Plymbury Micro Magic: Between Years
Design by Kendra Vaughan
Between Years
There is a strange stillness to the days between years, as if everyone is waiting.
Plymbury’s main street was proof of it—half of the holiday sparkle still clung to shop windows, half already taken down. Wreaths sagged slightly on doors, and the people passing beneath them looked just as tired.
Ravenna walked with her hands tucked into her coat pockets, the air sharp enough to sting her lungs. The ocean was restless—tidelines of old seaweed and broken shells marking where the water had been and where it would return.
It felt honest, this in-between. Not quite the old year, not yet the new. Just a narrow strip of shore where everything washed up at once.
She bent and picked up a piece of sea glass from the winter-damp sand. It was cloudy and imperfect, its edges dulled by time. Not the kind that would ever make it into the apothecary’s display case.
Ravenna closed her fist around it and made a quiet vow—not about resolutions or reinventions, but about gentleness, with the parts of her that were still learning how to be softened instead of feeling shattered by the last year.
When she opened her hand, the sea glass felt faintly warm. A trick of circulation. Or maybe the glass agreeing: you don’t have to become brand new. The smallest shifts can carry you forward.
Behind her, somewhere up the street, the bell over her shop door chimed.
Ravenna closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, then released the breath slowly. When she opened them again, the ocean stretched wide and patient before her—unchanged, still becoming.
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