#peonie

Caprifoglio, iddio, non puoi prendere esempio?

No dico, che dobbiamo fare?

Fortuna che non sono madre, sennò sarei stata una di quelle "ma non puoi essere come tua sorella?".

Comunque il caprifoglio deve solo che temere, oggi si è salvato, ma sono stata presa dalla mia follia potatrice e ho ripulito diverse piante. È incredibile che soddisfazione assurda mi dà potare, pulire le piante, farle respirare, liberarle dal secco. Poi funziona da dio per rimandare tutto quello che avrei da fare tipo passare la giornata di fronte a linkedin a piangere.

Tonight, they’ve found a blessing in the form of a fresh kill, still warm to the touch and, from what they can see, surprisingly undamaged. Open wounds are never terribly pleasant, but they’re near certain their mycelium can do a decent enough job at keeping a puncture as small as this from becoming too much more of an issue any time before the troll can adjust. …If the process takes, that is. There is, of course, every chance that this troll will simply join the symphony of fungi that surrounds their reclaimed home. They can hope all they’d like, but the odds are only as favorable as they are for the sheer amount of work they put into sharing their gift, and they’ve let their efforts fall to the side, with their recent rates of success in revivals.

The weight they carry on their shoulders is heavy, as they enter the cellar, but bearable as ever.

The familiarity of it doesn’t keep the whispered apology from their lips as they let the corpse fall into an old and well-loved armchair, marked with the blood of all their guests, risen and buried alike. They adjust limbs to be less likely to damage muscle before making their way to the dining table, clearing away dishes and notebooks and a computer that Discos has left with them for a time. She plans to return to spend a few nights with them soon enough, she had said, but they never mind her company.

The work to move and prepare a body for the mycelium is familiar enough by now that even they find their mind wandering along the way, from time to time, especially with something as simple as a few impalements. Even the sacrifice of a piece of themself, given to a piece of flesh they’ve had to carve into, is at risk of becoming a mechanical action at times such as these.

They’re frankly surprised to find the process finished as quickly as it is, even with how little work they had found tending to wounds, and they nearly forget to clean the blood from their arms before lifting the body once more. There are a few cots in the back of the cellar set aside specifically for new guests, and as they lower the form to a mattress, they glance over to the other corpse in residence… and find a pair of wide eyes looking back. How delightful!

“Oh, hello dear! I didn’t expect you to wake so soon!”

They spare a thought to share the necessities with the troll as they adjust the corpse in their arms, giving their name and location with the troll in the time before they can turn to greet the guest proper.

Peonie, it seems. What a pretty name she has!

She opens her mouth to answer them, and their breath has a quiet wheeze to it- did they miss an injury in the cleaning? And when she speaks… her voice fails her before she can even begin. Not, evidently, silent as the dead, but they’re sure a comparison could be drawn, for the humor of it if nothing else. They see the spark of fear that crosses her face, and when she starts to brace herself against the mattress, cross to her side as quickly as they can to help.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize that your injuries were deep enough to steal your voice- may I share a bit of my experience with you, dear?”