Part of a race of small people who live proudly in the wilds, the gardener has tasked himself with taking care of the flora in the town where he lives. He has a bit of a grumpy look, though he doesn’t think he personally looks grumpy. Some individuals get nervous about him and he’s okay with that. As long as the plants he tends grow well, that’s all he needs.

You only see her in moments when the sun is blinding, flashing off the surface of the brook and throwing light in your eyes. You squint, raising a hand to shade your vision. Still, your only impression is of a lithe body that shines white-gold, skipping in flashes across the surface of the water, there and gone in flickers. The burble of the brook mingles with a sound like laughter, bright and keen.

She always seems to be in high spirits when you find her, giggling and playful, and you’re sure she’s also entirely mischievous. She thinks it’s funny, how hard you try to spot her form, and how you shy from it when the light flares too painfully. You wonder how old she is. She seems childlike, yet formed as an adult, with streaming streaks of hair blazing in her wake. Maybe she’s ancient. You don’t know what she is, after all. Some sort of naiad? You have heard of water nymphs, but you associate her more with light than water. She only appears on summer days like this one. Too much cloud, and she is nowhere, deaf to your calls.

You met her as a child yourself, chasing her until you were both breathless with laughter and your clothes were soaked through. You have aged, but she—so far as you can tell—is unchanged. She has never spoken a word to you, never introduced herself. Sometimes you dream of her, glinting in your subconscious and always just out of reach. She passes through shadows and vanishes, then gleams again under the sunshine. Ephemeral. Untouchable.

You frequently wake with your hand outstretched, clutching at nothing.

Monochrome eyes stare at the moon above, nestled amongst the stars and wrapped within the galaxy’s soft embrace. Wisp-like trails dance along the moon’s surface, peaceful and hypnotic as all becomes silent and the air becomes still. The very universe unfolds before those eyes, petals unfurling as the new moon blossoms from the cold stone of the earth as though plucked from the sky. To think that such beauty could be harvested from the love of those who worship the pristine goddess of nightfall’s light is difficult to grasp, yet there the petals lay, encasing the miniature moon within their folds.

Eyelids close for merely a moment, before those monochrome orbs settle once more upon the new sprout. The lunar goddess has gifted the cave with a piece of herself, an entity that will surely grow to be just as beautiful as her mother above. Luna shall exhibit the very essence of the night sky, and until she has grown, those monochrome eyes will watch over her, waiting for the silent night to end so that Luna may begin.

Heaving a sigh of relief, the moon watches her flower bloom through a break in the cave, waiting for her offspring’s new guardians to find her.

Laughter bubbles from her chest as she feels the tide lap at her toes, crystal clear and serene in the joy of this day. The bright sun above is warm and kind, and its light highlights the brilliant, vivid beauty of the blossoms around her. Lovely pinks pop against the turquoise waves and lush green foliage, as dazzling as a sunset and just as breathtaking. Water begets life, life begets joy, and that joy is hugging her tightly as they play within the sparkling pool that lays within the cave, bringing happiness to those who find it. Though the cave walls run high, the opened sky above makes this place feel free and unconfined, and she breathes in the fresh air with lungs that giggle alongside her. Even the scent of the blossoms is alive with color and life, bringing a subtle delight to her heart as she continues to frolic through the cavern’s depths.

It is no wonder that her sprout would blossom in such a place, as full of joy and beauty as the very water that nourishes it.

by Rhyme

By Lady Hawkwing

The air grew sharper as Urie narrowed his eyes and stared off into the starry sky.

In the cold, high up on his mountain, the stars shone brightly. The night sky was untainted by the light from any humans, and a sense of tense peace settled over the mountain. The longer Urie stared up at the moon, the colder it grew, until he finally sighed and turned away, brushing a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

As he turned from the sky, snow began to fall and he breathed out a quiet sigh, words barely audible under his breath; “I miss you.”

It was the only day when he let himself grow sad and nostalgic. Urie let his emotions run their course in solitude, uncaring whether or not he brought snow and ice to the mountain and the forest below. Before, when the wounds were fresh, he let his anger out at the sky. Before, he would turn back into a dragon and roar at the moon, screaming until his throat was raw and he was out of mana, hurling ice spears into the sky and summoning a blizzard. It was only the barrier he had erected that stopped the full force of his wrath from reaching the humans below. Not that he cared about them - but the last thing he needed was to be chased and hunted again.

Now, he spent the night in quiet sadness up on the mountain that used to be his. For one night, he let himself feel freely, and he cast his gaze upwards, murmuring wishes and regrets, shelled in by the strongest barriers he could muster. He was never disturbed - at his best, his barriers were some of the strongest around - and the one time he had been, he had barely spared a glance at the intruder before setting up another barrier between them, one that just so happened to go through an arm and a leg. Not his problem.

On that one night, Urie let himself release the sadness and anger and regret that he pent up the rest of the year. It was an anniversary of a death, but he felt reborn at dawn.

arrangement for this flower by Emeralda c:

The sound of dripping water echoes through the cavern, rhythmic and precise—plip, plip, plip. It’s unimaginably dark down here, like something drank up every photon of light and left only emptiness behind. The air eddies and swirls, damp as the inside of a cloud, so breathing it is almost like drowning. There can be nothing good here.

Somewhere, a dim red light appears, so faint at first that it can be mistaken for an optical illusion, a trick of the eye when confined to pure darkness. Slowly, the light brightens, a dull glow the color of a dying fire. Lines appear in the glow, seemingly random at first, but moving, forming patterns, shapes… letters, perhaps, in some arcane, dead language.

The mist takes on a bloody glow, swirling around the small illuminated shape of a flower etched from stone. The symbols twitch and writhe on its surface like living things, sending flickers of light dancing on the distant walls. All around, the cave begins to rumble, the sound of grinding rock overcoming the plip, plip of water.

Something has been disturbed, awakened.

Something ancient.

Something dangerous.

Featuring ILNP Happily Ever After, Phoenix, Icehouse and aEngland The Knight, The Shield, Lady of Shalott, and She Walks in Beauty

There is a forest within the forest, have you heard?

They say that the forest moves - that sometimes, when you walk along the forest paths, you end up in another forest. And there’s no way of knowing if that forest has moved to the one you’re in, either. No one knows why - some say there there must be something hidden in that forest.

Most try to escape the mysterious forest. The slightly brighter colors are the first hint - everything is just a little more vivid. The wildlife and plants are different, too - just barely. At first, it’s hard to notice - rare flowers that are native to the area, then plants and animals that aren’t native, then, when you are deep into the moving forest, you’ll see magic-touched wildlife. Squirrels running through the trees clutching acorns of garnet, snapping venus flytraps that whisper to you in the voices of your loved ones, birds that sing the songs of your childhood.

Walk far enough, and if you don’t find your way out, a mysterious woman will guide you out. Her manner is somewhat rough, but her touch is gentle as she takes you by the hand and leads you out of the forest and into your own, confident even though her face is obscured by a leather wrap.

Some have tried to hunt for the forest. Few have found it - then, the woman isn’t quite so kind. She snarls and the forest snaps to attention, grabbing the would-be-hunters and snaring them, the animals turning on them, and the woman gives them a choice - death, or a chase.

She has never lost a chase. Her javelins are guided by the winds themselves, tipped with moonstone and stained red. The forest itself helps her, and twists in on itself to prevent the hunters from leaving. Always, she stands victorious.

Beware the moving forest - do not stay if you are caught, for the guardian will not let you leave with spoils.