On the eve of Evangeline’s wedding, she walked in the garden with no shoes on. She felt the wetness of the grass on her bare feet. The squishy and soggy earth cradling them. She felt sensations that took her back to a more innocent time. A time when she and her sister Abigail frolicked in the gardens, without a care in the world.

Tonight, the weight of an entire race rested on her shoulders, and it felt like a boulder with rough edges. She came to the gardens aching to recapture some of the weightlessness of childhood.

From a window with an unobstructed view of the sprawling compounds, her mother watched, pride and apprehension etched into the thick lines on her forehead. Underneath her breath she muttered, “dew, breathe, sweat, tears, dew, breathe, sweat, tears, dew, breathe, sweat, tears…..” repeatedly.

The fire came. It was prophesied several lifetimes ago and it finally came. The fortnight before Evangeline was born. She became known as the child of the fire. She had all the attributes. Hair dark as a crow’s feathers. Eyes blacker than coal and a face covered in red freckles like embers.

The fire came unexpectedly and didn’t spare anything in its path. The trees that had been their home for as long as the earth was alive were consumed like water by a thirsty man in the desert.

There were only two ancient trees still standing. The trees that gave them healing, protection and magic.

Evangeline had no choice.

King Phineas was eccentric. He collected wives the way other men collected wealth and trophies. The more exotic the better. He already had 1,163 wives, but never a creature of the night. He was surprised that he could still feel the thrill of making someone his wife and taking them to bed for the first time. His new bride Evangeline was the daughter of the god of darkness, Alleron. She wouldn’t make appearances in court. She would only come out at night, in total darkness. King Phineas would only go to her at night. He felt like a giddy school boy, who was about to have his first date with the promise that he could touch the damsel’s bosom at the end.

The six prophetesses told Alleron, god of darkness, that the last of the Tamacot trees were dying. They were over taxed, being the only sustenance for a race of people that previously depended on an entire forest of trees. There was very little left to heal the sick and conjure the magic of the dark race.

They made seedlings of the only surviving trees in the frantic hope of reforestation. But they knew if they planted them on soil that the fire burned, they wouldn't grow to be Tamacot trees. They’d lose their healing properties and their magic.

The prophetesses knew that to help the seedlings become true Tamacot trees, they needed four ingredients: the dew in the air at midnight on a red moon; the dying breath of a man who has known the loss of all he’s got; the sweat of a midwife attending the birth of a first born son; and the tears of a human king.

It took some time, but eventually, all the ingredients were procured, except the tears of a human king.

Evangeline would acquire that last ingredient and save their race.

On her wedding day, she walked towards her groom in radiant white. The contrast of her skin against the purity of her dress brought the king to tears. As she stood before the king, she pulled on the bow in her hair which turned into a handkerchief.

Her heart thumped so loud she could hear it like music in her ears.

She stared straight at the King and brought the handkerchief to the side of his eyes to wipe his tears.

Just as it touched the king’s tears, a hand grabbed Evangeline’s wrist firmly, and without making any fuss, tugged the piece of cloth stained with the King’s tears away.

“Well, this wasn’t going to be as easy as she had been made to believe,” Evangeline thought