Lavender Lullabies Novels & Stories

She pored some more into her palms and threw the vial aside. Running her hands together she looked up at the sky, held her hands to the sky and said the words, “She was mine, now she’s thine. Take her to the ends of time. Prepare her now for the sacred climb. She was mine and now she’s thine.” Alexandre placed her hands on top of Raven’s head pulling her oils down over her hair and then her forehead. Alexandre then took the lavender and lemongrass bundle out and lit it with a snap. She surrounded her daughter with the smoke.

The familiar scent of chrysanthemums disappeared with it. Then came another fragrance. Lavender. Sweet. Fresh. Infinitely familiar. The daybed beneath us softened until it no longer felt like polished wood cushioned with silk but something altogether gentler. A sea of lavender blossoms welcomed us instead, their delicate petals bending beneath our weight without breaking as though even nature itself recognized those who had returned home. Silver light stretched endlessly across the horizon. Above us, the sky shimmered with constellations untouched by mortal time, each star glowing with a quiet serenity that belonged only to this place.

Every second that line stayed flat, every breath she couldn’t give her, was a theft. *** And then—soft, almost imperceptible—there was music. Not from the speakers. Not from the lab. From Eva. The child stood just beyond the wash of light from the core, her dark eyes fixed on Mira-Eve. Her hands were clasped at her chest as she began to hum—a trembling, wavering melody that swelled despite her fear. It was the lullaby. Savannah’s lullaby. The one her mother had sung in the farmhouse kitchen while the wind pressed against the windows, the one Savannah herself had whispered into Eva’s hair on a night she thought they wouldn’t see morning.

God. And began singing. Fair. Not a real song. Reasonable honestly. Not anything from television. Not anything taught by adults. God. Just a Lily song. Fair. Tiny made-up words. Random melody. Reasonable. Completely imperfect. God. Completely beautiful. Fair. The nursery became quiet except for her voice. Reasonable. Soft. Gentle. God. And somehow... the baby stopped crying. Fair. Not immediately. Reasonable. Slowly. God. The cries grew softer.