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where her garden always blooms

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It’s a secret garden of crystal butterflies.


A necromancer crouches among the foliage. She has one pale hand extended, welcoming them. The butterflies dance on the tips of her fingers. They are perching on her collar piece, adoring her dress, gathering like a crown on teal locks. 


All over her, the pulse of a fluttering dream still blooms. 


And she’s blowing kisses into each one, breathing air into wings, sending them off. 


While stars may fizzle out and die, never hers. Because under the starlight, the butterflies are gliding off her hand like a gossamer stream. It’s a teal constellation glittering against the night, an undying glow, lighting the way into the darkness.


The view trickles back a familiar song. 


“I will stand by you.”


With her finger, Rushia taps a butterfly playfully. 




All the words that she couldn’t say, it’s now the humming of fragile teal wings. All the tears blurring the memories, it’s now the ripple of happy moments spilling over. Falling from ruby eyes, trickling warmth into her hands. 


“I promise.” 


And all at once, the garden blooms. A cherry blossom tree pushes out from the ground, and a field of flowers springs at her feet. Here, flower petals fall like rain in spring. It’s teal cloaked in pink, bringing forth a drizzle of love. 


Sure, the world feels like it’s sinking. It’s cruel, and sometimes it feels like there’s no way out.


But here, the garden is always blooming. The view is exceptional.  


Here, it’s always love falling into her hands. 


Because wherever Rushia goes, no matter how far, the crystal butterflies follow where her garden always blooms.