The Guild City

Journal 5 - Vindis Florel

Troubled Thoughts and Wilting Blooms

”Something truly wretched and unforgivable… And, yet, you’d leave something like this out for some idiot like him.” He paused, “… Or, this is a trap.”

The man murmured to himself, drumming his fingertips against his well used desk, his eyes trained on his new acquisition as it sat front and center on the table, notes hastily scrawled as he tried to draw any number of conclusions from the mess of a thing. Yet, today, he felt he couldn’t work. Sighing softly, he rose up from the chair and meandered down into the closed flower shop, the creak and click of the door behind him the only sound breaking the
barren silence.

At first, he could feel only anger and frustration. Someone had swept the rug out from underneath him- His chosen dedication a mere footnote amidst her apparent successes. That being said, the more he read the more intrigued he became- No, the more confused.
For as long as he could remember, there was a comfort in the flowers. He had never really pinned down why- the reasoning had constantly eluded him- but he always found himself coming to this room to think, to ground himself, and establish some kind of order in an otherwise discontented mind. It seemed tonight was one such night.

Rose.

Orchid.

White Lily.

Snapdragon.

Iris.

Periwinkle.

Dahlia.

Morning Glory.

He paused for a moment, and looked at the familiar blue flower. He smiled softly, gently lifting it to inspect the slightly moistened soil. It was growing well. What was the meaning behind this flower?

“Unrequited love. Mortality.” He found himself saying, “Mortality. I wonder if you still have such concerns. Perhaps, I’m the reason you won’t have such for the next hundred or two.”
He shook his head, “You’re enigmatic to me. Despite that, I find myself foolishly hopeful that through these writings perhaps I’ll learn just who you are, my Jaded Mandarin.”

Jaded Mandarin. He smirked humorlessly to himself, as his eyes caught a glance of a singular dying flower in the pot, snuffed out by the vibrant light of the others. It was to happen, every now and then. Gently, he reached in and pruned the troubled flower.
“I’ll play into your hands.” He murmured, “And, don’t you get me wrong- I’m terrified. I’m naught but a lemming to you, and yet…” He narrowed his brow, “To surpass you, I must know you. To exceed the person you are, I need to understand every angle of the jagged shadow you cast.”

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