lesmodsalouette | Graveyard

Graveyard

The garden is still sprawling and green – despite having entirely lost all its riotous flowers and colors, along with any sign of wildlife or birdsong – though one thing stands out more than anything else: from Monday to Thursday, you can’t see the castle anymore. All that remains where it once stood (or perhaps, usually stands) is an incongruously large tree that towers over everything else and somehow looks larger and more imposing than the castle ever did. The tree’s branches are bare, without any hint of life nor leaf – however, on the weekends (that is to say, Friday through Sunday) a faint projection of the castle appears around it, cradling the only things that the denizens of this alternate garden can see in detail from the other side: the flurry of activity around the investigation, the circus-like dimension that holds the trial, and the mirrors and the grassy dimension that display the execution.

For those curious what the land of the living are up to, a mirage-like and upside-down reflection of the castle garden in its original arrangement can be spotted occasionally overlaying the sky. This strange illusion may sometimes show those in the garden on the other side, flitting in and out of view like stray clouds; but much like the weather, their appearance is mercurial – they cannot be reached and cannot be heard.

Water, Flower, Everywhere

The fountains remain active somehow, though their features seem to have eroded, obscuring the identities of the deities and the wings of the birds, cracking pottery down into nothing but worn shards and handles. At night, only maybe half the lights work (and here they are real candlelight, rather than magical), plunging most of the garden into crepuscular darkness. The trellis walkway looks quite overgrown (mysteriously, bamboo is taking over), entirely covering some statues and other features along its length, and it’s no longer walkable – a miniature canal runs the whole length underneath the arches, feeding into other new waterways around the garden that cut off footpaths seemingly at random. There are small footbridges here and there, but the lack of logic to the whole arrangement makes falling into one of the streams or canals a real hazard.

The waterways do all manage to converge at the pond by the pavilion – neither of which are all that soothing or classical anymore. The pond is only half-full, and entirely lacks water lilies or any dragonflies; its banks sit jagged above the dark waters, and perhaps that’s why the pavilion, too, is half collapsed down into it all. Gone are the curtains and ivies; only dead curling vines and half-collapsed columns are left, but there’s still someplace to sit if you put your mind to it.

Most of the flowerbeds sit fallow or overtaken by weeds – there’s signs here and there that someone might have tried to clear them out, but the bulk of the effort seems to have gone to the orchard by the gardener’s cottage. It might be more accurate to say cottages, given that there are a few of them dotted around that area for some reason. None of them are locked, but all of them have only minimal furnishings apart from the original; they’re also all provided with the full complement of gardener’s tools. Next to them, there are new saplings and half-grown flowering trees: some pear and apple, but also some not. There are new shoots in the kitchen orchard that have just barely taken root, the dirt recently turned.

Hedge Maze(?)

The other most eye-catching feature is what once was an ornamental hedge maze: instead of being a tame height here, it has seemingly grown wild and completely unchecked, towering above the rest of the garden almost like its own overgrown mountain. The hedge walls go up and up and up, making it entirely impossible to see the center or even how far it goes despite the fact that sections of the hedges have also died, reduced to the branches underneath, bristling with interlocked thorns.

Part of it had even spilled over into the garden itself, huge gnarled branches spreading out like burnt-blackened fingers all the way to the edge of the pond – wherever the branches touch, even the greenery is withered, and any statues look more ruined than those in the rest of the area. As of the end of Week 3, however, the branches have retracted entirely and the way into the hedge maze has opened even more. However, there is now a storm brewing over what might be the center or the general area of it. Getting close to the hedge maze or any of the hedge(?) branches is... unpleasant, though it doesn’t usually go beyond a buzz of wrongness and a slight headache.

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[ His smile turns sheepish. ]

Imaginary threats.

[ Yeah, he’s basically admitting to LARPing and Siffrin will use this as fuel for their teasing, but he doesn’t mind. ]

I was… known for getting caught up in my heroic fantasies.

[ (You understand why Raha couldn't turn his gaze from you.) ]

... Feel free to drop from the sky anytime with me, hero. I'll play with you. [ Siffrin can LARP too. ] Unless you think you're too old now.

[ He flushes, light and pink and maybe something Siffrin can kind of see.

Somehow, that offer is more embarrassing than anything he’s heard from him. ]

You… Well. Of course I am far too old for that now. [ His fingers grip at the bark of the tree trunk. ] The role of a damsel in distress does not suit you anyway.

[ After [redacted]??? Wow. ]

No? I look pretty good in a dress, though.

[ (You have been missing them, lately...) ]

And I've seen enough plays to know the part. [ A softer sigh, hand going to their chest playfully. ] "Oh, my beloved knight, how I await for thee atop this lonesome tower, this heart of mine aching in its yearning to see thy visage amongst the briar cast far below..."

[ He looks at Siffrin in his periphery, still embarrassed, as a little smile settles on his lips. ]

A part most unsuited to you nevertheless. You are more akin to the rogue, sneaking into the tower for adventure and finding the princess lying in wait, where you make the decision to save her anyway.

[ Though a dress can still apply here, and he’d like to see it.

And if any of that overlaps with Shrek, no it doesn’t. ]

[ Hmmmm!

Siffrin'll go up another level, swinging down on their legs to be more in his face. Cute... A shade darker, if only slight. ]

And if I'd like to be one anyway? The princess can be aching for a reason to get out, you know.

[ He leans back almost reflexively, only because he’s flustered, but recovers enough that he leans back in. ]

Would you? Or would you look for a reason all on your own?

[ Dangerous territory, here… but he won’t touch the subject of The Loops right now and his theory. ]

Surely you know how to pick a lock.

[ Very dangerous, and Siffrin watches him for a beat before sticking out their tongue childishly. ]

You're one to talk, Raha. I can't imagine you sitting and waiting for anything or anyone now.

[ Yeah, they can pick locks. Better to keep some cards close to your chest. ]

Travelers have a hard time settling down, anyway.

[ Staying in one spot, be it a tower or not. Has nothing to do with loops.

... But he might've just gotten used to handling things on his own since he hadn't anyone to rely on until recently. ]

[ He doesn’t say anything to that, simply because that would be treading dangerous waters again. Siffrin knows he waited, and he knows that he waited for a century. Before all of this, he would have done it again, gladly.

Now… it’s murkier, more complicated. ]

Do they? I prefer to stay in one spot for a while, so I do hope you prepare yourself for that.

[ He has promises to fulfill, such as rebuilding the reputation of his school.

Besides, maybe Siffrin would like being surrounded by nerds. ]

[ ...

Swinging back up expertly, though they don't climb higher yet. The answer is idle, that distant sort of tone that denotes more to it than the words he says. ]

Can't say I remember how.

[ (Even Vaugarde doesn't feel like home. It's why you've always called it by name, or say that you have to go back. Just never... go back home, because it doesn't exist.) ]

At least you'll already be used to not having me around. Small blessings, huh?

[ His gaze follows them and stays, looking for signs of an expression Siffrin won’t let him see. That tone is more than enough, though, and he fights the urge to dig into it. ]

Come now, I would not say that is a blessing.

[ Being used to anything sad isn’t a blessing. It means he’s had to learn to carry the weight of it. ]

Our next meeting will sneak up on us. Time will pass quickly, and before you or I know it, we will be in one another’s vicinity yet again. We may even sit on another tree, perhaps, or on a cliffside overlooking the ocean.

[ (You think that'll be nice, when The Witch keeps his end of the bargain.

...

You don't remind him that time will pass quickly, or at all, for him alone.) ]

You're so kissable when you talk like that.

[ His tail puffs, swishing in the air, and he looks away from Siffrin. Thank god he’s above G’raha right now. ]

I… am merely speaking of what I hope will come to pass.

[ Yeah, good thing. Siffrin won't look down either.

Looking up at the rest of the way to go...

(You don't have to think about it.) ]

I liked to climb things when I was a kid too. The higher the better. We weren't allowed to go up the mountains, though.

[ His eyes follow Siffrin's gaze, too, up the rest of the tree. ]

So we have that in common, I see. Corvos was comprised of much fertile land, so I would spend my time scaling the trees or playing amongst the growing crops. Though that changed solely to trees when I was transported to Sharlayan.

[ With that, he hops off the branch and finds footing again to continue the climb. This is a memory of Siffrin's that he's grasped onto, so he doesn't plan to let it go. ]

These mountains of your were dangerous, I presume?

[ Siffrin won't let go of this precious memory, either. The ones G'raha shares. He doesn't chase after so soon, staring up after him instead. ]

Only to the ill-equipped. Winding paths were the worst danger, I think. Everything looks the same in the snow.

[ That's still true.

... An exhale, and up they go. ]

But they said it was off-limits because there was an ice spirit that would come and take children away if they scaled it anyway.

Ice spirit? Akin to a ghost?

[ He pauses, looking down at Siffrin for a moment before continuing to scale the tree. Not too much farther to go...

Now, he could posit that it's hypothermia that would take the children and kill them, which then transformed into an ice spirit but.

Ice elementals exist, so. ]

Something like that. I climbed up once anyway.

[ Rascal that he is, troublemaker as always. Someone who couldn't keep their nose out of it... due to curiosity or simply a fondness of defying authority.

(You recall the chill despite the warmth of the spring now, the icy bite of wind against your cheeks.) ]

It was so cold, it even bit through my cloak... And when I reached as far as I could, following the markers that lay hidden against the snow... I found out why they didn't want the young to make the trek.

What was the reason?

[ He's picturing a difficult path, undercut by just how cold it was.

Again, he pauses, looking down at Siffrin before continuing upwards, swinging up and settling on one of the highest branches. ]

[ (...? He keeps looking at you.)

The memory hazes, slips away, but Siffrin recalls the conversation so familiar every loop as they follow up. ]

It's where we bring our dead. We burn their bodies and send their ashes to the wind, at the highest point of the mountain, so they can return to the Universe. Um, probably.

[ Now settled, he can more easily look down at Siffrin as he climbs. ]

A somber location, then. [ But it... seems like there's no more to recall, or that they can recall. ] I suppose the rest of your memory has left you?

Once it slips away, it's gone forever. Couldn't tell you a single word more about it.

[ Because of where it belongs, and what it belongs to. They pull up beside him, settling down on the branch to watch the gardens down below.

...

It'd be nice, to stay right here... A small shrug. ]

It comes and goes. [ ... ] I'm... used to it, but... Um. You said... that I should talk, if it'd help. Can I?

[ By the time Siffrin has pulled up, he's swung one leg over the branch, sitting on it like he would a saddle.

It makes it easy to lean forward. ]

You never need to ask. So, speak to your heart's content.

[ How long ago it seems, that first conversation about it. Siffrin remains faced forward, bringing up one leg to rest on as he works through the words quietly.

(At least Raha is patient. You're grateful for that.

...

It doesn't make it easier to admit, though.) ]

... Memories... are what make up a person. It tells them who they are, and... why they've become that way. [ They're treated so callously by the people of Vaugarde in comparison. Want a new life? Your old one doesn't matter anymore, a clean slate with nothing attached.

(It's terrifying.) ] So... what do you think of someone without them?

Memories are only a piece of the puzzle, my Siffrin. Your actions, your words, the things you believe... those are what make you whole. Your memories inform that, yes, but you are more than them all the same.

[ But that isn't to say they aren't important either, and he falls into a contemplative sort of quiet, giving the idea more though. ]

Even so... how important are they to you? If you feel you need them to be whole, then that speaks for itself.

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