The gardener of life and death worked tiredlessly in his rolling fields of wisteria, never once choking on their suffocating fragrance or permeating pollen fog. He would later move onto the roses, each blossom envious of the last and reaching to brush petals to lips, whose thorns snagged thoughtlessly at his divine robes. His expression remained serene, toiling hands patient in their work. Preen. Prune. Pluck. Then to the orchids and their temptuous dance, the lilacs and their insatiable thirst, the dahlias song, and sweet anemone's coy laugh-- flowers of a solo diety's royal court, human souls in their best and worst, each as valuable as the other. Or so it was said.Once upon an eternity, she happened to blink into existence. He spoke of a terrible storm from which she emerged that drowned a portion of his treasures, but she did not recall the beggining of her being. Much like his endless earth and sky, she had no origin and no end, but these things suited her just fine. She was the mist-vielded goddess of transience, a nameless diety that knew nothing else but Seocheon from the moment her gray eyes settled upon it. And him. She knew Hallakgungi, too.His story was epic, filled with feats of bravery and the morals of love, family, and inner strength. He had once been human, himself, and that might have explained his affinity for them. That, or it was simply his kindness that led him to the careful work as caretaker of spiritual essence. He had a taste for music ( with some anecdote about how it helped the flowers grow ) and dead tongues of mortal men. He admired deep roots and new budlings, grew somber when an especially strong stem grew lame, and snipped away the wilted with a small prayer and resounding silver chime.Yes, he was beginning and end-- the son of Death, herself.Her purpose was a simple one, an envoy of sorts, to ferry the dried bouquets to the Underworld where some would turn to seed and be sown anew. She often heard the flowers' ghost whispers, pleading for exhalation from their sins or another lifetime beside their beloved, but sympathy was a foreign concept to one that accepted everything was inevitable, eventually. Judgement would be deaf to their pleas, so why bother begging? Words so often fell short, even for the immortal who left rain in her wake, she almost never used them at all. Except now.❝Hallakgungi,she paused at the taste of floral notes his true name held and pressed onwards,❝Could you give this one a title? The human kind, like yours--No, no. They were called something else. It wasn't a rank or a position, it was a❝A name. I would like a name.
