The Herbs Remained

 When the magic faded, all gone after centuries, it was from the hands of a youngish woman. The glowing flame sunk into an ember, and then went out.

    The sobs that came out of her throat were wretched.

    When the aching flood had emptied out of her, she sat cross-legged in the middle of her garden, her elbows tucked into the soft sides of her knees, chin propped up in cupped hands.

    She stared at the herbs.

    They stared back at her.

    A note struck, a timbre that resonated through the stark crevasses of her mind. 

    The herbs remained.

    Magic had not abandoned the world completely, after all, the youngish woman thought.

    Her hands threaded through several leaves. Though she could no longer feel the life within them, she knew it was there.

    It was enough.

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