For all that he had done, all the cracks he had driven through the very firmament of Esperia, Verdant could not leave Cyran buried. The soil of their mind refused to settle over him. Every time they thought the grave filled, some new shard surfaced: a loyal shadow glimpsed at the edge of recollection, a fragment of a conversation, a missing year gnawed hollow by his absence. And Yvonne himself—returned, but not wholly. Another scar left by Cyran's attempt to rebuild a person into a tool.
There was always something else to unearth.
Cyran...
The name lingered like damp earth beneath their fingernails.
"Cyran...was it really so bad to stand in my shade?"
@magister-verdant
Ah. If it isn't ... you.
I am nearly too tired to answer. You truly do not see the foolishness in your question?
Tell me, oh mighty tree, what can possibly grow in your shade? You may provide shelter and protection for the weak and dull, but you take resources from and stifle growth for anything close to you that attempts to reach up high.
You, Verdant, kill those around you, one way or another - and you have the ignorant audacity to ask how bad it is to be forced to remain within the proximity of your shade?











