Alora is snickering by the side of the wall and Ophelia is drawing with a light smile on her face, while I watch Dimitri… wreck the gardening mounds as he heaves and throws and just…“You could always ask him to stop y’know.”Kellen’s voice floats over from the bench he’s lain on, back against the stone, eyes to the skies, and voice oddly unfeeling as he makes that comment,He sounds calm, and he’s right, I could always ask Dimitri to stop, But so far, he’s the only one who’s offered to help me and he doesn’t seem to care that the others are saying he’s terrible at it, he’s doing what he’s doing regardless.I really want to ask him who taught him how to garden, but then I remember where they both were just a few days ago, and I keep my mouth shut.If Dimitri wants to ruin my garden to process his emotions, then he can. I’ll do my best to salvage what I can later.He seems really interested in actually doing the gardening, he’s doggedly adamant about planting the seeds, and playing wit

Caelum’s pov.I watch the look on Sophia’s face.I watch how it morphs and changes from a look of blank neutrality, to one of light worry, and then back to her blank neutrality.The emotions her’s elicits in me are cool and calm for now, but I can feel the annoyance the worry she feels brings out in me. I can feel myself waiting for her to just show me an inkling of how much this hurts her, and give me the excuse to do what I've wanted to do for a while now.Murder my half-brother with my bare hands.“I can see Violet’s handiwork all over this.”Sophia’s response isn’t the one I’d been hoping for, and I chuckle internally at that while I feel a smile line my lips, because trust her to always surprise me. I ask more silently, like we’re the only people in the room,“Do you want to see what the public response is?”She saddles closer to me and nods, and suddenly I want to do nothing more than have her in my arms, her laps straddling me, my hands on her hips, and my mouth on hers, bringi

Kellen isn’t in the room anymore when I enter so I go out into the garden to look for him. I can already see the presence of him in my mind, can already feel the residue he left there, and once again I meet him lying on the bench and staring at the clouds overhead. It’s almost noon now so the sky is a patchwork of colors, a gentle artist’s creation as he drags his paintbrush across the canvas. I ask in a deadpan tone, “Am I to assume you left that nagging at the back of my mind so I could find you or were you waiting for someone already?” I ask because, from the look on his face, I get the feeling that he already knew I would be making my way down here. His response is sullen, “Who would the blind grown male possibly be waiting for?” Again, he sounds moody, and this time I do not let it bother me as much as it would have this afternoon because I have something bothering me too. Something he’s caused to bother me, and which he’s now responsible for explaining. “What did you mean b