Thistlebloom and the Secrets of Brewer's Botanicals

Chapter Two

Thirteen years ago

Lysander Thistlebloom slept as the gentle morning light seeped through the curtains. His seventh year had begun, and yet, he remained nestled in the embrace of dreams.

The first stirrings of wakefulness came not from Lysander, but from his mother. Her gentle presence lingered in the room, and soon she moved to rouse him from his dreamscape.

'Up, my dear! It's time."

Lysander stirred at the sound of his mother's voice, emerging from the realm of dreams.

The soft rap of her knuckles echoed in the room as she called once more. 'Awake, my love.' Beyond the confines of their home, the world outside was stirring.

Lysander heard her steps as she moved toward the kitchen, the clatter of pans signaling the start of the day. He shifted onto his back, trying to remember the fading dream. It had been a good one, featuring peculiar creatures in need of his help.

In the dream, Lysander found himself in a magical realm, surrounded by fantastical beings. Unicorns with silver fur grazed in a meadow of grass, while winged creatures flew.

Lysander's birthday—how could he have forgotten? He got out of bed and started searching for his socks. Discovering a pair beneath his bed, he shook off the dust, putting them on with a sense of haste.

After Lysander got dressed, he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all the birthday presents meant for him. It appeared Lysander had received quite the haul, with colorful packages piled high.

Lysander had always been small and lean for his age. His figure appeared even more thing because he wore clothes that seemed a tad too big for him.

Lysander had a narrow face, knobby knees, a cascade of black hair, and hazel eyes filled with curiosity. In contrast to his less-than-ideal attire, the only aspect of Lysander's appearance that brought him a sense of pride was a thin scar on his cheek. It had been with him for as long as he could remember. The first question he could ever recall asking his mother was about how he had gotten it.

"Oh, that," she'd say, her tone uneasy. "You fell off a toy at the playground." Even though he was only seven, he could tell she was lying. He couldn't understand why she had never lied to him before.

Lysander was frying eggs by the time his mother entered the kitchen. She reminded him to comb his hair as she joined him in preparing breakfast.

"You could use a haircut again, you know."

Lysander ran his hand through his hair. It was always unkempt and no matter how much he brushed; it never lay flat.

Lysander placed the plates of egg and bacon on the table.

Lysander couldn't help but notice the slight unease in his mother's eyes. It was a look that often accompanied discussions about his scar or certain unanswered questions from his past.

"Hey, sweetie, guess what? For your special day, how about we go to that cool bookstore you love so much? Maybe find some exceptional books. What do you think?"

"Really, Mum? The bookstore? Yay! I want to find lots of stories!"

"And after that, how about we grab some ice cream? What flavors do you feel like having on your big day?"

Lysander thought for a moment. "Chocolate and mint, please!"

"Chocolate and mint it is. Anything else you want to do on our birthday adventure?"

"Just being with you, Mum! That's the best part!"

At that moment, the phone rang, and Lysander's mom went to answer it. Lysander, eager to dive into his birthday gifts, caught snippets of the conversation as he opened his presents.