LIROIDS

The Tree of Lillies

Epilogue of Eyela’s arc, Eyela/Evilside’s POV

Time lost its meaning after I became the Tree of Lilies. The days bled into nights, seasons turned like pages in a book I could no longer touch, and still I stood, rooted, eternal, cursed.

My blossoms opened in spring with purple fire, their scent luring wanderers who strayed too close. Some came in awe, reaching for the flowers. The petals drank them in, their lifeblood feeding my roots. Others came with axes, intent on felling me. Their steel dulled, their arms weakened, their bodies withered until the earth swallowed them whole. I was beautiful, yes, but I was also death.

I listened to the whispers of travelers. They told stories of me, of the girl who had once danced at harvest festivals, whose laughter carried through the fields, who had vanished into the forest and returned as a curse. Some spoke my name in reverence, others spat it in fear. Always the same word: Evilside.

But beneath the bark, I still remembered another name. Eyela. Seyal’s voice speaking it softly. My father’s stern tone. My mother’s lullabies. The name still burned inside me, but no one spoke it anymore.

Ciria visited me often in those early years. She would appear among my blossoms, radiant and cruel, her hand caressing my bark.

“You are my most precious bloom,” she said once, her lips curling into a smile. “From you will rise generations who carry your blood. They will wield shadow and sorrow, weaving fear into the bones of men. They will be queens, killers, lovers, curses. And all of it will begin with you.”

I wanted to weep, but no tears came. My bark was too hard, my body too hollow. I could only listen.

“Do not mourn,” the goddess continued. “Seyal is gone, yes. But his memory fuels you still. That is power. Let it sharpen you. Let it grow in your roots.”

I hated her for those words. Seyal’s memory was not powerful; it was painful. It was the one human part of me that had not yet rotted away. And yet, as the years passed, even his face blurred. I tried to hold onto it, tried to whisper his name through my leaves, but the forest carried it away until nothing remained but echoes.

Then came a night when the air shivered with something new.

Years passed, and Cellon faded to fearful whispers. Fields of gold became a new kingdom, stronger, darker, forever shadowed by the tree of purple flowers at its heart.

On the kingdom’s edge, in a humble farmhouse, Hakaya grew into her beauty. A farmer’s hardworking daughter, sixteen summers old, with dawn-bright eyes and a warm spirit, she was beloved by all.

The prince of the realm had loved her from the moment he first glimpsed her at the town square. He courted her with gifts and promises, his affection pure and unyielding. Hakaya, shy yet charmed, returned his feelings, and soon whispers of their marriage spread.

But love never blossomed easily in the cursed line of Evilside.

For the queen herself, a witch with a jealous heart, looked upon Hakaya with scorn. She saw what others did not: the blood of the ancient goddess flowed in Hakaya’s veins. For Hakaya was not the farmer’s true child. She was the daughter of Evilside, left in the care of mortals long ago.

I felt it first in my roots, a stirring, a presence. Somewhere in Cellon, a child was born, and in her veins pulsed my blood. She was of me, not carved from my wood, but she was mine all the same.

Hakaya.

I saw her in visions, her dark eyes, her mortal smile, her laughter that reminded me of my own before sorrow. She grew up in the care of others, unaware of her true mother. But I knew. The bond was written in the lilies that bloomed around her cradle, in the shadows that curled near her bed.

“She will be strong,” Ciria whispered, appearing again among my flowers. “Stronger than you, perhaps. She will know love and lose it. She will wear a crown of thorns and rule a kingdom of fear. And when she falls, another will rise. Your line is endless, Evilside. Eternal.”

The goddess’s words echoed through my hollow trunk. I could not protest, could not warn my daughter of the curse I had laid upon her. All I could do was watch as the years drew her closer to her fate.

Sometimes, in quiet moments, I wondered what might have been. If my parents had chosen differently. If Seyal had lived. If Ciria had never found me in the Dark Forest.

But those thoughts were dangerous. They were the whispers of Eyela, the girl who was long dead.

I was Evilside now. I was the Tree of Lilies. My blossoms would poison the air for centuries, my roots would strangle the land, my curse would echo through my children’s children.

And so I waited. Watching. Blooming. Dreaming of a future I could not stop.

A future where my daughter would take the throne of thorns and bear the name the world would come to fear: Queen Heartless.