place. The dim light of her magic illuminated what lie beneath.

The crumpled husk of a rotted rose, long dead, died blue by the light of her magic.

She took it.