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 Like dark waves that recede, Oliver (des) <33
Artemisia de Sainte-Maure
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Apr 1 2018, 01:40 AM   Link Quote
Everyone was getting married. It seemed that with the sprouting of fresh green leaves and the bursting seams of buds, parents all around the world were also bursting with the prospect of arranged marriages. Several of acquaintances in Artemisia's circle had recently announced that they were engaged, found themselves helpless to escape the confines of matrimony.

She shoved the hand shovel into the soil, irritated at the inability of her peers to see their way out of these arrangements. The most recent news had been of Oliver finding himself tied down to a Ravenclaw girl Arti couldn't bring herself to say she liked even on an aesthetic level. Not that she would ever force herself to say anything other than what she truly thought. The arts or deceit and finesse were two that escaped her grasp, she'd always been just a sharp instrument waiting to cut into the unsuspecting and the idiotic. Soil turned in on itself and newborn worms writhed in confusion as they'd been disturbed from whatever it was that worms did.

Pale crystalline eyes stared at their writhing forms and the irritation only grew more as she watched their helpless squirming. This is what her friends appeared to be on the surface, nothing more than appendage-less, ridged worm-like bodies caught in fertile soil. She wasn't sure what irritated her more, the fact that her friends were being auctioned off in arranged marriages, or the fact the Oliver had said he couldn't do anything about it. As a man he should have been able to hold more sway, to ask for someone better than what he settled for. He acted almost like Desmund did, idiotic and blindingly accepting of the actions impressed upon him.

"Yet he has the audacity to spend his time doing something other than finding a way out," she growled to herself, setting the hand shovel down and pulling on gloves. Plenty of soil had already been overturned, each section made into perfect little squares and rows for what she was removing from her pots. All around the greenhouse were fragrant and colorful flowers like Purple Asters, Peonies, Lilies and even Nasturtium. Yet the plants Arti was transferring over weren't particularly pretty and a single careless touch could either cause paralysis or death depending on the plant. Moonseed and Aconite should always be handled with care, which was why she'd pulled the gloves on beforehand.

"And just what kind of idiot does he take me for, thinking I don't understand the concept of a master-servant relationship." The low tenor of her voice drifted through the greenhouse, only the rustling of leaves brushing against each other in the wake of a spring breeze answered her. The peace and tranquility usually found in the presence of gardening, or rather feeding her poisonous plants, Arti reached for the shovel without looking and found herself grasping the sheers. As her fingers closed around them the sharp blades sliced straight through the glove and into her palm. "Bloody hell!" she hissed, snatching her hand away. Gloved fingers peeled the ruined glove away and her blood dripped from the curve of her palm, plopping unceremoniously onto the red berries of the Baneberry plants she'd transferred a little while ago. The life's blood dripping from her body was darker than the plump, alluring berries themselves and she squeezed the wound, feeling it throb and bleed that much faster.

Her tongue danced behind her lips, familiar with the taste of copper and tang. Artemisia overturned her hand, letting the blood drip drop by drop onto the soil. A part of her wanted to see if the roots would drink up the poison of her blood. She knelt before them smelling of petrichor and peony. A golden haired creature, neither goddess nor witch, watching her rot seep into the earth.

Through the throbbing of her hand it felt strangely like she was finally breathing.

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