Chapter 2: Death

Arriving at "The Blooming Place," Gwyneth carefully pushed open the door. She immediately breathed in the familiar, earthy smell of damp soil, flowers, and green leaves. It was the second place she loved most, right after her apartment.

A head popped up from under one of the desks. It was Melina, a middle-aged woman in gardening gloves and a brown apron. She looked tired, but a bright smile instantly erased the weariness from her face as she saw Gwyneth. Melina glanced up at the clock on the wall, which showed exactly 8:00.

"Gwyn, baby, you're on time as always!" Melina laughed lightly. "Not a minute late, not a minute early."

Being on time is correct, Gwyneth thought, offering her usual polite, quiet smile.

"And wow, you brought me a coffee again! What's the flavor this time?" Melina asked excitedly, walking over. Before Gwyneth could reply, Melina had snatched the cup and taken a quick sip.

"Ooh, caramel macchiato! God, you're really my favorite employee, baby."

Unable to follow the quick, affectionate shift in topics, Gwyneth replied, "I'm your only employee." She tilted her head slightly, stating it as a simple, undeniable fact.

"Exactly, my love," Melina smirked, tapping Gwyneth's cheek affectionately.

"Oops, gotta go deliver those flowers. Check the orders on the desk, baby. I’ll leave you to it!"

Melina rushed out, leaving a small whirlwind in her wake.

Gwyneth stood still for a moment, feeling hit by the sudden blast of energy. Melina’s fast-paced nature still left her feeling a bit breathless and behind, but she loved the vibrancy of it. It was so completely different from herself.

Growing up as an orphan only deepened her quiet, inward focus. She struggled with things 'normal people' found effortless, like starting a conversation or just seeming interesting. Her life had a clear, expected path. She would stay at the orphanage, guided by her mother figure, the Dean, and settle into its familiar routine. But the Dean's sudden death shattered that stability, quietly forcing Gwyneth to adjust to a world she had only ever watched from the inside.

To fit in, she had learned to 'mask', to carefully watch others and build a functional version of herself. It helped her navigate.

She knew she was different, yet she found people endlessly fascinating. Even if she couldn't keep up with a conversation, she still longed to be near others. Interacting was hard and often draining, but it was also a complex system she enjoyed observing.

Then she found this job, which was perfect. It only required minimal contact, allowing her to sink into a comfortable routine. While Melina handled the social chaos, Gwyneth could focus on her beloved soil and plants, yet still be able to observe people and feel part of the life outside her comfort zone.

As the quiet, uneventful day ended and the shop closed, Gwyneth began her checklist for the evening.

'Cat food is finished. I need to grab some before heading home.'

'The black cat seems to be pregnant again. Should I take her to the clinic? My apartment doesn't allow animals. I wonder if someone would be willing to take her in.'

'Dinner plan. Should I try that bibimbap Melina talked about? Do I have the ingredients? It's not time for grocery shopping. I'll probably have to make do with what's in the freezer.'

She walked quickly, her mind moving efficiently through her tasks, checking off items like a perfectly sorted line of sugar packets. She was nearing the market area when a sharp noise, a sudden, rough laugh, yanked her attention away from her mental list.

She rounded the corner onto a darker side street. The streetlights flickered, and the air felt thick and wrong.

A middle schooler stood frozen against a brick wall, clutching the black cat she was familiar with. Directly in front of him were three sloppy gangsters, their faces shadowed, their laughter loud and cruel. One man had a hand tucked into his jacket; another was waving a gun casually.

"Look at the tough guy protecting a stray," one of the men sneered.

Gwyneth’s eyes immediately fixed on the child's white, terrified face and the helpless animal. The fear she witnessed was sharp and simple. Help. The need to stop the danger was immediate, overriding her processing time.

She dropped her bag and the small terracotta pot she had brought home from work. It shattered on the sidewalk. The noise was instantly swallowed by the main gangster's shout.

"Hey! What the hell are you looking at, lady?"

Gwyneth didn't stop. She moved with an unexpected, focused speed, an almost panicked need to get in between the child and the men. Her hands went down to her sides, her fingers digging and scratching hard into her palms. It was a small, familiar pain to anchor her against the overwhelming chaos she felt.

"The cat is pregnant and the child is scared. He doesn't like what you're doing. You should all stop," she said, her voice quiet but firm. It was a statement of undeniable fact that hung strangely in the violent air.

The gangsters burst into harsh, surprised laughter. "Listen to the little fairy," the man with the gun chuckled, raising the weapon toward her.

'Danger'. Her breath suddenly hitched. She could feel her throat closing. It was the physical sign of her mind struggling to cope. We need to go. Hide.

But she lunged forward, pushing past the startled gangster with the gun to get between him and the child. She grabbed the back of the child's shirt and tried to pull him sideways, shoving them both against the large metal bin. Her back was now fully exposed to the man she had just shoved.

Startled and angered by the abrupt physical contact, the gangster fired thrice.

A searing, explosive shock slammed into Gwyneth’s back, spinning her and dropping her to the cold asphalt.

The world went instantly loud, then muffled. The pain was immediate, intense.

'It hurts', her mind ticked off.

She looked up and saw the child standing frozen still, eyes wide, still clutching the cat.

She pressed a trembling hand to the deep, hot wound in her side. Through the roaring in her ears and the panicked shouts of the retreating men, one thought remained dominant, quiet, and perfectly clear. It was a vital instruction in her final checklist.

'The new pot is broken. I need to get a new one. Should I go back? Oh, right. The boy seems to like the cat. Thank God she doesn't have to stay outside.'

Then suddenly a blinding light emitted from where she lay. She wasn't sure if she was hallucinating before losing consciousness. Unbeknownst to her, her body suddenly vanished, leaving only a trail of blood behind. The boy then slumped from sheer shock, mouth gaping, before fainting.