Garden of roses

[Diana Warren]

A quiet laugh escaped Diana, soft enough not to disturb the garden around them. There was no mockery in it, only the warmth of someone amused by another's certainty.


"And yet words brought us to this conversation," she observed, hazel eyes drifting from the blossom back to the woman's face. "If they truly meant nothing, neither of us would still be standing here."


She let the thought linger before smiling, the expression subtle and genuine.


"I think beauty can become a curse, but only when people mistake possessing it for understanding it. A rose imprisoned beneath glass may live longer untouched, yet it no longer sways with the breeze or perfumes the air as freely. Preservation has its own price."


Her gaze wandered over the sea of blooms, taking in the endless variations of crimson, blush, and ivory before settling once more on her companion.


"As for music..." Diana's voice softened. "Perhaps that's why I love it most. A performance belongs only to those present. Even a recording is only an echo of that moment. Every hesitation, every breath between notes, every imperfection—it dies the instant it's born. There's something wonderfully honest about that."


She folded her hands behind her back, taking a slow step along the path.


"I speak Spanish well enough to hold a conversation and stumble my way through Latin when necessity demands it, though I'd hardly call myself a master. Languages, like music, reveal how differently people see the same world."


A sidelong glance carried the faintest hint of mischief.


"You seem to place great value on what lingers in memory after the moment has passed. Tell me... has there ever been a piece of music, a painting, or even a single conversation that has stayed with you for the majority of your existence—not because it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever experienced, but because it quietly changed the way you looked at the world?"

[Alicia Silvers]

Softly joining in the laugh for but a moment, the little teasing play clearly having had some effect at least.
"Our minds are not alike." Gazing out over the park without fully looking away from the woman. "They can convey anything and everything, but in the end they are hollow without the action to back them up." Looking back towards her in full. "Action is all that matters, actions are oh so much harder to make a lie."

Moving herself closer towards a flower, without getting closer towards the woman not wanting to try and close that distance.
"Flowers been taken from their natural homes, picked to slowly die for fleeting beauty." Caressing it´s petals. "Wars waged for it." Pathetic really. "Tales of myth and legend alike born because of it." Sighing. "Death, feuds, pain and curses rampant. Beauty like everything has its price, the more something holds it the higher the price they might have to pay." Shaking her head silently. "What matters how to wield that curse well enough to make the price worth it."

A shine going up in her eyes at the words, tasting them, licking her purple lips as purple eyes grows a bit kinder and more intrigued by the woman.
"That was beautiful." Love being a strange choice of a word though. "What kind of music draws you in, any favorites that truly tickles your fancy?" Scanning her body for a brief breath. "Or do you perhaps play or even sing yourself?"

Raising an eyebrow in surprise, the Spanish well that was common enough but Latin.
"You speak Latin to such a degree, now that is not something you see everyday." Shaking her head a little, taking a second to think. "How do you say lets see." Tapping her lips. "Valde infigo" Not certain if she had ever really spoken the language aloud to anyone before this. "What made you study a dead language to such a degree?" Certainly there must be some tale there.

Cocking her head with a soft smile.
"I do suppose I have asked my fair share of things, and you have answered so hmm." Sorting through her mind for a bit, trying to pick a moment. "It is not music, it is not art, not as you would know it at least. During my second life I met a man with a view of the world so far from anything you could fathom, the way his eyes and words could crumble reality, reshape and rebuild it, its beauty forever etched into me. Such understanding of fundamental matters, of the universe, of every molecule, a symphony." Sighing. "To bad his life was cut short." But such was the price for his folly.

[Diana Warren]

Diana listened without interruption, her expression softening as the woman spoke of action, beauty, and the price both demanded. She found herself smiling—not because she agreed with every conclusion, but because conviction was always more interesting than certainty.


"I think our minds are more alike than you give them credit for," she said quietly. "You simply have less patience for words than I do."


Her gaze drifted toward the roses, following the delicate line of a crimson petal as it swayed in the evening breeze.


"Action gives words meaning, I won't argue that. But words have started revolutions, ended wars, inspired discoveries, and convinced people to walk willingly to their deaths. They are not hollow. They're seeds." She looked back to the woman. "Whether they bloom into something beautiful or poisonous depends entirely upon the hands that plant them."


Her smile became almost wistful as the conversation turned to music.


"I've always been drawn to the piano. Chopin when I'm reflective, Rachmaninoff when the world feels too small, Debussy when I need reminding that music doesn't always have to resolve." A soft laugh escaped her. "I never had any formal training. Cannot play a note of it, but I can listen. Singing..." She gave a small, self-aware smile. "Best avoided entirely."


The compliment toward learning Latin drew a brighter smile.


"My father insisted I start learning it." There was unmistakable affection in the memory. "I'm not fluent yet, but I'm working toward it. History, philosophy, theology... they all become richer when you can read them without another person's interpretation standing between you and the author."


Her eyes lit with genuine amusement.


"And your pronunciation wasn't bad."


She repeated the phrase, slower and more deliberate, carefully shaping each syllable as she spoke.


"*Valde infigo.*"


"I've always loved languages. Latin especially—it opens doors to understanding things as they were originally written, without layers of translation softening or shifting their meaning. Every language carries ideas another culture found so important they created words the rest of us have to describe with entire sentences."


Then she fell silent as the woman spoke of the man she'd known.


Diana didn't interrupt. She simply listened.


When the story reached its end, she inclined her head respectfully.


"People like that leave strange ghosts behind." Her voice had lowered. "Not hauntings... echoes. You begin to see the world through questions they taught you to ask."


She folded her hands loosely behind her back.


"I don't know who he was." A brief pause. "But I envy anyone fortunate enough to spend time with someone capable of changing how they perceived reality."


Another thoughtful smile.


"I suppose that's why I love both music and art. Neither changes the world, but it changes the person hearing it."


Her hazel eyes met the woman's violet ones.


"They change the person looking at it. Sometimes that's the more impressive miracle."

[Alicia Silvers]

Cocking her head ever so slightly towards the woman, a coy smile priding her lips with the faintest of shifts to a softer tone, a bit curious as to why the shift to a softer voice.
"The price of being raised on sweet whispers and gentle lies." Or just high society. Calmly listening to the tale of words with intrigued eyes before chuckling at the argument of them. "Are those the words though, or are they the action to give a speech, to inspire, and people choosing to act on them?" To her it was just a prelude. "The words got power cause they resonated and gave birth to action." Tasting the thought for a moment whilst inhaling the scent of the flowers around them. "Seeds you say, I like that, its a beautiful way to view it. Regrettably so does action still serve to move me more than words ever could. But I shall admit that words and words are not the same."

Shying back at the words, not even trying to hide the distaste at the mention of the piano.
"I'm familiar." Brief and cutting off the talk of piano from her side there, having nothing further to say. "A shame, did you yourself not speak of words being seeds, and the beauty of music born in the moment?"

The emotional touch evident to read, not certain what Kindred would be so open with such matters but not like her and the hers weren´t known for seeking the strongest of feelings or being emotional.
"Then what of Hebrew, Koine Greek, and Aramaic? If you wish to read theology are they not all vital tongues to learn?" Not so much for the other parts but for theology they were vital. "Latin in all its glory, a strong tongue, filled with centuries of history but no single tongue is ever the end all be all, even when we venture into dead languages."

Having to hold back from laughing, of course her pronunciation wasn´t bad, placing a light smile on her lips with a playfully raised eyebrows.
"See sometimes watching Asterix gives an advantage at the most random of times." Moving slightly closer amused by the words, not having heard many whom valued them as she did, whom saw the potency of them in their full vigor. "Now you are speaking my melody Ms.Warren, there are so many wonderful ones, filled with so much more than most give them credit for, English, Spanish, Latin, French, Sumerian, old and new, not a single language without a depth of intricacies to explore and master, each with their own melody and fascination. A living piece of history, sometimes of a time so old none alive can recall it."

Arching her neck back ever so lightly with a dismissive brief laugh.
"Well that bastard did nearly put me six feet under so he got what was coming for him." Moving her neck back down again, the memories bittersweet in their fullest sense. "His mind was quite something, but a self serving bastard through and through."

"And do they change us as it were intended, or do we as a species collectively force our own meanings unto matters, distort the original purpose and twist it to our own preferences?" Needing a second to sort through her mind. "The turner diaries causing radicalization with over 150 lives as the price. Scream with copycat murders, not to mention the dangers of the song My Way by Sinatra. None of them intended."