The scratching of ink against paper is the sound I wake to. The moment I open my eyes the memories from that night are clear in my mind, and the emotions fill me. It isn’t something I can ever forget.

The writing stops and the atmosphere stills in the room. I don’t acknowledge the other person in the room. Out of fear. Out of being completely lost. And, perhaps, I didn’t want her to see the tears that matte my face.

“This was my fault. I should’ve been clearer.” Her words are uninviting, spoken in that honey-bitter tone of hers. “Don’t go near my tower.” I don’t speak. I don’t turn to look at her. I feel if I do, the illusion that I’m holding it together will break. But she doesn’t give me that relief, stepping forward and towering over my bed as she stares down at me.

Her unnatural face strain my nerves. The flame that flickers along bone, and the frown that narrows down on one side. Please. “No-one was hurt.” I’m trying. “Your morals aren’t at test here.” I’m afraid. “What you felt, shut it away and don’t mention it.” I’m afraid. “Do that and you can continue to be a guest here.” I’M AFRAID.

“Stop!” I scream out in a low voice, guttural and dry. I stare into that terror-inducing face. And look away. “Please. Just leave me alone.” I hide in the covers of my bed, feeling her eyes piercing into me as I shut my eyes in terror. Shivering for a long moment, struggling to keep it together.

“…Okay.” One word is given in return. Steps click against the floor and then the room is empty. I shiver and clutch myself, cowering. Alone. So very alone.

Time passes in agonising silence. The shades of light outside blur together. I try to process my feelings, to give myself courage, but each attempt feels like I’m anchored to the bottom of the ocean desperately trying to reach for the surface. Drowning without hope.

Meals come and go. I eat, and true to Diabella’s words no-one disturbs me. I don’t know how many days pass before I gather the strength to throw the bed’s covers off me, but it must’ve been long. Stumbling to the mirror I can barely recognise myself. Sunken eyes and pale skin, with a wildness in my look I’ve never seen before.

“I’m not okay.” I whisper. Speaking feels unnatural after so long. But the words resonate with me. I stagger away and throw open the door, staring out at the long corridor. My eyes drift along its rough texture as I continue to fumble along. Each step taking me further until I step into the greenhouse.

I stare at the critters and plants. The dancing of nature. A simple beauty that speaks to me. Then I move past, continuing along until I escape outside. It’s night-time. I smile quietly as I take in the twin moons. It should’ve been alienating, but somehow it feels peaceful. Pleasant.

I keep moving and make my way toward the lake. The greenery around here is more varied. Various plants, vines, food and small creatures dance around the lake. Inside I can see hints of fish skimming across the surface. I take a moment to look at everything before making my way to a plant.

It’s reminiscent of a tiny tree, reaching the height of my knee. Its trunk and branches are a deep green, but its complex scattering of leaves across its surface shines a deep silver. The lustre on it is mesmerising, and I watch as the light of the moons shine down and nurture it. The leaves sparkle, twitching this way and that, in joyous synergy.

I smile, reaching down to caress its branches. “Sera” I say softly. After a moment she appears in near me, floating, as she watches me quietly. “Do you have a knife?” I ask. She watches me for a moment, a sense of weight sitting in the air. And then she waves her hand.

Cold gathers like a liquid, swirling together in a tiny maelstrom to form a wing-width blade of pure blue. She grasps it and passes it over to me. As my hand touches it I feel a slight chill before it recedes to a gentle warmth. I look at her, and the blade, before looking back at the plant.

I draw in a deep breath and steady my hands before I reach for it. I cut through it, shaving off slivers of leaves and offshoot branches here and there. Time passes as I gently trim it, while Sera stands there patiently watching me. The knife is inhumanly sharp, and with each perfect slice I feel a little sliver of my pain, my panic and my fear being sliced off.

Not gone. But forgiven. Each moment letting me breathe a little clearer, see a little better. Trust a little more. Only when I finished did I realise I have been crying. “What is its name?” I ask softly, staring at its revealed radiance.

“Moonsung.” Sera whispers, the feeling a little ethereal under the shine of moonlight. The tree was a little smaller now, but its branches shook with joy. Little specks of silver can be seen not just on its leaves now, but also its trunk and branches. Forming a complex pattern from the very top, as it draws in the moonlight, to the very bottom, as it drinks its fill.

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And then I hear it. Each pulse of the silver pattern creates a little hum that shivers across its surface. The erratic nature of the pulses turn that hum into a scattered melody as it travels over me. I close my eyes and listen to its melody. And in that same moment, I feel it reach out me. Its emotions, its delight, wash over me. So tiny and frail. But there all the same.

Sera listens to the plant alongside me, and we share a moment. As the plant drinks its fill, the pulses slow down and the melody disappears. When it stops, I open my eyes and stare quietly up at the moon.

“You hurt her.” Sera says quietly, breaking the silence.

“I know.” I answer. “I’m afraid.”

“It’s natural to be afraid.” Sera turns to look at me, taking in my figure. “We’re afraid too. We’ve been alone for a long time.” Giving me no chance to answer, she drifts away. Leaving me to my thoughts. I clutch the ice-warm knife in my hand and stare at the moon.

My schedule changed after that day. I’d wake up screaming, reliving whatever nightmare took me that night. Then head outside and take care of the flora around the lake until late into the night, before heading back to my room and letting exhaustion take me. Only to repeat it the next day. Some days I would visit Viscount, and listen to his emotions, but those days were rare.

Not every plant or tree is the same. Some require sun, others mixed levels of shade, and few between want direct moonlight. Each plant has different needs and I spend time listening to and taking care of each of them.

There is sincerity in plants you can rarely find elsewhere. Their feelings are pure. Unadulterated. They don’t attach themselves to their feelings. It isn’t ‘I’m happy’. It’s ‘this makes me happy’. ‘This makes me sad’. ‘This helped me grow’. It comes from a place of seeing everything as interconnected, part of a whole. Their sincerity is calming to me, and each day spent taking care of them makes me drown just a little less.

Four weeks pass and the flora around the lake is almost shining now. I made it into a small garden, using the distance between different trees to weave various plants, saplings and other flora, leaving a trail between areas that you can walk through. I’d shaped them into the figure of garden beds by packing dirt in-between, but I lacked proper materials. The knife Sera made melted after the first few days. Each time she would come back and make me a new one.

Over time, she came more regularly, until she became a constant by my side. Watching quietly as I work. One day I saw her admiring one of the flowers I had helped, a Sunpetal. It takes in sunlight and shoots out tiny, orange glowing spores that spread around it in a beautiful version of falling fireworks. The spores enrich the plants they touch. It used to be too frail to do it often, but now it shines its spores every day.

I look at Sera quietly as she admires the flower. “I never knew they could shine like this.” She says softly. Then I watch as for the first time since I’ve known her, Sera stops floating and steps onto the ground. Her feet walk over the dirt, quickly getting dirty alongside the hem of her dress, as she bends down and carefully touches the flower’s stem. “She’s so beautiful. Do you think we were hurting them before?”

“No.” I shake my head and move by her side. The flower shivers and sends out a small stream of positive emotions toward me. “I don’t believe so. For plants, there are only better and worse times. Even dying isn’t painful for them.” I take Sera’s hand. The same as the knife, it feels ice-cold before giving way to warmth. I bring it down and run her hand through the dirt. “See the fibres.” I say as small multi-coloured specks shine through the dirt. “Sunpetal’s give more than they take, helping the plants around them. So we need to give back just as much. That was all that was lacking. In the past it couldn’t give as much, and that was its worse time. Now it’s in its better time.”

As I let go, Sera’s eyes grow faraway as she continues to run her hand through the dirt. After a second I realise I can feel her emotions. Messy and mixed, full of pain and grief and a deep helplessness. I quickly draw away, feeling uncomfortable at invading her intimate moment. Back on Earth it was instinct. As if it was part of the natural order of things. But here I know better. Now it no longer feels the same. I watch her quietly for a second before I move away and tend to a different part of the garden. A few hours pass. While I’m shaping one of the garden beds I hear her approach. “Thank you.” She says quietly. I look up at her. As tall as she is, while I’m kneeling and looking up she almost covers the sun above me. Blue tears can be seen streaked across her face but she makes no mention of it. “Let me help you.”

Sera raises her hand and a maelstrom of white and blue forms in front of her again. She spreads it across the garden bed I’m forming in front of me and begins to condense it into ice. Swathes of material form in front of my eyes as the plants are enclosed around walls of ice. The ice extends and flows between the different plants and out onto the walkway, creating an ice flooring for the curved path between the garden beds. She lets her hand fall and the maelstrom recede. “I’ll do more tomorrow. These will last longer.” Sera says quietly.

I nod gratefully, and pick myself up. As I go to say something, a bell suddenly rings out. Sera turns her head and looks toward the gate. “He’s back.” She says.

“Who?” I instinctively ask. She gives me a look, and a sinking feeling hits my gut. I recall what happened the first time I was knocked out. Swallowing heavily, I ask tentatively. “Skeleton?”

“Yes.” Sera answers. “Come. It’ll be good to meet him.” She raises her feet and steps back into the air, floating towards the gate. I stare at the dirt-streaked dress fluttering behind her, gathering my courage. With clammy hands I clutch tight to the knife Sera gave me and follow along.