4:07:06 pm
UCT
46
online
4:07:06 pm
UCT
46
online
Limeade grew up in a town where nothing ever rotted. Half-eaten cakes lingered on picnic tables for years, balloons sagged but never popped, and laughter from parties long over still drifted through the streets at dusk. Her parents said it was a blessing, a gift left behind by some forgotten celebration, but Limeade noticed how the air grew heavier with each passing season, like the whole town was choking on memories it couldn’t digest.
On the night she turned fifteen, she woke to find a glowing candle burning in the center of her room—though no one had lit it, and it never melted. The flame hummed softly, almost like a voice trying to sing through her ears. When she touched it, the world around her peeled back like wrapping paper, revealing an endless banquet hall lined with chairs that scraped and shifted as if unseen guests had just arrived. At the far end of the table, a figure raised a glass and called: “Welcome, daughter of the Feast. Will you sit with us, or will you blow out the flame?”