Spindrift and the Orchid CHAPTER ONE A Story Finally Told


IT STARTED, AS ALMOST EVERYTHING does, with a word, just like this story. It, you’re wondering. What is it ?

I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything, for when you have kept a secret as long as I, the only proper choice after deciding to unburden oneself is to tell all of it, from the first word to the last one. I can say right now that the last word is rain, but that won’t do you much good without all the ones before it, so I’ll share those, too, in the right order. I have stayed silent this long and could do so for whatever time I have left to me. I’ve stayed silent out of respect, yes, and out of fear as well, if I’m honest. The time comes, however, when one must stop being afraid. Should someone read this and choose to seek out the mystery for themselves, the consequences of that decision are theirs alone and do not rest on my aging shoulders.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Words. Words don’t frighten me anymore, though perhaps they should. There are some things about some words I must tell you before we begin.

Any dictionary worth reading will tell you that “spindrift” is a mist over an ocean, spray thrown up to the skies by a gale’s crashing waves. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, felt its chill on my skin, slipped on it across the decks of a great and beautiful ship pitching in a storm.

But.

“Spindrift” is something else, too. Someone else. She is a girl, of dark hair and seawater-blue eyes and skin as pale as whitecaps. A girl who thought she was ordinary.

And the orchid is not only a precious, blooming flower.

It is a curse.

—M. D.

17th day of the Month of Souls, in the Year of the Forgiven

N 48°51'24", E 2°21'03"