Aidan contemplates his orchids. They are the only living things that have ever thrived under his care, yet he feels no affection for them. Truth be told, he feels no affection for anything, no joy or despair, no love or loneliness. Nonetheless, the orchids prosper, embracing their pots with hairy roots, sending twisted stalks toward the light. They also waft pheromones, the perfume of reproduction into the air, enticing winged insects with floral treachery.
“Every orchid has a unique pollinator it lures to gather pollen, by cunning and subterfuge." Ryan says to Aidan, but Aidan, usually so finely tuned to the supernatural, does not hear him.
“Fly orchids mimic and exude the genital scent of female flies. But the orchid's fragrance is slightly different... richer and more glamorous; fam
