Blood-gel crossed collided roots, the old colliding with new beginnings, yet beginnings were nothing before millennium-old grief as the bloodied cross chewed through the root, each splutter containing a thousand slices within the cross's edge. Adil trembled as she swung off the roots, her green children now splurted black sap from the marred woods, her lily staff splinted where she gripped it too tightly, hesitating, yet it was a mirage to pretend weakness and cowardice to buy time, as the child sovereign merely observed.
"Come to think of it, I never give my thanks."
A chuckle spurred from the sovereign, as teethed roses sprouted from around her. The rosery petals carassed her cheek, as the sovereign leaned into the touch, like a mother willingly lending her cheek.
"For you to willingly give petals instead of runes for the child's funeral, you must feel quite a connection to her."
