She would go to Florian, she decided, and show him this thing, in proof of a tale that might otherwise seem implausibly wild. But as she turned to leave, she noticed something else curious. Above the threadbare throne, nestled so deep within a tangle of leaves that Margot had almost missed it, was a single blossom out of place among its brethren; for while the petals that ringed the outer edge of the flower were of the customary pallid, moon-pale hue, its heart flushed a deep, harvest gold.
Margot had not much time to wonder at this change, for as she gazed upon the two-toned rose, the great clock chimes began to strike across the Vale; the Gloaming was coming in.
