A Dark Fantasy Spy

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The Library of Laterano is one of the foremost libraries in the world.

Some may think it’s just a colossal library storing books and texts, but that is a quintessential misunderstanding born of ignorance.

Every nook and cranny is brimming with the church’s traditions, welcoming visitors with a living testament of heritage and history the moment they cross the threshold.

Light filtered through stained glass breaks into a kaleidoscope of colors, illuminating even the most secluded corners, while a soft breeze lingers in the corridor as if reciting poetry.

Wandering through the serene corridors before delving into the aisles of books is one of the reasons why Laterano’s library is regarded as the best in the world.

As if that weren’t enough…

The countless shelves lined to the left and right are packed with books that are not easily found anywhere else.

They are ancient artifacts, fragments of a splendid bygone era, and mysteries waiting to be interpreted over thousands of years.

Known as the heart of the Cult, the Library of Laterano is not merely a storage space for books but a corridor of knowledge where history, tradition, theology, and science achieve balance and harmony.

And knowledge cannot be owned by any one individual; learning knows no bounds of status or age.

That is why the doors of the Library of Laterano are open to all, regardless of gender, age, nationality, religion, or rank.

“But why can’t I enter?”

Except for one person.

—

Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

At the moment when the Government Army of the Mauritania Continent was heading towards Nabuktu with a convoy carrying clerics of the Cult and Al-Yabd, as well as heroes and their entourage, a minor commotion was erupting at the holy site, Laterano, where the Holy See was located.

Bang!

A palm, as white as a blank canvas, struck the table. A woman, having slammed her fist down, lowered her voice.

“I asked you to let me in, didn’t I?”

A pair of clerics, dressed in priestly robes, gave a troubled smile.

“Uh, um, please hold on a moment…”

“No! Tell me why I can’t go in, Brother!”

“Could you please keep your voice down…?”

Bookshelves were teeming with volumes all around. A table presumed to be the reception area bore a sign titled ‘Loan List.’

It wasn’t hard to realize this was a library. It was also natural to deduce that the two individuals standing behind the reception desk were both clerics and librarians.

By social convention, which one might commonly refer to as etiquette, libraries are always places that require silence. This means one should not bang on tables and raise their voice causing a ruckus.

Despite this, the librarians were at a loss on how to restrain the woman.

“Please, keep it down…”

Given that this is a library, and not just any library but the proud ‘Library of Laterano’ of the Holy See, it was evidently abnormal.

Instead of chasing out the disruptive woman, they were wringing their hands together and pleading with her.

There exist strict rules within this sacred library. Why were these two librarians unable to harshly evict a visitor causing bedlam? And what gave the woman such audacity to raise her voice against clerics right in the middle of Laterano?

The answer to that question could be gleaned from the lips of the librarian.

“Saint, please… could you perhaps calm down and speak quietly?”

The cleric assigned to the library clasped his hands together in prayerful fashion, pleading softly. He looked as if he were about to cry.

“I wish I could, really. But the situation is frustrating me.”

With her arms crossed and her eyebrows flaring up and down, her breath escaping in loud huffs and her irritated gaze conveyed her displeasure unfiltered.

The librarians, keeping a wary distance, bowed their heads respectfully.

However, just bowing their heads wasn’t enough to dispel the displeasure etched on the Saint’s face.

“Fine. It seems there’s nothing more to say.”

Veronica twisted her neck defiantly as she commanded the librarians.

“Go fetch that old man.”

“Are you referring to the Director…?”

“Yeah. The one who reeks of old age.”

The lead librarian squinted his eyes, repeatedly blinking as if being struck hard by reality.

How ironic it was that the esteemed head of the Library of Laterano was now being referred to as “the old man who reeks.”

I could never have imagined that this intellectual, revered by countless clerics and renowned professors who’ve passed through the seminary, could be called such.

While the perplexed librarians stumbled over themselves, the knights escorting Veronica maintained a calm demeanor.

They were no strangers to comments like these.

Given that it wasn’t the first time she had called bishops and cardinals ‘old men,’ having reached such zen-like acceptance meant they had come to the point where they could think, “Ah, the Saint is in a decent mood today.”

“I do not understand at all… why can’t I enter?”

“That is… ”

“Did the rules change without my knowledge or something? Am I supposed to bring a degree to enter?”

The librarian was flustered in response to Veronica’s sarcastic inquiry and opened a regulations book.

“There aren’t any such regulations. As you know, the doors to the library are open to all.”

“Gospel, chapter 7, verse 7.”

The Saint’s lips parted. The scripture verse resonated from the Saint’s voice with clarity.

“Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; what was the next part again, Brother?”

“Knock, and it will be opened… is what it says…”

“Correct?”

A smile bloomed wide on her face. Her lips curled up to her cheeks, forming a shining arc.

Quoting scripture, Veronica beamed, her radiant smile captivating the priest’s senses.

But then came a chilling remark that struck in the midst of her lovely smile.

“But why are you not letting me in?”

With her smile wilting like cherry blossoms scattering, she began to lash out at those blocking her.

“You said knock, and it will be opened! How is it that I cannot enter a library open to all? Am I not a person?”

“Ah, that, that isn’t—”

“Why is it always chaos when it comes to me!”

The voice of injustice echoed through the library. Veronica felt genuinely wronged.

The reason was simple. She had recently received a reprimand from the Pope.

All for the petty reason of sneaking a single item from the storage.

Of course, the storage contained a trove of sacred relics, and the item was a cursed weapon. Moreover, she had used that cursed weapon in a foreign land where Al-Yabd was vigilantly watching.

Yet there she was, muttering to the cardinal inquisitor, “Old man, why must you be so noisy? Is your mouth thorny if you’re not nagging?” and casually asking the bishops nursing their necks, “Aren’t you all busy? Did everyone come all the way here to gawk at my pretty face?”

While she left the Pope, Raphael, clutching his temples and sighing, she couldn’t help but feel aggrieved.

Still, it all left her feeling wronged.

“Why must I be punished? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Receiving punishment for an accusation stated nowhere in scripture or cannon law felt utterly unjust.

If one were to be a fundamentalist, one should at least come equipped with ground rules instead of slapping on a random penalty.

They could’ve drafted proper laws during the establishment. Hasn’t the extenuating circumstances been forgotten, Bishop? What happened to the person who once served as the Chief Justice?

Although the secretary responsible for documentation couldn’t write down, “Saint Veronica protested with unruly words,” given they were so carelessly vague…

The ruling that intended to let her off with just a reprimand instead, piled up charges of disrespect against her.

Veronica still felt aggrieved and exasperated.

“Who said this was the way things are done! This isn’t fair! I just came to see some books!”

The rising pitch of her voice left the librarians’ faces as pale as sheets.

Sweating bullets, they fumbled nervously, while the knights accompanying the Saint debated their lunch choices.

Veronica’s protest was reaching its crescendo.

“Someone get the person in charge!”

With a final summoning of energy, she flat out lay down, as if gearing to have a fit. She seemed to be signaling that any inappropriate word might lead to an immediate faint.

Then, suddenly…

“What is this nonsense?”

An elderly voice reverberated in all their ears.

The old man, with his gray hair and deeply etched wrinkles, left a striking impression. Despite being clad in a checkered outfit—rarely seen in the religiously tinted Laterano—it seemed to fit perfectly in this library.

His fingers were stained with ink, as if he had just been writing something moments ago. The callouses on his fingers spoke of wisdom and experience, his knobby wrinkles fully representing his many years.

As he emerged, both the librarians and knights bowed their heads in respect.

“Director.”

“Ah, you’ve come…”

Joseph, the Director of the Library of Laterano, stepped forward, leaning on his staff, a guardian of living history and tradition.

“Creating a ruckus in this sacred library is tantamount to breaching decorum. It shows disrespect to the student seeking answers and the sleeping tomes.”

“I apologize, Director. Please forgive our rudeness.”

The old man, leaning heavily on his staff, returned the soft smile to the knight begging forgiveness.

“You all needn’t apologize. It seems the cause of the ruckus lies elsewhere…”

His wrinkled eyes narrowed, moving left and right as if in search of someone. Finally, they landed on the one individual he had been looking for. At that moment, the furrow in his brow deepened.

That familiar voice echoed, “I knew I had heard something like this. I think I warned you several times not to stir up chaos in this library, Veronica.”

“Hmph.”

Veronica let out a soft snort.

Even as the knights and the priest presented their respects, she behaved just as she always did. It wasn’t that she looked down on her superior while assuming a higher status.

Every human is a creation woven by our Father in heaven; all people are fundamentally equal.

Of course, the equality she spoke of is a slightly distorted concept, which sometimes manifested in actions that defied social conventions.

The real reason she treated Director Joseph so lightly rested elsewhere.

“You really are consistent, aren’t you? Do you plan to keep playing the teacher forever? Haven’t you finished teaching me all there is to know as a grown woman?”

“Learning is a process that knows no age barriers. Perhaps it’s you, Veronica, who ought to relearn respect and manners.”

“Ugh…”

Veronica shivered in dismay, expressing her distaste.

“I really hate this. What, am I supposed to be learning morals at this age?”

When the news first arrived about a child born in the Kien Empire who might one day become a saint, expectations ran high among the clerics.

Nobility isn’t defined by bloodlines.

However, moral character begets importance from one’s environment and education; thus, a child raised in a good place with quality education is more likely to grow into a fine adult.

It was for this reason that the little girl born in the Baron family gained the hopes of many clerics.

Socioeconomic status was irrelevant. A commoner could become a cleric if they only believed and had a virtuous heart.

Moreover, with the Inquisition confirming that she had “suffered a misfortune yet thrived in a harmonious family,” everyone firmly believed the girl would possess the right character.

But, that turned out wrong.

Expecting a well-honed horse, they found she was an unruly foal. What kind of 10-year-old had such a rebellious streak?

Had it not been for the Imperial diplomat accompanying her and the priest from Petrogard diocese, they would have thought they had mistakenly brought back a different child.

Upon confirming the state of this unruly child, the Holy See, after much deliberation, concluded they would put their hopes on education, convinced it could incite change.

If one year was insufficient, they were prepared to teach for three, or even five years.

They verified the girl’s abilities; she had summoned a spirit from the scriptures at such a young age, thus destined for canonization in due time. The issue at hand lay with her character.

Nevertheless, if they could correctly raise her before she reached sainthood, they confidently believed it would suffice to nurture her as a good saint, placing faith beyond doubt in the efficacy of guidance and learning.

That faith, however, was sorely misplaced.

Even after a year of teaching, she remained as incorrigible as ever.

The sister, who’d taken it upon herself to raise her with care and love, fled within ten months.

The reason behind her departure lay in her attempt to assume the role of a caregiver. Specifically, she irked the child by asking her to think of her as her mother.

By the third year, it appeared there was a glimmer of progress.

On a bishop’s suggestion to introduce a playmate, Veronica began to soften her temperament considerably.

However, children often fall apart over trivial squabbles, and soon enough, after a severe argument, Veronica returned to her old self.

As the fifth year approached, their patience was nearing its limit.

Some insisted on discipline; others advocated sending her to a monastic school. The idea was along the lines of striking her or making her transcribe scriptures until something changed.

But the Pope dismissed all those ideas.

Instead of a rod or punishment, he appointed a new teacher well-versed in education.

That teacher was none other than Joseph, the Director of the Library of Laterano, who had once managed Veronica’s early education.

For context, Joseph embodied the quintessential image of an annoying old-timer, being the prototype that personified that term.

In fact, it was after meeting Joseph that the term “annoying old man” slipped unconsciously from Veronica’s lips.

“One must never overlook the significance of morality. Religion is the practice of morality. Since morality and religion are intertwined, a religious individual must act to uphold virtues, something I’ve repeatedly stressed before.”

“Ugh, here we go again.”

The typical textbook sermon had begun, out of the blue.

Veronica grimaced, however, Joseph showed no sign of relenting.

“I believe there are many lessons still left for you to learn, Veronica. With so far to go, it’s dubious that you’d only listen halfheartedly.”

“Then perhaps there could’ve been a better way to teach. Why leave me with a mountain of homework?”

“Some may view my teachings as failures, but while I may not have achieved the benchmarks set by the Holy See, I consider my success lies in evoking a change in you. Specifically, evaluations can vary depending on the standards one sets.”

“We’ve agreed to call that failure, Joseph.”

Veronica retorted with a pout.

The elderly man who had once been her teacher nodded softly.

That gesture wasn’t one of agreement; after all, he had been responsible for Veronica’s education for nearly ten years and had long since transcended the mere act of fussing over her.

“That may be the case. However, ever since you met me, there have been changes, have there not? At the very least, you don’t rampage like before.”

“Not really.”

Veronica answered dismissively.

Joseph, taking a firm grip on his staff, countered in a placid tone.

“Last week at the Medius Cathedral, there was a private hearing. The bishops and cardinals were discussing it, you see.”

The private hearing was convened to address the issues surrounding the saint, who had unabashedly stolen a firearm from an armory (though she defended it was simply taken without unnecessary administrative procedures).

As soon as the mention of the hearing slipped from Joseph’s mouth, Veronica raised her eyebrows, appearing indifferent.

So what of that? Did he mean to reprimand her about some stolen item?

“Are you going to scold me for stealing something?”

“No.”

Joseph firmly denied her assumption.

More than that, his unexpected reply threw her off balance.

“I actually consider it fortunate.”

“…what now?”

“Had it been in the past, you might have found yourself imprisoned before the ecclesiastical court.”

Do you not remember?

Joseph continued speaking, his tone exuding mild reproach.

“When you were 13, I had assigned a task to research a historical event. You came back having researched the ‘Iconoclast Movement’ and, in all your mischief, threw an idol into the fire….”

“Stop! Stop! No!”

Veronica interjected in a fit of panic.

The meticulous professor’s voice held the attention of the librarians and knights, all of whom were startled by the sudden uproar.

Veronica’s expression was unmistakably aghast, asking in disbelief why that story was even being mentioned now.

Regardless, Joseph calmly continued.

“That was not even the worst of it. When you turned 17, lacking rolling paper, you resorted to ripping pages from the scriptures to roll cigarettes. That moment was particularly embarrassing for me.”

“Ack! No! Stop!”

Veronica began to flail, her face turning a crimson hue, her formerly pale skin now suffused with embarrassment and heated resentment.

It wasn’t what it seemed! She had only torn the contents of the index! It could hardly be labeled as divine offense to tear mere sheets!

What if the words written within had been transcribed and then spilled onto the floor at service time? Surely those poor excuses for clerics lazing around deserved to be chewed out as hypocrites!

It was entirely a calamity of idol worship and heresy! She wasn’t someone versed in religion, so how could she be judged for it?

Joseph couldn’t fathom why he was upset! Why should he be annoyed?

As Veronica fought tooth and nail to counter her teacher, it became utterly pointless.

The sight of the Saint raging against a former director of the library earned silence from the knights and librarians, unnerved both by whether it was a jest or reality because, regardless, it was shocking.

“…Haa.”

Ultimately, as it was with all disputes between teacher and student, the first to yield was Veronica. She fixed her hair, running a hand across her forehead.

“I’m exhausted….”

“And do you now understand why morality is essential?”

“Ah, enough! Just give me a pass to enter the library!”

Veronica demanded assertively for her access permit. Despite the humiliation, she took it with determination.

As if claiming funds she had left behind, she adopted that unabashed and shameless demeanor.

“That won’t be possible.”

Understood well, Joseph rejected her request. The reason was straightforward.

“Your access privileges were suspended for the next five years.”

“When was that ever decided?”

“Since last May, when you caused a disturbance inside the library.”

What had she done to deserve restriction? She prepared to contest, but Joseph preempted her.

He retrieved a paper listing her infractions as though bracing for any eventuality, adjusting his monocle and beginning to read.

“On May 11 last year, you were seen consuming chocolate in Sector C-3. As you should know, food and beverages other than water are prohibited throughout the library. Also, a mere five days later, on the 16th, you showed up while under the influence of alcohol. The library also prohibits entry of those who are intoxicated.”

“I didn’t even enter! I turned back at the door!”

“However, before you did, you transformed the flowerbed into a disaster zone. The monks had quite the arduous task cleaning up.”

This wasn’t the end of it.

Just two years ago, she had gone climbing up a statue in the corridor and broke it upon falling. Multiple complaints arose from her napping on the benches, habitual food consumption, damage to tomes stemming from underlining and scribbling, and instances of sneaking into the restricted items wing, triggering alarms, prompting inquisitors to respond—all entirely true.

At this point, rather than merely suspending her for five years, one might just about declare her permanent exclusion.

Despite all her mischief, her unconcerned display in demanding access suggested a level of shamelessness beyond belief.

Joseph put away the monocle and began to meticulously put away her files as he concluded listing the offenses.

“I issued multiple warnings, yet there were no signs of improvement, hence the suspension of your access rights.”

“…….”

Veronica let out a pained click from her tongue.

Even she recognized that there were no arguments to be made here.

“Well then, let’s just leave it at that, shall we? I was only here to look at records urgently.”

“…….”

The knights present could hardly believe their ears. Had they truly heard the Saint, notorious for poking fun at the Pope as well, request access with such a courteous attitude?

Remarkably, Veronica expressed herself politely.

To Joseph, that kind of demeanor was commendably respectful, just not high enough for their standard.

“How urgent could it possibly be?”

“Very urgent.”

“And just how urgent is that?”

“Well… someone may die if I’m not quick.”

Veronica replied with a cheeky grin; it was half a joke.

Rephrasing, it bore an equal hint of sincerity.

“…….”

Joseph’s focused gaze raked over Veronica. The glare harbored a notion of rebuke for her crude humor in this current situation.

But again, when Veronica’s lips parted, Joseph’s expression subtly shifted.

“I need records regarding angels.”

“…….”

“Someone told me to check at the Library of Laterano.”

A brief silence drew out before Joseph’s lips fell into a frown.

“Who informed you that this place held records about angels?”

From a pocket came a small envelope. Nestled delicately between Joseph’s thin fingers was a single letter.

Holding the letter before Joseph’s questioning gaze, she replied.

“An elder told me.”

With continued grumbling, she complained about being tasked to search, “What do you gain by not just saying it in a letter?”

Veronica found her opportunity to speak ill of the high priest, but no one paid her any mind, perplexed over whom the so-called elder she mentioned truly was. Had anyone known she insulted the high priest, they surely would have rushed to elect a new pope in haste.

The mere idea of Raphael fainting at the news would drive reasonable folk into panic.

“……”

Veronica’s letter fluttered in her fingers. Joseph, adjusting his monocle, scrutinized the letter before finally opening his mouth.

“How many do you require?”

A concise, straightforward query followed.

“As many as you can spare.”

“Such a categorization doesn’t exist at libraries, anywhere. Please indicate dates and periods.”

“From ancient texts to modern research—everything.”

“Do you have sources in mind?”

“It could be foreign or from another religion; I am indifferent.”

Veronica skimmed through her lengthy demands, converting them into succinct requests.

“I want to check all records contained within this library.”

“…….”

“I presume that’s not asking too much?”

Joseph replied.

“You are certainly resourceful in reaching out.”

The Director of the Library of Laterano, leveraging his staff, turned away.

“Then please follow me.”

*

*

*

*

-…puff.

An indescribable stench wafted through the air upon her lips cracking open.

Even pinching her nose, she struggled to breathe without being overwhelmed.

How to express it—perhaps akin to having hair singed by a welding torch’s flame—was one thought.

This thought flew by, but the smell was worse still.

-…puff.

In the darkness of the street, a man crouched in an alley, muffling his mouth with both hands.

He barely made even a sound. Just like a character in a horror flick hiding from a murderer, he held his breath in sheer terror.

What had driven him into this state?

A mystery even he could not clarify.

Perhaps it was the dreadful noises nearby. The sickening stench that brushed against his nose might also be it.

Yet one thing was clear: now was not the time to make any careless movements.

“…….”

The man tightened his hands over his mouth, with watery eyes nearly swelling up.

How did it come to this? Regret washed over him. He should not have come here. Why did he even bother?

-…puff.

The people of the world saw the Mauritania continent as a grimy, corrupted mess rife with conflict, plague, monsters, and decay, but that was a classic misconception.

Even in lands controlled by rebels, daily massacres didn’t occur. The same applied to territories reclaimed by the government army.

Regardless of which armed faction held sway, as long as you were not part of a marauding group, or engaging with a tribe of different allegiance or religion, everyday life for ordinary citizens in the region continued uninterrupted.

Yes, meeting a fanatical extremist bent on enforcing the ancient laws and codes set by Al-Yabd could be irritating, perhaps even fatal.

Yet, even such a person, when offered the slightest bribe, might turn into a generous soul, pretending to overlook you this once.

In a society mired in corruption, the law became an illusion of unattainable hope.

Though law could be elusive, fistfights played out close at hand.

What was even closer than a shove?

A knife.

While a gun could easily take precedence over everything before it, the weapon in a bribed hand would always fall flat. The pull of the trigger was a deed performed by men.

And therefore, no one relished in the dislike of bribery.

-…puff.

Thus, the fact that the man chose money over the law was merely a desperate attempt for survival.

Of course, he did not earn money through clean means. He was, after all, a seasoned smuggler.

Specialty? Creating counterfeit magic stones.

Utilizing the shards of magic stones birthed from rifts, combined with coal and alchemical substances, this man adeptly forged them into unprocessed magic stones, sending them across borders through abandoned waste pipelines.

Illicit? Undoubtedly.

Not only was it explicitly defined as a crime by the law, but considering the meaning of law in the Mauritania continent, anyone could conclude how well this crime could line his pockets.

So he went to great lengths.

He toiled like a dog and amassed a mountain of riches.

Though there’s a saying that one should “earn like a dog and spend like a gentleman,” the man never lived according to that idiom. Just spending extravagantly didn’t equate to becoming a gentleman. Instead, he sent his earnings to those greater than he.

He threw bribes at every passerby police officer, paid the warlords lording over mountain trails with camels and drink, gave a light tip to bureaucrats, and often frequented the purveyors of transit services whenever he could.

Sometimes he even found himself courting the markets in desperate pleas for funds, and at times, they would approach him first.

Yet sometimes, amidst this bizarre routine, he found himself crossing paths with the danger-prone.

Today was no different.

-…puff.

Efuwa spoke of a mine to the east, reputed to yield a bounty of magic stones. Many years prior, it had fallen under the dominion of goblins, and now, it lay barren and ownerless.

The reason why a high-ranking official from the state-owned mining corporation fed the smuggler information was perfectly clear.

If you offer insight, something useful will flow back easy-peasy.

In particular, only altruistic gains would trickle to Efuwa.

For several years, Efuwa had touted visions of what a “great business opportunity” it would be. Success here would allow them to buy a mansion in the capital’s affluent district, completely diverting from the monotonous secession-era strife unfolded in the country.

Just as the old talks seduced the man, this promise indeed bore well.

While the closure of the mine left him little in terms of supplies, that was no hindrance to him. He was a man adept at transmuting remains into stones.

The value of it being forsaken, the no-owner structure of the mine remained an even more lucrative canvas.

What could be more enticing?

The associate wouldn’t falter in the face of danger—until the moment he drew breath to his last.

As usual, the taxi driver who had come to deliver the bag never asked a question, despite the blood dripping from its seams.

As he locked the trunk, the driver, who was regularly whisking away voluntary participants, naturally kept silent.

Who would dare speak when one delivery could yield five months’ salary?

-…puff.

Discarding the sack in an inconspicuous location, the man proceeded to let his partners know. He only sought to acquire the land itself, inquiring whether they had any influential friends who could help.

The details of the mine remained unmentioned; if shared, it would only invite more partners to the table.

Even at that time, their wisdom was clear.

-…puff.

Fortunately, his collaborators weren’t inquisitive. They merely offered referrals to various factions in exchange for a small fee.

Meanwhile, at that critical moment, he received an intriguing tip-off regarding a storage operator he had met at the gambling arena—the shamans were apparently looking for work.

Having witnessed their sorcery first-hand, he was certain that they weren’t merely scam artists, and their job was handled quite smoothly. However, there were murmurs about questionable identities lurking in the backdrop.

Discerning such suspicions was a gamble too risky to dismiss, given the ridiculously economic nature of the opportunities presented.

Having decided to meet them first wouldn’t hurt.

But this was where things began to take a downturn.

-…puff.

A rancid sound pulsated above him—right from above his head.

The man locked his gaze upwards as his heart began to race. What he beheld was a head turned upside down, grinning entirely at him.

With an unsettling grin stretching left and right, this grotesque visage seemed to sway in rhythm with the winds.

“Ah.”

Puff. The flower-like face sprung forth, its smile spreading wide.

In full bloom, the smile radiated warmth and verdant colors throughout the region—bursting across the world in vibrancy. Puff. Branching out like the stamens of a mountain azalea, every nerve twinkled beneath its surface as the face became engulfed in flower foliage.

A blossoming moment was at hand.

As spring approached once again, life stirs back to life, blooming anew.

-…puff.

That flower-like smiling face glowed brightly.

It burst forth With an unearthly semblance of beauty, delighting in every layer of radiance.

It reached heavenward and grounded, blooming vibrantly, and avowedly.

This flower would never again wither, it would know a place to eternally flourish.