Born in 1800, Annyahnabreth Bloomberry grew up in the long shadow of her older brother, Arnold—a boy whose gifts stirred rumors, awe, and eventually, condemnation. As Arnold’s reputation darkened across the Northern Colony, Annyahnabreth quietly remained one of the few who never turned her back on him.
While others whispered his name with scorn, she wrote him letters. While others crossed the street to avoid his gaze, she saved clippings, maps, and fragments of forgotten lore—“just in case he ever needed them.” And though Arnold spent most of his adult life avoiding his family to protect them from guilt by association, he never stopped writing to her.
Annyahnabreth carved her own path through the world—not through magic or politics, but through stories. She founded and operated the After Words Bookstore, a quiet, tucked-away shop that became a beloved corner of Flamingo Springs. It was a place of dusty shelves, handwritten catalogues, and a small fire always crackling behind the counter. If you lingered long enough, she’d eventually offer you tea and ask, with real curiosity, what kind of ending you liked best—happy, tragic, or true.
Those close to her said she had an unusual gift for remembering small things—a quote, a page number, a person’s exact words from years before. Some believed it was magic. She insisted it was simply paying attention.
She died in 1839, quietly, with a book on her lap and the bookstore key still tucked into her pocket. She preceded her older brother in death by many years, believing, until the end, that Arnold had done something important. Something good. Her shop stood locked and silent for over a century, guarding secrets even she may not have fully understood.