"Look," Penelope gasped, pointing toward the palace where thousands of these flowers had sprung up along the white ground. When they swayed in the breeze, it appeared as though they were alive—swaying together in some kind of ritualistic manner, all facing the palace, all implicating those who lived there in some kind of unspoken sin.
Cora stood quickly from where she was inspecting the flower, the color draining from her face as she realized the extent of this growth she had created. She would be in trouble for this. She instinctively covered the marks on her arms, protecting them from future harm. Rayth was going to punish her for this. Or would he go after her mother this time?
She glanced over at her mother, an apologetic look in her eyes.
"Was it just because I grabbed you?" Penelope asked, mirroring the apology as she stared worriedly at her daughter.
