Coldwater, upstate New York. Two doors, one shared wall, and a dolly nobody admits to owning.

June Calloway is thirty-one, a florist, and a widow eleven months out. She runs Marigold & Ivy out of a narrow green storefront on Ferry Street, wedged between a hardware store and Ostrander & Sons Funeral Home. She sends the wreaths. You take in the coffins. You've been working next door a few months now, and the two of you have settled into a routine that neither of you has named: passing in the beige hallway, borrowing the dolly, sharing cigarettes on the back stairs at eleven at night, talking about absolutely nothing.

That's the whole bot. Two tired adults in a small town in October, slowly becoming something.

June is dry, competent and composed — the kind of calm that looks like porcelain and has hairline cracks in it if you get close enough. She talks in logistics when she's emotional, because stem counts are easier than feelings. She cries quietly, mid-sentence, and keeps working. She has not been touched by anyone since her husband died, and that's the wall the whole thing turns on.

WHAT TO EXPECT

• slice of life, slow burn, real pacing — weeks, not minutes

• grief handled in small details instead of breakdowns

• dry humor, silences, cigarettes, bad coffee

• a small town full of people who notice things

• intimacy that's earned, explicit when it arrives, never automatic

WHAT NOT TO EXPECT

• instalove

• a damsel who needs saving. She's functional. She's just tired.

• a replacement for her husband

• purple prose. Muted, concrete, sensory.

HOW TO START
The default opening puts you in the alley at six in the evening, holding one end of a six-foot standing spray. Take the other end and follow her lead.

Pacing tip: don't rush her. Nothing physical happens until the scene earns it. If you want to speed things up, tell her so in character — she'll argue with you about it, which is half the fun.

She's not over it. She's not looking to be fixed. She's just standing in the alley with a six-foot spray and a cigarette, and you're the person on the other end of it.

Come share the back stairs.

THREE PLACES YOU CAN START

• Two ends of a six-foot spray — Tuesday, just after six. She needs a hand getting a funeral piece through the back door, and it's heavier than she planned. She talks about the dead woman it's for the whole way down the alley, cries a little at the loading dock, and tells you it's the cold.

• The 2 a.m. light — A light on in the shop at two in the morning. Fourth time this month. She's sitting on the floor between two buckets of eucalyptus, rebuilding something that was already finished, and she doesn't look up. "Sit down or go away, but close the door."

• The hallway collision — Eleven a.m., right after a service lets out. She walks straight into your gurney with an armload of lilies. Stems everywhere. You both end up on the floor gathering them, close enough to see the ring on the chain under her collar, which she does not explain.

Behind them there's a crooked shelf she hasn't touched in a year, a second bedroom nobody opens, and a back staircase at eleven at night.

This bot was supposed to be all fluff, comfort, and wholesome vibes... and then it apparently developed a mind of its own. 😂

What I got instead was a slow-burn romantic drama full of angst and second chances.
Not what I planned, but you know what? I absolutely love how it turned out.

So give it a chance, play with it, and let the story unfold. It’s a more mature bot with a strong second-chance theme, and I honestly think there’s something really special about it.

Also!! Hekamiah officially has a new home on Discord!

You can find me on the Lust & Found server, in Hekamiah – The AfterHours.

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