At some point in the journey Saila had blacked out. The messy, upside-down blur of reality had turned pitch black, and she’d been left alone with her nightmares.

She didn’t have them much these days. After a while that sort of pain started to dull, whether you liked it or not. They came from time to time though; on a particularly bad day or if an aside comment thrown her way got wedged into her brain like a rock in her shoe. But it was always a surprise when it happened.

It was always a surprise to be back home.

She was always standing there, in the dirt. It was so rough, and she could feel every little bump against the soles of her feet. Funny how the brain remembers things. Such little details, recalled so vividly, when the fire just looked like a wild stream of colour- formless and chaotic, streaked with amber and gold and ruby.

Then her mother spoke, as she always did.

“Oh… oh █████. Look!” her mother said.

It wasn’t her name she called.

Her mother knew her name, knew she was a girl.

But in the nightmare, it came out as like crackles of lightning, like scratches on the brain.

“Mom… no.”

“No? But █████ look- he’s home.”

“Mom, no- I did it, I sta-”

“Oh, my love, my darling- my salamander. █████, do you see it?”

Her mother walked out in front of her- her hair was tied in a braid, trailing down her back. She was wearing her nightgown, a simple yet lovely night blue. The hem swished against the sand and dirt with each step.

Saila grabbed at that hem, holding tiny fistfuls of it.

“Mom… Mom please…”

Her mother spread her arms out wide. She looked so tiny, lit by the flames.

“Your father’s home!”

She started walking towards it.

“Don’t you see it dance, █████? He brought-”

“Mom no he’s not here I did-”

“- us a gift, a fire-show! Watch it spin and-”

“- it I started the fire me not dad please don-”

“- twirl and fly. Oh, I need to go-”

“- ‘t do this please, don’t. I want you to st-”

Her hands slipped from her hem. They always did. Saila fell to her knees, the impact like the world shuddering.

She watched as her mother’s tiny form stepped into the fire.

An instant later, kindling.

Saila screamed.

###

“MOM!!!”

Saila shot up from where she lay on the ground, throat aching with pain from shouting, eyes heavy with tears- her cheeks streaked with them-, body prickled with nightmare sweat. Her breath came in panicked gasps, as waking world slammed into dreamscape.

“Oho, she’s awake. Wonderful, wonderful,” a cloying, sing-song voice called to her.

The genuine surprise shook her out of her terror, if only just.

She was in the corner of a cave, laying on a bed of moss and plant-life. The place was lit with by bulb-like flowers, radiating a gentle candlelight glow.

Standing at what looked like a wood-burning oven was a woman in dressed in fine, almost operatic clothing made from flowers. Her gown was a leafy green that broke into a train that went from a vibrant, dark magenta to a pale violet. Her shoulders and sleeves were poofy and laden with desert daffodils, a sunset orange that contrasted with her long, earthy hair. Vines wove through her flowing locks like an elaborate hair-piece, accented with a deep crimson wild rose just above her right ear.

“Uh…” Saila tried.

“Just a moment child- food will be ready soon, ohoho…”

With all the elegance and poise that befit her outfit, she dished out what she’d been cooking- it smelt like eggs and meat- onto a plate balanced on a nearby stool.

The stool itself was just as floral as she was, a ring of flowers about the seat, roots winding down the cracked legs, a leafy mass between them.

Sail was about to ask what was going on when it started moving. Its legs cracked and bent as the roots binding it together stepped with an unnatural, wobbling gait, straight towards her.

The stool started to tip, and without missing a beat the woman snapped her fingers and a faint glow of violet crackled through it, straightening it up.

“Oh really Renault, we have been over this. Stiff legs, stiff. You are a stool, not a layabout.”

The walking stool- the flower- Renault- whatever it was, seemed to kick at the ground at her condemnation, and finished the walk over to Saila. It knelt down on its knees, a fluffy omelette on its plate, vines stretching out from beneath the top of it to offer a silver spoon or fork.

Without much thought, Saila took the spoon- it seemed appropriate.

As much as anything else did, anyway.

Okay Saila… she thought, giving herself a quick smack on the cheek to snap her out of it. Where the hell am I…

Looking around the cave, Saila tried her best to take stock of her situation. It all looked as dressed up as the woman, with floral arrangements garnished liberally about the place, further furniture and appliances comprised of cobbled together wood and flowers. It looked almost like a decent home… save for the rock walls, and that every so often the furniture would twitch or jolt. The woman sashayed about the room, a little glow of violet rising from her fingers in time with a little spark of violet light emanating from the tended flower-ture, straightening it out.

Jutting out from one wall was a large, root-like branch, a series of vines hanging down from it like a net- and hanging from that was a smaller sized dress made from woven vine, decorated with a series of amber lilies.

Obviously, in her size.

… okay that’s a little, creepy, I- her thought was interrupted by the feeling of blunt metal poking at her knees. The stool was nudging her with the fork’s back end, an urgent sort of prodding.

“Uh… lady?” Saila started.

The woman stopped mid stride, swishing to face her with impressive ease. The upper reaches of her face were concealed in leafy opera mask, and while it gave her an imposing visage, she did not look unkind. “Yes yes, oh I do apologize child, I was so busy tidying up- we don’t get many guests here, you know.”

“I kinda…” Saila glanced around the cave again. “Kinda got that. Is this safe to eat?”

“Whatever do you mean? Did your nightmare disturb your little tummy?”

Saila cringed. Did I- whatever, okay she’s got a few screws loose, let’s play with that.

“A- a little. I’m more worried about… my health. This won’t…”

“Ohoho…” She laughed that onerous laugh of hers. “Heaven forbid, it won’t turn you into a table, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

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… sharper than I thought, damn. “Uh, y- yeah. That obvious?”

“Well it’s to be expected,” she said matter-of-factly. “But rest assured, a little ham and eggs won’t hurt you.”

With a great bit of hesitance- enough to draw another urgent poking from Renault- Saila cut into the omelette with her spoon. Awful choice of utensil she realized, but she had more pressing concerns.

“So… who are you? What’s going on, exactly?”

Saila knew- or at least suspected some things. The pressure of the vine that had pulled her into the air, and presumably to this lady’s cave-house, echoed like a phantom after all. She ate slowly to keep up appearances- whoa this is good actually, damn- and to distract, as her other hand dipped into her pocket to find her box of matches.

“Ah yes, you came home asleep, poor thing, ohoho. I am…” she spread her arms, as if basking applause. “Ophelia Florentine, Ever-Queen of the Claiforet Société D'Opéra. You may call be mamam though, if it pleases you.”

“S… sure. How’d I get here?”

“Oh, that’d be Pavan. I set him up to guard my front yard porch- he’s a much more reliable sort than some people, Renault.”

The stool shivered.

“And why did uh, Pavan, kidnap me, exactly?”

Ophelia gave her a wilting look through her mask. “Oho, young one… I did not kidnap you. Pavan is just, very exact you see. I told him that he must send any of my callers to me for inspection, and he just does so, no matter the situation. Why it gave me a fright to see you, I thought you’d been hurt by one of Swathi’s blooms. I’m glad you’re awake, as you’re absolutely perfect!”

“Perfect for… what?” Saila asked.

A sudden dread started to heat across her, sweat at the nape at her neck.

“Well you see, young one, my flower… may I have your name please?”

Saila hesitated.

“U- uh… Saila.”

No matter how much she searched, she couldn’t find them.

No matchbox.

It- its fine I don’t need it I know that I can breath fire without it I can- where did it go does she have it does she know what is she going to- oh god what is she doing!?

As Saila panicked, Ophelia had continued her sweeping dance of the cave, and when she’d reached the branch-root, suddenly swiped up the dress of lilies and sashayed towards her in three horrifyingly quick steps.

“Well you see, the life of an entertainer has always kept me busy- but, young Saila, I’ve always dreamed of starting a family, and you seem like the absolutely perfect choice for a daughter- a little scrawny at the edges mind, but nothing a good diet can’t fix.”

Saila recoiled back in fear. “A- ah ah… lady, I uh, hate to break it to you but I-”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve already got a family, young one!”

Saila tried her best to avoid eye contact, looking anywhere but her face for fear she’d crack.

It was there she found her matches, firmly over-grown in a pouch on Ophelia’s side.

Such a strange thing, having a goal. It could calm even the most jittery of nerves. Knowing where her matchbox had gone meant she could retrieve it, and that at least was a reprieve.

“I… yeah, kinda, I do. I- uh, I’m traveling with someone.”

Saila’s calm seemed to be infectious, as Ophelia seemed to calm as well.

“I see, I see… perhaps I can, convince you?” She held out the floral dress with an exaggerated meekness. “Why, my darling and I would love to welcome you into our home.”

“You’re… darling? Is he a plant too?”

Ophelia laughed, echoing about the cave. “Oh heavens no young Saila, no. No he’s just as human as you are- and quite handsome.”

“How about you… tell me about him,” Saila raised an eyebrow in mock interest. “Could convince me.”

“Oho, I could…” she started. Then she bolted up straight, a brilliant grin on her face. “Better yet, let me treat you to a tour of the mansion. See the house my darling and I built- well, building, we only started some time ago. We’ll walk and talk, my dear!”

“S- sure, I uh-” before Saila could stand, Ophelia threw her floral gift at her.

“And here, put this on- Swathi gets overly concerned around more, ‘traditional’ sorts of clothes. I really should see about correcting that.”

Saila looked down at the dress, a lump of worry growing in her chest.

This is fine, j- just bide your time. Distract her, snatch the matches, set everything on fire, and book it- or hey, maybe Noble will come flying in or something. It uh…

The thought of Noble made the worry grow ever larger.

She swallowed it down, and got changed.

###

Gunpowder and iron.

Oil-slick steel and rusted, coppery life.

The open air of the mountains, crisp and clear.

These smells were a comfort to him, at times. A solemn, brutal one that mixed in his brain with medicinal sterility and aromatic operating rooms.

Battlefield, hospital, home. That was what those scents meant, and each carried actions in turn. Fight, shoot, bleed, heal, rest, sleep.

Watch the stars in the sky, let them wash over you.

Filtered though they were, each was a strong memory that he kept safe.

New ones, too; gasoline-sweat, the scent of fire, the odor of a living being.

How long had it been since something like that existed for him?

Too long. Long enough.

Two thoughts stood out clearly; she had been taken so fast she couldn’t even shout.

And he had been there, unable to stop it.

No time for thoughts like ‘human’.

Desert wildflowers, of vibrant purples, with delicate petals and elegant root-structures and coyote skulls, barked soundlessly as they curled about in unnatural ways, and fired off cactus thorns and magic sparks. Damage- superficial his systems told him. Return fire.

Gunpowder and iron mixed oddly with that fragrant perfume.

There was no rust- nothing vital had yet been breached and his targets where dead-things before and after the trigger was pulled in any case. Compost smell, rotted and fragrant- close enough that the wires knew what they were doing.

With luck he wouldn’t die again.

Maybe when the task was done, he could appreciate the roses.

###

Saila had to give Ophelia one thing; she had the lung capacity befitting the opera diva she claimed to be. Her only experience with Felisian opera was scene-dressing in her dime-novels, so she didn’t know much of what happened there- beyond illicit midnight rendezvous between women on the run- but the way she spoke, and how much she spoke, was as accurate as anything.

“-nd that, young Saila, is how I came to be known as Ever-Queen. A pompous title to be sure, all flowers fade in time, but I wore it proudly all the same. It was only when I moved out here to Trestaria that I realized the blooming wasn’t as metaphorical as we’d all thought.”

“I see…” Saila muttered, only half paying attention. As they’d walked and talked, she’d been keeping an eye out- the cave system was long and winding, moss and less animate flowers dotting the place the way normal wealthy folk decorated with mirrors and paintings.

It was all lit with the bulb like flowers she’d seen in what Ophelia called the ‘salle de séjour’, all strung together with a singular pulsing vine.

She also noticed how maze-like it was. If she did get her matches and slip away, she’d have to follow the vine-line or get irrevocably lost.

“So uh… how do you do this flower stuff anyway?” Saila asked, before Ophelia noticed where her true focus was. “You got like, a flower monster in your soul?”

“Ohoho, you do have an amusing way of phrasing things, young Saila. Non non, it is… how did my darling describe it aga- ah, yes, phytomancie, he’d called it. From the ancient Pagosin ‘phuton’, meaning plant, and the Felisian mancie, meaning diviner, or controller. Fascinating stuff I dare say- according to my darling only a few folk are graced with it.”

Saila nodded. Truth be told she was interested in this- however it happened, she was touched by fire in the same way. There was a connection there. She wanted to know more.

“So it’s a kind of magic is it?”

Another haughty laugh. “Oh no, magic is a stuffy thing, as unnatural as a sword and prone to faltering.”

As she spoke, one of the bulbs started to burn out, and she sighed. With a swish of her hand, the bulb opened, revealing a faintly flickering circle glimmering in the center, etched with geometry and Felisian writing. It hung in the air with an unnatural lightness, and Saila had to blink to ensure her eyes were working properly.

“You see? I need to recharge these every so often- hungry, hungry Kiaan can’t keep the lights on without a pick me up here and there.”

Ophelia swiped away the flickering circle, which dispersed into shimmering dust- without missing a beat, roots lifted from her dress and swished similarly, gold light tracing in their path in an exact duplicate of the discarded one. She spoke a word, and the circle flared to life, glimmering golden and almost hard to see.

The bulb-flower closed in around the magic circle, and was lit like new.

Despite herself, Saila watched in amazement, trying to memorize it herself.

“There, all done. Oh, young Saila- I spent nearly five hundred of my hard-earned dollars to track down a book of magic, and all I gleaned from it was that. And a few defensive things, of course, but that’s hardly befitting a home like this.”

“Teach me! That’s so cool!”

Ophelia laughed that fluttering laugh of hers, but it seemed gentler now. Kinder. Less… scary. “Ohoho, perhaps I should. Kiaan would no-doubt appreciate the change- they’re a little over your age, I believe- oh, but no funny business, he is part of the staff.”

Saila laughed as well, saying “naw, no worries on that front.”

“Aah.” Ophelia nodded. “A, how you say, mangeuse de lys?”

“I have no idea what that means, but it sounds correct.”

“Well, I suppose it must be then. But never mind that- my point stands. I suspect all the serving staff will take well to you. Renault seemed to, after all!”

“Renault…” Saila started, every nerve in her body trying desperately not to add ‘is a walking stool’.

“Oho, you’re curious, aren’t you- worry not, Renault is well, even if his legs creak every so often. I must be strict at times, but it is out of a great respect- why, he’s the one who suggested we move out to this delightful city, before the big war started.”

“He uh… he did? Renault’s a person?”

“Of course he is! As are the others, you know- all diligently acting from the servant’s quarters. I assure you, they’re more than fine folk- even with their foibles.”

“Hm,” Saila thought a moment, looking at the bulb-plants, glowing away. “How does it all work? I mean, they uh… control them, right? But how?”

“Oh, I don’t know all the specifications. My darling instructed me in setting it all up- perhaps I’ll need his advice when fixing Swathi and Pavan’s more gung-ho defenses… and, perhaps, adding you to the registry of friendly faces?”

Saila felt the question bubble away in her brain. Ophelia had more than a few screws loose- near she could tell, they’d fallen out completely- but she wasn’t… necessarily a bad person. She had a noble air to her that reminded her of her dime-novels. A wealthy patron supporting the heroes she so looked up to, a contact for Felisian courtly matters, a kindly noble who looked the other way at the right moment.

And, yes, in some stories, an adoptive mother.

The thought made her cheeks flush. The back of her head tingled. Maybe she and Noble could live here, with her. She had her darling of course, and her weird flower-ture, but it could be a good life. A little awkward a place to live mind you- and god forbid she even begin to think of bringing a girl home- but not disagreeable.

“Mmmaybe,” Saila finally said. “I’ll talk with my friend?”

“Ohoho!” Ophelia laughed, seemingly overjoyed no matter how hard Saila had hedged her answer. “In that case, I should introduce you to the staff in advance. Come along, come along, the servant’s quarter awaits!”

Without waiting for a response, Ophelia flounced off, and Saila found herself running after, floral dress swishing.

Another thing she had to admit- the dress was nice and comfy, if a little cold.

######