In The Garden

By @Hadesia
In The Garden

He tilted his gaze down towards his mother’s garden; a plethora of exotic botanicals. He truly adored the voluptuous foliage that habituated the terrace. He often found himself drawn to the garden, an incomprehensible habit that he certainly obtained through his lovely mother.

Chapter 1

Lights

Azure eyes gazed into the night sky, enraptured by the illuminated specks that adorned the ambiguous realm of Lady Nyx. Oh, how he spent many a night pondering what lies within the world of darkness. He simply dreamt of the creatures lurking beyond the onyx gate of iron that coiled around the manor, sitting atop the land as a reminder to all that their home wasn’t a common meeting place for the people. He closed his eyes and allowed the blackness of night to envelope his body, along with the chill that seeped into his core.

He mustn’t stay much longer, or he will surely fall ill. He tilted his gaze down towards his mother’s garden; a plethora of exotic botanicals. He truly adored the voluptuous foliage that habituated the terrace. He often found himself drawn to the garden, an incomprehensible habit that he certainly obtained through his lovely mother.

The small waterfall that dwelt within radiated a brilliant shade of blue. Bioluminescent dinoflagellates, his mother called them. A species of plankton that inhabited warmer waters, floating along the caps of waves. Damian wondered how his mother kept them alive here.

“They cast an inauspicious glow when irritated”, she had explained, her voice ever kind, ever patient, ever confident. Never had he perceived his mother without such qualities. He always attempted to mirror his mother’s actions, however, this proved to be a rather difficult feat. He couldn’t begin to fathom how his mother was able to grace this world, this realm that is drenched in unspeakable sin, with such charms.

He always wanted to be like his mother.

His eyes closely resembled his mother’s, however, hers shined with a light not quite like his own. Hers were a delightful and welcoming incandescent of patience and mercy, always willing to aid those who call to her.

My own eyes emit a certain aridity similar to my father’s. Where my dearest mother is compassionate and understanding, I am logical and analytical. I have yet to allow my emotions to overcome my rationality or morals. At times I believed that I was actually incapable of some emotions. I’ve never considered this to be unusual, like some of my peers or elders have the tendency to do.

Sometimes I even considered it something akin to a blessing, for I have yet to experience grief or the prolonged feeling of sadness that most individuals are forced to endure. Never before had I even thought to consider other’s needs or desires unless I had been studying my mother’s behaviors. Unless of course I was striving to understand what another’s motives were behind their actions. Surely most wouldn’t attempt such pitiful actions such as crying or grieving without the hope of some beneficial notion being recieved from another. At least, that’s how I’ve come to understand it. Why wouldn’t one provoke another for something they wanted, but had yet to possess?

I suppose this is one of the many reasons that most don’t consider me to be the most delightful company. I don’t mind this of course, for the feeling was indeed mutual. It seems as though it is nearly impossible to find like minded individuals. Nevertheless, I believe myself capable of at least masking my disinterest of others irrelevant wants or needs, and that I am well-practiced in the art of acting accordingly.

”Now Damian,” my mother had said, clearly in an attempt to chastise me. “We mustn’t invalidate another’s feelings. We must listen to wha they speak, and try to understand their point of view, as you and I would each other.” Indeed, I would listen to my mother, for she was like me in some ways.

She liked to rationalize situations and view them from various perspectives. Only then would she make an informed decision. Although, I never understood where emotions became involved in the overall outcome.

I don’t believe that feelings justify the specific actions taken, or the chosen words said. Whether or not the consequences of their actions were as well-thought out as my own does not matter, as it will not change what was done. Alas, my mother insists I make an attempt to insert the individuals emotions into the situation, and try to identify the correlation of why they may have behaved in such a manner, and how they may have felt.

I shall attempt this, as my mother seems to lack the ability to make careless decisions. She denies these claims, stating that she merely has more experience in matters such as these, but I can’t begin to picture the lovely Ophelia Morrigan making a mistake.

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