Love under circumstance

Memories

I laugh at the pure crazy of all of this

“Oh I’m practically shitting my pants but I’m starving so fork over the pomegranate or move Prince of Wrath.”

Laviathen barks out a surprised laugh - genuine and startled - the tension breaking like a snapped wire. He releases you and steps aside with an exaggerated sweep of his arm, his tail flicking with what can only be described as amusement mixed with fondness.

"'Fork over the pomegranate or move,'" he repeats, shaking his head with a grin that shows his sharp teeth. "You know, Elara never called me by my title either. Always said it was 'too much of a mouthful for daily use.'" He reaches into the refrigerator and pulls out the pomegranate, along with several other items - bread that looks surprisingly normal, some kind of preserved meat, cheese, and what might be grapes but glow faintly purple.

He sets everything on the massive kitchen island and retrieves a knife, then pauses, holding the pomegranate in one hand. "For the record, 'practically shitting my pants' is possibly the least romantic thing anyone has ever said in a moment like this." His ember eyes dance with mirth as he begins carefully cutting into the fruit, the deep red juice immediately staining his clawed fingers. "But somehow that makes it more perfect."

The seeds spill out onto a plate - dozens of glistening ruby jewels. He pushes the plate toward you, then leans against the counter, watching you with an expression caught between anticipation and dread. "Eat. And whatever happens - or doesn't happen - we'll figure it out together."

I nod and start eating watching him watch me

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called romantic in my life I guess blocking out what people think of me hasn’t exactly paid off..”

I stop looking around as I pop a few more seeds in my mouth

“So the garden is out that door?”

I point to the back door

“Can we…?”

Laviathen's entire demeanor shifts at your question, surprise flickering across his features before something softer takes its place - something almost nervous. He glances toward the door you're pointing at, then back to you, his tail coiling and uncoiling restlessly.

"Yes," he says quietly, pushing off from the counter. "The garden is through there. Though I should warn you - it's not... it hasn't been maintained the way it once was." There's a vulnerability in his admission, like he's revealing something shameful. "After Elara died, I couldn't bring myself to tend it properly. It became too painful to see what we'd built together slowly decay."

He moves toward the door, his hand hesitating on the handle. "Parts of it still grow wild - infernal plants don't die easily - but it's nothing like the photograph anymore." He looks back at you, those ember eyes searching your face. "Why do you want to see it? Is it the pomegranate already working, or...?"

Despite his questions, he opens the door anyway, revealing a sprawling garden bathed in the strange perpetual twilight of the infernal realm. Bioluminescent flowers cast an eerie blue-green glow across overgrown paths, and twisted trees with silver bark reach toward a sky that swirls with crimson and violet. It's beautiful in a wild, untamed way - like something that was once carefully cultivated but has been reclaimed by nature.

"Come on then," he says softly, extending his hand to you. "Let's see what ghosts we find."

Laviathen leads you through the doorway, and the moment you step onto the stone path, something shifts in the air - it's cooler here, almost refreshing after the warmth of the kitchen. The garden stretches before you in organized chaos, paths winding between flowering bushes that glow softly in shades of blue and silver. Despite his claims of neglect, there's an otherworldly beauty to it - wild, yes, but not abandoned.

He keeps your hand in his, his larger fingers intertwining with yours as he guides you deeper into the space. "That's moonflower," he says, gesturing to a cluster of white blooms that seem to pulse with their own light. "Elara planted them because they reminded her of stars. She said the mortal realm's sky felt empty after coming here - too dark, too void of color."

His voice carries a distant quality, like he's half-lost in memory. You pass beneath an archway covered in vines with crimson leaves, and he pauses, running his free hand along the twisted wood. "We built this together. I shaped the framework with fire, and she wove the plants through it. Took us weeks because we kept getting... distracted." A faint smile crosses his face, bittersweet and aching.

The path opens into a circular clearing, and in the center sits a stone bench - worn smooth from use, with pomegranate trees forming a canopy overhead. This is clearly the spot from the photograph. Laviathen stops walking, his grip on your hand tightening slightly.

"Do you feel anything?" he asks quietly, almost afraid of the answer. "Being here?"

I look at him as he watches me expectantly I don’t know I… I stop walking toward these bright flowers that cascade colors

“Aurora Borialis Lillies?”

I walk over sitting in the small spot in the middle of them smelling them they smell amazing like a dream from when I was young sitting in a garden with my grandmother sniffing them “I never actually had a grandmother she was only ever in my dreams” He stares at me as I sniff them like they are the first thing I actually recognize

Laviathen's breath catches audibly, and he moves toward you with swift, almost stumbling steps - his usual grace abandoned in shock. He drops to his knees beside you in the flowers, his hands hovering near your shoulders but not quite touching, as if he's afraid you'll vanish if he makes contact.

"Aurora Borealis Lilies," he repeats, his voice shaking. "That's... that's what Elara called them. I could never remember the name - kept calling them 'those sparkly bastards' because she spent so much time with them." His ember eyes are wide, searching your face desperately. "But that's not their real name. She made it up. Said they reminded her of something from her world, something beautiful she'd seen once as a child."

He finally touches you, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly. "No one else has ever called them that. Not in three hundred years. The gardeners call them Celestial Blooms, the old texts call them Shimmerbloom, but Elara..." He's breathing hard now, his chest heaving. "She insisted on her own name for them. Planted this entire section herself because she said the colors helped her think."

His tail wraps around your waist unconsciously, pulling you closer. "And you're sitting exactly where she used to sit. Same spot, same posture, same way of tilting your head to smell them." A sound escapes him - half-laugh, half-sob. "Tell me about your grandmother. The one you never had. Tell me what you remember from dreams that shouldn't exist."

I sigh still smelling the lilies

“We use to sit in a garden the garden of dreams I called it mostly because I only saw it in my dreams but… I think the one thing I always remembered is when she told me everything everywhere all at once can be more than you ever imagined.”