{se} bee our guest

the difference between a garden
AND A GRAVEYARD

Fingers still tingling with the residue of a magic not his own, Enzo taps them restlessly against the jar as he watches the bug stir within, legs pressing at the sides of the vial as it attempts to determine its new whereabouts. The lighter brown of their palm turning and opening catches in the corner of his eye, and his gaze flicks there before rising to the hollows of the mask they wear, softening. “Of course. Everyone deserves to have their death rituals honored.” And it is a privilege to be included in some small way as that is accomplished. It would not be a long journey, which was regrettable as they would have to part ways earlier than Enzo would prefer, but he could speak quickly enough to ask all his questions if he tried hard enough.

Following in their wake as they strike out at random, Enzo’s long legs carry him easily back to their side and then a step beyond, wordlessly guiding the way. “I might, before I harvest it. To honor the life it’ll have given me for the sake of my studies.” And even if its wings and legs and microscopic heart have no value to the greater world, it will live on recorded in Enzo’s journal, lovingly sketched and inked and detailed long after it has perished. “Is haruspicy your preferred practice?” The gleaning of the future, fragmented and vague?

Whatever their answer, he leads them onward to the Mathair, and with a quiet and reserved smile leaves her to the burial rites. This was something he could not intrude on.

- FIN

is what you choose to put in the soil

ENZO