No Such Thing as Perfect Endings

Pre-order now! The long-awaited final instalment of Ellie Harper’s Midnight Flower Garden trilogy will be released on 4th May. Secrets will be revealed. Blood will be shed. Kingdoms will reunite. And the millennia-old mystery of the Midnight Flower Garden will finally be laid to rest once and for all. Pre-order your copy today!

Ellie’s eyes read and re-read the placeholder text on the website. Next to the paragraph was a grey box promising title and artwork reveal soon!

Too soon, if Ellie had her way. The release date was set in stone according to her agent. Butler Publishing had already printed tonnes of promotional material and secured a number of collaborations and book signing and reading events.

The movie people, as she called them in her head, were in on it too. The first film had been a roaring success and the sequel was slated for a summer release to ride on the wave of the book’s advertising and build demand for both branches of the franchise.

This was what she had always wanted, right?

So what was wrong?

What was wrong was obvious as she closed her internet browser and a blank page stared back at her, the cursor flashing disapprovingly.

Write, it compelled her. Something! Anything! Write!

The source material was the old fairy tale of The Midnight Garden Queen, the author’s name lost to time. Printed copies of translations of the Norwegian story littered her desk but offered no inspiration for where to head next.

She glanced at her mug, printed with a promo still from the first movie. The actress Lori Morter held a ball of flames between her hands, ready to attack, as her gaze focused intently at something off in the distance. Ellie followed her line of sight to the cat climbing frame where her ginger tom dozed lazily. Not much fear of that beast needing slaying.

Inside the mug her coffee was cold. So there was nothing to do but take a break and refill it, she convinced herself. The words would flow from her fingertips once she had a fresh, steaming mug of coffee beside her for inspiration.

The coffee machine gurgled and spluttered as freshly ground beans were ripped of their flavour, mixed with water, and dripped through a filter. Ellie watched as the pot filled up drip by ebony drip.

A sparrow fluttered past her window at speed, distracting her from her trance. Meandering to the fridge she pulled open the door and scanned her choices; almond milk or hazelnut milk. Almond or hazelnut? It was hardly as if the fate of the world rested on her decision but the thought of committing to either choice seized her heart with fear.

Taking a deep steadying breath she reached out for the one closest to her right hand. Hazelnut. Fine.

The door clicked shut and Elli was left staring at the documents pinned to the fridge door by ladybird shaped magnets. A water bill that she needed to pay. Her blood donation appointment reminder. And a few photos.

As always her eyes lingered on the one from a year ago; her and her sister, smiling at the beach. Both in sunglasses, her sister with a brightly patterned bandana around her bald head to protect her from the sun. She reached out for it, fingertips brushing their smiling faces as if she could absorb the emotion from that long-ago moment.

When she turned back to the coffee pot the hazelnut milk felt heavy in her hand and the scent of coffee hanging warm in the air turned her stomach. She set the milk on the counter and drifted out of the kitchen, down the corridor to her bedroom.

Perhaps she was tired. Perhaps a nap would be a good idea, and she would awaken refreshed and able to continue her overdue manuscript.

Dreams have a strange way of speaking to you. Ellie had been a vivid dreamer since she was a child, and the strange fantasy landscapes her sleeping mind painted for her were often the inspiration for her best novels and short stories. She had won prizes for simply documenting the scenes that came to her at night.

The dreams that toyed with her mind that afternoon, however, were already familiar to her. The swirling landscape of misty mountains and impossibly blue rivers that sparkled under the dual suns of the planet Arron were as familiar to her as the Lake District peaks and valleys of her childhood.

Immediately she was greeted by a colourful cast of goblins, fairies and elves, like they were old friends. And they were. She had breathed life into every single one of them and they lived not only on the pages of her novels and the scenes of films, but first and foremost in the deepest recesses of her mind.

“Lady Ellie, it is good to see you again,” said the king; bowing low to her by way of welcome.

The king, tall dark and brutally handsome, looked every bit the image of the famous actor Duncan Moore. That was of course no coincidence, as when drafting and plotting Ellie always used images from Google to give her a picture to base her thoughts on when developing characters.

The king was Duncan. The pixie was gymnast Katrina Clement. The goblin was a tv gardening show presenter by the name of Matthew Snow.

And the elfin queen Lucille…that was a departure. Usually Ellie never based her characters or stories on real life. But she had been unable to help herself, when plotting the novel the queen had sounded every bit as brave and fierce as her beloved twin sister, Lucy, who had received her breast cancer diagnosis but battled hard from day one.

“Good day to you, your majesty,” Ellie said, playing into the world by offering an awkward courtesy in her jeans. “My apologies for my abruptness, but where is the queen? I must speak with her urgently.”

The king’s face turned grave, and the magical creatures around him turned away.

“We were hoping that was what you had come to us about. My queen has been missing for many weeks now. I have sent riders far and wide across the lands with no success. She has gone without a trace…”

Ellie’s heart sank as if his disappointment was infectious. Why she was worried about a fictional queen’s disappearance was beyond her, but even in her dream-state she knew that it was symbolic. Her sister was lost. The story had stalled. She could neither take comfort in the past nor look to the future. She was stuck exactly where she was, forevermore.

When she woke the wind was rattling the window in its pane and attempting to take off with her balcony furniture.

For a long moment she lay on her back and watched fragments of her dream play on the blank white ceiling as if she was watching a movie.

Finally she moved herself, more because of the chill of the air setting in than any actual desire to be up and actively participating in the world. The thick lamb’s wool wrap that hung over the back of her armchair in her room was soft to the touch. A beautiful sage green that reminded her of her sister’s eyes.

With a little hitch of her breath as she swallowed back the emotion of that memory she wrapped the shrug around her shoulders and headed down the hallway to the kitchen.

The coffee was stewed. The hazelnut milk warm from where she’d left it on the counter. No matter, she poured herself a cup anyway and floated dreamily through to the spare bedroom she had converted into an office.

In addition to the blinking cursor her phone now displayed new notifications. Everything demanded her attention. A missed call and two texts. One advising her that she had a voicemail, the other a text from her agent asking how the book was coming along.

Fine. She responded, then set her phone to silent.

Perhaps re-reading the last chapter would help. Scrolling back through the three chapters she had managed to pen, while sat at Lucy’s hospital bed side watching her sister struggle to take more than a few sips of water, the scenes flooded back to her. With her free hand she sipped delicately at the bitter coffee.

In the final part of the trilogy, Queen Lucille was about to defy her husband’s wishes and embark on one last adventure to finally understand the origins of the secret garden that haunted her dreams. Every night she walked those mysterious gardens, with the flowers that bloomed only in moonlight and the mysterious man that never revealed his face. Local folklore told of a dream witch in the Southern Mountains that could help Lucille decode her dreams.

That was what Ellie’s notes said, anyway, printed neatly on index cards. But translating those notes to prose was proving impossible. The motivation was lacking; why would Lucille risk everything for a dream? She had everything she wanted; a loving husband, a new-born child, a kingdom that adored her.

Why would she risk her life just to find a witch?

Why would she leave everyone who loved her?

The question hung heavy in the air as a tear rolled down Ellie’s cheek.

Today was not a good day for writing.

It was hard to recall at what point she had stopped answering her phone. It was habit now even when she was next to it, to allow the phone to ring off and for a new voicemail to join the collection. The voicemails have more of a note of urgency to them. The texts short and clipped. The demands stronger.

Ellie. Call me back urgently.

The deadline was approaching, Ellie was perfectly aware. Texts and voicemails were not going to make her write any faster.

In her little office the air was hot to the point of stuffy from a little heater by her feet and sickly sweet with the scent of coffee wafting from the mug in front of her. A little slice of lemon cake sat on a dainty plate; her reward for finishing a page. Suffice to say she hadn’t touched the plate all morning. In fact the cake was at a very real risk of turning mouldy before she ever earned it.

A grating vibrating sound buzzed like an angry bee caught in a jar. Her phone danced across the desk, screen glowing and revealing her agent’s name. Ellie watched it passively as the mad jig stopped and the phone fell silent again. A few seconds later a cheerful chirp announced the arrival of another voicemail.

The coffee was cooling, the cake was going stale. Ellie had tried everything from threats to rewards to encourage herself to type but her fingers simply wouldn’t obey. Every time she wrote a line she would re-read it and it would seem awful so she’d delete it.

The world was expecting the dramatic finale to Queen Lucille’s story and it was Ellie’s job to give it to them.

Queen Lucille, who had worked her way up from scullery maid to become beloved queen of a kingdom. Who had endured hardships beyond her years, stood up to dragons and warriors three times her size, battled armies and flown an airship. How did you draw such a dramatic adventure to a close?

And why would you want the adventure to stop?

The revelation hit Ellie like a punch to the stomach and she stared at her blank screen for a long time after that as the question echoed around her head.

On autopilot she finally rose from her chair, scraping it back softly against the thick piled rug. Like a zombie she stepped through the flat toward her bedroom where she lay down and sank into the mattress, burrowing under the blankets and drawing her knees to her chest like an embryo.

There she lay under her breathing evened out and the warmth lulled her to sleep.

This time she awoke in the Midnight Flower Garden itself. How many times had she painted in words those blue-green trees and luminescent flowers? In every chapter she tried to take her readers on the fantastical journey but nothing she wrote could ever do justice to the real garden.

Floral scents perfumed the air, each vying for the nose’s attention. Roses, tulips, hyacinth, lavender. Here in this garden they all bloomed together forever and glowed bright under the watchful gaze of the full moon.

“You always know where to find me,” said a voice. Resigned? Sad?

A lone figure was bent pulling weeds from between a patch of blood red roses. The woman was dressed in a beautiful pale blue satin dress with gold trim and a golden shawl across her shoulders. Her dark hair was pulled into an intricate braid, a golden crown perched elegantly atop her head. Though slight, she had a sinewy strength about her that could wield a sword or tame a dragon.

When she stood, Elli found herself staring into her sister’s green cat-like eyes. Queen Lucille. Or Lucy. These days it was hard to separate them in her mind.

“Did my husband send you?” the queen asked.

“Yes. No,” Ellie said, correcting herself. “He’s worried. All of them are.”

The queen nodded then looked down at the weeds in her palm, as if confused as to how they’d got there. “I worry myself some days.”

Ellie gathered her courage and took a deep breath. “What will you do next? Will you return home to be with your family? Or are you going on to meet the witch?”

“Both options sound so final,” the queen said. “You say them as if its one or the other. As if meeting the witch means turning my back on my family. Or if going home to my family effectively renders me a maiden, unable to adventure anymore.”

“Which do you want to do?” Elli urged.

“Both,” the queen said. “Can’t I have both? And more? Who says that I cannot go and ask my questions of the witch and then return once my mind has been settled? Who says I cannot then go on further campaigns? There is war brewing on the border of Irridia to the East and there are many places I would like to travel and see. Why should this choice be the last step in my journey?”

Because you’re dead so your journey has ended… Ellie thought, gazing into those questioning eyes. “There’s no more adventure for you. I need to tie things up, I need you to settle down.”

“Why would you ask that of me?”

“Because she can’t have any more adventures so why should you?” Ellie yelled, not realising she had raised her voice. Not until the tears started streaming down her face.

The queen’s gaze softened and she strode forward, cupping Ellie’s cheek in her palm. In the silver moonlight her skin glowed ghostly pale.

“You’re not ready to stop. You’re not ready to make a final decision. To go and see a witch and die to fid my truth, to stay at home instead and raise my family. You’re not ready for either, you have more in store for me. You need me to live in her place.”

“But how can I know which direction to go without her?”

“You know. Here,” the queen said, slipping her hand from Elli’s cheek to press over her chest, above the beating heart.

“I don’t know,” Ellie insisted. “Tell me.”

“I’m in your head, Ellie. Everything I know you told me,” the queen said with a small, sad smile.

The garden faded to a swirling mass of blue and silver.

Ellie crawled out from under her blankets like a caterpillar emerging from its cocoon, summoned by a banging at her front door.

She stumbled through the apartment, raking fingers though her straggly unwashed hair.

“Ellie? I thought you were dead, why haven’t you been answering me?” her agent demanded.

Ellie looked down at her bare feet, then up at her agent’s inquisitive eyes.

“It’s not going to be a trilogy. I want to write more books. Lucille’s story hasn’t ended.”

And neither has Lucy’s, Ellie decided.