amun
Amun still had one final Rose left to plant. Granted, he still didn’t know exactly why he was doing all this—besides the fact that people seemed to keep telling him to do it and the fact that there was this weird itch and urge to finish the task that he couldn’t get rid of—but if it brought him some peace and clarity, then he’d do it.
He had given up trying to find a good spot, not that he’d tried that hard. Instead, he’d just waited until it was dark, meandered over to the farmlands, dug through the snow and frozen dirt until he had made a small hole, then plunked the flower into it and covered it up again. There. He wasn’t a farmer or a florist or a botanist, so that would have to do. They could survive in the snow, so they could certainly survive his shoddy planting job.
He had given up trying to find a good spot, not that he’d tried that hard. Instead, he’d just waited until it was dark, meandered over to the farmlands, dug through the snow and frozen dirt until he had made a small hole, then plunked the flower into it and covered it up again. There. He wasn’t a farmer or a florist or a botanist, so that would have to do. They could survive in the snow, so they could certainly survive his shoddy planting job.
Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me
