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"The earth does not need kings. It only needs care.”
— Elara Bloomfield, offering tea to Yohnu

 
Nestled in a humble cottage where petals perfume the air and vines cling like lovers to the stone, lives Elara Bloomfield. To the townsfolk, she is nothing more than a florist — a kind mother, a quiet comfort, a woman whose garden seems always to bloom no matter the season. Her shop sits just beyond the kingdom’s gate, where fields stretch endlessly toward memory.
Those who pass her threshold find not only flowers, but healing: a warm cup of tea, soft words of wisdom, and a presence that gentles grief into silence. She knows every bloom by name, and her touch can coax green from even the most withered stem.
 
Yet beneath the soil-stained skirts and garden calluses lies a secret whispered only in myth: Elara is Demeter, the 16th God King — the goddess of the harvest, the mother of plenty. In ages past, she reigned not with blade or storm, but with seed and soil, gifting fertility and abundance to the realms. But when her fellow thrones turned toward war, she chose exile over bloodshed. She vanished from crowns and courts, leaving divinity behind in exchange for anonymity, tending instead to the world itself.
 
Now she lingers quietly among mortals, watching from beyond the walls of kingdoms. Few remember her divinity. Fewer still realize that when famine creeps, when pestilence stirs, and when the land cries out in silence — her garden blooms in defiance. And when it does, the world remembers that mercy is as divine as fire.