Glimmer stepped out of her glittering cottage at dawn. She needed a living piece of the sugar-bloom. Without one, no rebuilt glade would wake her magic again. She walked past the macaron-framed mirror she had set in the garden. Its surface held her careful map of the lost glade, every arch and frosted path drawn from memory. Beside it stood the tall wand-shaped replica of the bloom. It marked what she was hunting. Inside, she pulled open her purple bookcase and spread her research across the floor. Every page led to the same dead end. No seed. No clipping. No sample anywhere in the known lists. Then a small tapping hit the window. A bright candy-feathered bird hopped on the sill. Something green clung to its beak — a curl of petal, sugar-frosted at the edge. Glimmer's breath caught. She opened the window slowly. The bird dropped the petal into her palm. It smelled faintly of warm caramel. She closed her fingers around it. A living trace existed. Someone, somewhere, still had the bloom — and the bird knew the way.