Beatrice opened her garden that night as usual, but her hopes for the competition seemed to have settled into dust in her chest. She felt anxious for the safety of her animals and specimens without the black apple trees there to monitor the paths and protect them. Most people had behaved decently up until now, but as soon as the garden opened that evening she could sense that something had shifted in the atmosphere. She had said publicly that this would be the final night, and people were watchful and eager. Many of them wanted to take a piece of the garden home with them.

When Beatrice ventured out, she found herself inundated with requests to buy the various plants and animals. She gave the same answer every time – that the garden was not for sale. Some guests accepted this graciously, but others were disgruntled. Beatrice saw the resentment in their eyes and did not trust them not to slip flowers into their pockets, or usher teacup rabbits into the folds of their cloaks when no one was watching, especially as the supper booths were closed.

Frustration tangled her insides up into knots. Why could it not be enough for people to visit the garden and bask in its magic? Why must they insist on possessing a piece of it as well? She was glad the garden was only going to be open for one final night. She was tired of it all. What was the point? The only thing that held any interest for her now was finding some way to punish Rosa for what she had done. It was a relief when one o’clock came and the guests finally went home, leaving the garden quiet and peaceful once more.

Beatrice was just about to return to the house when she saw the white frog upon the path and froze. There were frogs in her garden, of course, but none like this. It wore a golden crown and stared up at Beatrice, taking her right back to that dark, lonely night as a child when she had seen the frog upon her pillow. This time the creature only paused for a moment before hopping off down one of the lesser-used paths.

Beatrice followed. Although this was her garden and she’d walked through it many times, it felt strange without the black apple trees. She thought at first perhaps that was why this path seemed oddly unfamiliar to her. It twisted right when she expected it to twist left, and wound past mushrooms and snails when she had anticipated flowers and fountains.