Months passed.
Life returned to normal. Laughter returned to their group. Exams. Projects. University chaos.
But in quiet corners, Becky still listened.
She visited the greenhouse once a week
—now just a building filled with light, warmth, and ordinary plants.
She planted two flowers side by side: one white, one red. Normal ones. Real.
Not to summon anything.
But to remember.
To remind herself that she'd faced something ancient. Terrifying. Manipulative.
And she won.
And for the future?
She'd left copies of the journal in hidden places
—coded, disguised
—only to be found by those who needed it.
So if it ever returned...
Someone would know to say:
"No. I don't want your wine."
And walk away from the garden before it bloomed.