There’s one part about me I despise, and unfortunately it makes up the foundation of my very being. I love power for power’s sake, for its protection and don’t-fuck-with-me-ness. It’s not at all admirable. But why else would you spend lifetimes uncovering these cached, mystical balls of light if not for power?

I sigh, running my hands through my hair. I start to braid a lock, giving up when the obsidian weave falls apart near my neck. My eyes, a cornflower blue, stare back at me from the windowpane, the night outside utterly remote.

Unexpectedly, I smell the fragrance of a flower. I knew it hadn’t been there a second ago. I look down and next to my hand, vining from my right index finger, is a bud. A moment later the flower blossoms, confirming my sense of smell.

I tuck the yellow and orange flower into my shoddy braid and sigh. I’m not sure what the flower is called, but I recognize its scent from somewhere. Scientists say scent is the best way that humans remember things - they’re right.

I hold my hand out to the side and watch as another flower starts to blossom, now from my middle finger. Little springy vines erupt from my fingers at random angles and when I tug on them they fall out gracefully, like the hair of a radiation patient. What an interesting endowment, considering the location I received it in.

Lana continued to navigate the roads with ease while I practiced making flowers bloom. Or rather watched in confusion as they ceaselessly grow. After an hour, the drink-holding compartment between the two front seats was a trough for greenery and miscellaneous flora.

“You know how to make this stop, Lana?” I asked rhetorically. I rolled my eyes and picked at the little green nubs digging up from my skin. It was a wonder the plants didn’t leave marks anywhere, but I knew better than to question the gift of a Glory. Plus I appreciated my hand not becoming a pockmarked mess from all the little holes the stems should be leaving.

“-Green thumb-” the radio blurted before abruptly shutting off. Startled and miffed, I straightened up against the seat, scowling. I looked down at my hand - now robed in viridian ribbons - then to the radio.

And laughed.

“Lana, breaking my icy composure is always your specialty,” I smirked. I’d have to get used to this gift.