She is there again. Knelt over another one. She has snared another curious being, lured by her agents through the thorns and into Arcadia.

It's hard to see what She's talking to.

Move. Sneak. Shuffle. Blend in to the greenery and shrubs the size of houses. Move around without her Courtiers spotting you, grabbing you, tormenting you, revealing you. Be the best for her, and snare the sweet rewards.

"And what is this that DARES to move through my Eternal Garden, my work of aeons? A MORTAL?! And a poor showing of one at that! Where is your Beauty? Where is your Elegance? You can never come close to the Fair Folk but to not even try!" The malice is there. Is she angry? Playful? Bored? Her moods are as inscrupulable as the day you arrived.

The teenage boy kneels before the towering image of the Eternal Gardener, trembling. He says something. It's too far away to hear. But then, she laughs - a sound like rivers flowing and unbridled joy. Even now that sound plucks the strings of the heart.

"A blooming flower from beneath such dirt? Perhaps it has talents yet, hmm? A silver tongue in a dullen wooden box? Say more things. Say more things that please me."

Still too far away to hear. He is standing now, sweating, clothes torn but the Thorns, dark hair and blue eyes. Eyes that see hope. His mouth moves and a smile tugs his lips. She is puffing up proudly, her ego stroked and caressed.

"Mmmmm..... yeesssss..... A chance perhaps. A show of mercy for your BLUNDER, your INDESCRETION." The words are snarled after a flow of calm, and then suddenly the fury is gone. She is always mercurial. This foolish one, that speaks so sweet cannot know. He may be trying to freedom and help, not realising the truth that he is already hers. She just likes to toy with everything that is hers, for she is capricious and cruel, mecurial and delightful. "But Generous, perhaps? It has such a pretty tongue. Perhaps I just keep that? Perhaps? From the piece I desire a more charming cultivation? A form that fits to map to the words so sweet and true?"

Ego. Hers is vast, and this mortal may yet survive if he does not tread wrong. She is laughing again.

"Oh you would, would you? Do you know of where you speak? Under me you will grow and flourish. You could be the greatest. All would love and adore you always. And all you need to do is serve. Watch my garden for me. Serve well and the rewards will be beyond your wildest dreams...."

How many times has she made this offer? Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands? The ornaments of the Eternal Garden come and go, fighting for favour, traded among the Gentry like baubles for their domains.

"...culinary delights mortals cannot fathom! Partners to fulfill your most sordid desires! A summer without end! All you must do... is KNEEL."

She never mentions what happens when you fall short. She never can. Maybe because she never knows. Maybe she likes to keep her options open for what horrors she can bring. It's a Rule to be held by the words. It's clever, watching her now. Such deviousness. She promises nothing, describing it like a certainty. She judges what is serving well. She has given and promised nothing to him, making it sound like her deal is great, when all she offers is for him to willingly step into the shakles. Oh, yes, he will grow and flourish. So do all the plants in the garden.

He scrabbles on his knees. You can see the desperation in his eyes, the longing for all that she has said and more. Is it this place, that brings out such vices in mortals? Or does it just bring forth the dark hearts of all mankind? Or does he truly think that agreement brings freedom, not captivity?

Fool.

He doesn't see it. That he is in the lawn, opposite another Flowering mortal, this one with red flowers and thick dark leaves. That he is in the place that needs a mirror piece, another evergreen shrubbery to bring symmetry to this floral arrangement.

She cackles and raises her handy to the sky. Roots burst forth from the ground, and into the prone from. He screams, of course. They always do. It is just another sound after the first dozen or so, and nothing in the Garden seems to stop the sounds. The magic doesn't stop the pain, only ensure the change works. She doesn't care. She relishes this, the raw emotion spewing forth from her latest victim. She just wants another piece to fulfill the designs for her garden, until she grows bored and restarts the design all over again.

And if the new design needs nothing of the old, well. Then they are not flowers, but weeds, and are scoured once again.

This new one will have to learn this or perish, just like the others.

Of course, he could be lucky.

Ophellia always seems fond of rhodedendrons.


I want to give special thanks to Cayce for helping me come up with the idea of a Glimpse of the Durance, even if it is a past almost entirely forgotten by the character.