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Night Bloom

Day 7: Card: The Pope/Hierophant


'Tis like descending into winter again – harder than Hardbottle, colder, leaner. Lobelia won't sit at first, but stands defiant, awaiting Lotho and release.

He never comes.

Slowly she slides down her umbrella 'til she's on the floor. Time passes. In the darksome silence, old mathoms whisper about the hands they've known, asking her: “Who left you?” 'til she vomits the stones to answer.

Everyone left her, for she left everyone; too late, epiphanies –

“Lobelia!” Light flares, blindingly, but a brown, misshapen, kindly hand draws her forth.

“Who...?” She stops, amazed.

Frodo Baggins smiles. “'Tis past time you came home, cousin.”


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