Music Recommendation_ Celtic woman -May It Be!
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The last time she stepped on the soil of Blackenroot, she was fifteen.
Her thick brown hair swayed with the evening breeze. In the distance, night howls echoed like haunted lullabies.
The wind whispered against her skin. It had been so long since nature last smiled upon her.
Her smoky eyes swept over rooftops from afar. Oil lanterns flickered atop stone walls, and beneath the glow of a generous moon, it was easy to lose oneself in the haunting beauty of Blackenroot. But beauty often held memories—and hers were sharp.
The childhood she could no longer return to.
The friends she could no longer play with.
The parents...
She drew a deep breath. No. It was better not to go there. Five years had passed. If she kept allowing the storm to settle in her soul, the land would never know peace again.
She had a task now.
Thanks to old Granny Naani—who had taught her, day by day, how to wield her emotions like a blade—Karina understood: only when she mastered herself would she be strong enough to set things right.
She kept staring at Blackenroot, the place where she was not welcome.
She had sung once. And what should have healed… destroyed.
That was what they said, anyway.
"Karina, if you keep standing at the edge of the mountain, you'll break a leg," Granny's voice drifted through the air.
Karina turned, the wind tugged at her hair, snapping her thoughts back…
The old woman wore a flowing, richly embroidered kaftan, her head wrapped in a glimmering silk scarf.
Though her expression was hard as stone, she remained the most strikingly beautiful elder Karina had ever known. Her eyes were sharp and feline, her lips were full and poised, her nose narrow and elegant, and her jawline shaped in a soft, regal oval.
"Ahh, you know you needn't worry about me," Karina said, her voice lilting with confidence as she stepped down from the stone ledge. "Nature listens to me."
The breeze fluttered her wrap-skirt as she moved, the mountain grass brushing her bare feet like whispers.
She stood tall beside Granny's smaller frame. Unlike Granny's layered kaftan, Karina wore a silk skirt that ended above her knees, revealing long, lean legs. A matching silk top, knotted high, left her stomach bare. Beads circled her waist, clinking with each step. Outcast or not, Granny never let her dress in shame—only in pride.
"Oh dear," Granny muttered, taking Karina's hand with surprising strength. She squeezed tightly. "Nature can fail you. Don't place all your hope in it."
'"It?"' Karina's brow furrowed. "Granny, Nature is alive. They are beings—not things. They feel."
But deep down, she knew Granny wasn't wrong. Since her heart broke, joy had left her—and so had Nature's grace. The wind didn't always come when she called. The trees didn't always listen.
Granny sighed. "You stubborn girl," she scolded, though her shoulders quivered with laughter.
Karina chuckled and wrapped her arms around her. "Sweet Granny, what would I have done without you?" It was her presence—her warmth—that had kept the last pieces of Nature breathing with Karina. Her anchor in exile.
Then a sudden shiver ran through Karina like a whisper from the wind. She froze, eyes widening. She stepped back and studied Granny with alarm.
"You're trembling," she whispered.
She reached out and held Granny tightly. The tremble wasn't just imagined—it rumbled beneath her skin. Her teeth were chattering, but barely noticeable. Had Karina not come this close, she would never have known.
"Oh, Granny… you're ill." Karina pressed her palm to her forehead and gasped at the heat. "Dear gods, you're burning up!"
But Granny stubbornly shook her head. "You mustn't worry about me. I'll be fine." She brushed Karina's hand away and turned sharply, hiding the fever written across her face.
"Granny." Karina reached for her. Why now—why must she be stubborn only when she was sick? Karina had lost count of the times she'd been scolded for refusing medicine, yet here Granny stood, hiding her own illness.
"I'm…" *Cough. Cough.*
"Granny!"
Another cough—then another—until blood spilled from her mouth, staining the golden kaftan in a deep crimson.
"Gods," Karina gasped.
She stared at the blood, then back at Granny's trembling face. "You knew. You've been unwell all this time and never told me—" Her voice cracked. She stopped scolding and quickly wrapped an arm around Granny, guiding her down from the cliff's edge.
Their home was tucked beneath the ancient mountain's root. Hidden at the base of a giant tree, a wooden door marked the entrance.
Inside, Karina laid Granny gently on the soft mattress. The room was small, warm with the scent of earth and herbs. Two beds, crafted from silk, palm fronds, and woven leaves, rested against opposite walls.
At the far end stood calabash pots, etched with white symbols. They held concoctions, healing balms, dried roots—everything a priestess might own.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Karina whispered, lighting the oil lantern. The flame bloomed and bathed the room in a soft orange glow. But no warmth reached her heart. It twisted with fear.
If anything happens to Granny, what would become of her?
Karina clutched her knees, staring at the flickering lantern light. She had been cast out—branded an outcast because of the voice her people believed was cursed. She'd lost her parents in the chaos. Old Granny was the only soul who took her in, who gave her shelter, who believed in her. Too much had already broken her heart. She was tired... beyond tired.
"Karina…" Granny's voice was barely more than a breath, but it shook Karina to her core. Granny had never sounded this fragile.
Karina turned quickly. "Granny?"
"I'm unstoppable, I'm afraid…" Granny whispered. Her lips trembled. "I wanted to tell you. I did. But not yet…I needed more time… not to live, but to feel alive with you."
"What are you talking about?" Karina choked out, reaching for her. She grabbed Granny's cold hand and held it tightly. "No, stop—stop talking like that."
"I'm sorry."
"No!" Karina's voice rose, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Stop saying sorry. What is Wrong? How can I save you? Just tell me—tell me what to do!"
Granny gave a faint shake of her head. "It's a fever… a strong one. You know the cure is rare. Scarce, even for a healer like me."
Karina wiped her face with trembling fingers. "There must be something. You're not just a healer—you're a priestess. You 'know' things. There has to be something I can find."
Granny shivered, and Karina gently covered her with a thick fur blanket.
With a shaky breath, Granny murmured, "There is one cure… but it lies in Blakenroot, near the outskirts. It's far too dangerous for you to—"
"It doesn't matter," Karina cut in, a fierce glint flashing in her eyes. "I'll wear a disguise."
"It's too risky," Granny warned, her voice weak but firm. "And the plant—it may not even be there."
"What is it called?" Karina asked. If this had been before the chaos, back when her heart beat in rhythm with nature, she might have been able to heal Granny with her voice alone.
Granny sighed, her lips twitching from pain. "It's a green rose. Extremely rare."
Karina leaned closer, noticing the strain in her expression. She fetched water from a calabash and lifted it to Granny's lips.
After she sipped slowly, she continued, "It's rare because it hides. If it doesn't want to be found… you won't find it."
Karina rose without another word. Her steps carried her to the far end of the room where a cheetah-skin cloak hung. She reached for it.
The hood would shield her face, but more importantly, it would hide her hair—long brown curls that glinted like burnished gold in the light. In Blackenroot, such hair marked her instantly. No other maiden bore her shade. Their curls were thick and dark: black, grey, deep brown. But never hers.
Never that golden brown.
~~~÷~~~
The place Granny had described was nothing more than a graveyard.
Rows and columns of withered plants stretched around timeworn stone graves. Jagged rocks bordered the edges like silent sentinels. But what struck Karina most was the absence of color—no blooming petals, no vibrant leaves. If any plant remained, it was brittle, lifeless, or on the verge of decay.
Gods.
How was she supposed to find a rose—one that was green—in this almost forgotten place?
Karina shut her eyes and stepped into the graveyard garden, her breath steady, her heartbeat louder than the wind. 'I can do this', she told herself.
Though the garden was in Blackenroot, it lay far from the town's heart. Isolated. Hidden. 'What harm would it be to sing—just a little?'
She parted her lips and let the song rise:
*My world fell when you left me,
But your words still echo—"I love you."
Now my spirit stirs,
My soul begins to wake…*
As the melody flowed, the air seemed to shift. The weight pressing on her chest lifted, if only slightly. It had been so long since she felt this light. Back at the mountain, everything had felt heavy—trapped. But here, among the stones and silence, something responded.
Something stirred.
Joy swelled in her chest, rising like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. She 'knew'—with this song, this joy— somewhere in the stillness, the green rose would awaken.
Except…
A voice, cold as the midnight wind, growled behind her.
"What do you think you're doing?"