Flower of Death
After a few minutes, the bright white glow slowly dissipated from the priest's hand. He panted for air as his breathing became a bit labored.
Beads of sweat rolled from his forehead and dropped to the floor as he looked at the father and gave him a weary smile, "She is going to be fine by the time the sun rises. I have done everything I can."
The father looked at his daughter whose breathing had become stable and a hint of color seemed to have returned to her face. Her once pale cheeks now had a shade of rosy hue.
Seeing the vast improvement in just a few minutes, the father was elated. He then looked at the exhausted priest and clasped his hands again as he cried tears of joy, "Thank you! Thank you, Father!"
If it wasn't for the priest, Alice would have surely died. Her father didn't know what he would do if his daughter, his last living family member, passed away at such an early age.