Glowlee Goldwheat's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Glowlee pushed open the crooked door and stepped inside. Dust swirled in thick beams of sunlight. The floor sagged near the back wall. Spider webs hung from every corner like silver curtains. She set down her satchel and walked the space slowly, her footsteps echoing. The main room was wide enough for tables and chairs. A smaller room in back had stone counters—perfect for kneading dough. She touched the cracked window glass and imagined it fixed, imagined fairies pressed against it, watching bread rise in the ovens. But first, she had work to do. Real work. She pulled out a scrap of paper and began writing a list: fix windows, repair door, scrub floors, patch roof holes. Her hand cramped by the time she finished. The list was long. The dream felt further away again. Then sunlight shifted across the wall, lighting up those carved sun patterns by the door. Glowlee folded the list and tucked it in her apron pocket. One task at a time. That's how dreams got built. She started with the garden bed outside. Weeds choked the soil, but underneath she found flat stones arranged in a square. Glowlee pulled the weeds and scrubbed the stones until they shone. Moss grew thick along the edges, soft and green. She ran her hand across the smooth surface. This would be perfect for working dough in the fresh air. She could knead here in the morning sun, right where customers could watch. The stone stayed cool even in the warmth—just right for pastry. The clearing behind the building held something even better. A brick structure stood there, half-hidden by vines. Glowlee tore away the plants and found tan bricks arranged in an arch shape with sun patterns carved into the front. An oven. A real outdoor oven. She peered inside and found it clean, just waiting to be fired up. Her chest felt tight with excitement. She could bake bread out here for fairies who wanted to eat under the sky. That night, Glowlee sat on the front step with an old book in her lap. Her father had given it to her years ago, its cover marked with sun symbols that matched the ones carved into her new bakery. She opened it carefully and read recipe after recipe written in his neat hand. Honey cakes that glowed. Seed bread that never went stale. Morning buns that tasted like sunshine. These weren't just recipes—they were fairy magic, sun magic, her father's gift to her. She traced the first recipe with her finger and smiled. Tomorrow she would light that oven. Tomorrow she would start baking.