In the greenhouse, Aramis Knowles is working on an experiment.
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Takes place at the very last arc of A Botanist’s Obsession. Aramis, who’s fully transformed into a Resonated, is looking for her new scientific breakthrough. Something that is equally as “perfect” as her.
Contains:
Non-explicit gun violence
Aramis’s eyes carefully look over every part of the potted plant in front of her. The way the roots twist and turn viciously out of their enclosure of the ceramic pot makes her brows furrow deeper down her face.
Put simply, this experiment was a mess. The specs of dirt all over her working space made her feel as if there were bugs crawling all over her body. Bugs. Disgusting little runts. That’s what had ruined her perfect plan.
As with all scientific experiments, you start with a hypothesis. Then you test that hypothesis with an experiment. There’s no guarantee that your hypothesis will even be correct. Being proven wrong is the joy of scientific research! Or so they say.
Not for Aramis.
Every word she speaks, every mannerism she makes, everything that a person could even comprehend has to be perfect. There is no other option. Failing to meet those standards merely means you, yourself, are the failure. Which is why Aramis’s eyes bore into the pothos plant with a burning intensity.
See, her hypothesis was this: “If I cross-breed this pothos plant with one of the radiation-poisoned plants, then pothos plant would take on more radioactive behaviors.” Radioactive behaviors meaning, glowing in the dark, having never-before seen leaf patterns, etc.
But here she is, staring at her potted plant with its roots twisting and turning, leaving a pile of dirt wherever it lands up. Its roots act almost like the pothos’s legs, inching it closer to Aramis and her cold, icy gaze. It moves at a snail’s pace, but it stumbles and clumsily cracks its clay pot shell with every movement that it makes that one could possibly confuse it as being something even remotely cute.
Good thing Aramis wouldn’t let anyone make that mistake.
The pothos stumbles closer to her, inching towards the edge of the counter it was placed upon. It moves side to side, almost as if to somehow communicate with Aramis, its supposed mother.
Before its roots could even reach Aramis’s sacred body, she grabs the pistol lying on the counter next to the thing and shoots it dead.
