Nettle

At Harris Manor in Dorset, out in the garden, flowers bloomed in riotous competition, their fragrance enchanting, the whole garden's brilliant colors flourishing lushly and fervently under the effects of magic. Owen Harris held Emily's hand while Helena floated beside him. Owen guided Helena's hand over the little purple trumpets blown by the morning glories, had her sniff the blue cornflowers in cheerful full bloom, and picked great armfuls of gorgeous red and white roses, England's national flower...

"Your grandmother will like these. She's always liked roses. Be careful. Don't get pricked by the thorns," Owen said, carefully plucking a rose that had fully opened.

As far as Helena was concerned, she could touch these flowers, but she felt almost nothing from most of them. Only when she came into contact with thorny roses could they give her the slightest bit of sensation, and even that was extremely faint, nearly nonexistent.

Like Owen, Emily carefully avoided the thorny places, while Helena felt nothing at all. She focused on picking roses, the thorns piercing her palm, yet they seemed unable to affect her in any way.

"Oh, look what I found—nettles!" Owen had discovered a patch of green plants growing under the shadier trees, with dense stinging hairs, fine down, and nearly round outlines. "Emily, don't touch the nettles. The stingers on them will give you a burning pain."

Without the slightest hesitation, Helena reached out and touched a nettle leaf. Owen and Emily watched Helena with concern.

"Do you feel anything?" Emily asked, tilting her head.

"No," Helena said, her expression unchanged.

Emily looked at Helena, then extended a finger toward a nettle leaf in front of her. After hesitating, she lightly touched the leaf, then immediately snatched her finger back. After feeling it for a moment, she said, "It