In the garden of my grandfather, through the dieing petals of a passing time, I saw the Verdant Moon rise above the horizon. The surrounding prostrate decaying plants became vibrant again, their darkened bark now arched upward. The ground toiled over into a soft bed of moss. Insects left the shelter of secrecy, to bask as I, in the light of the Verdant Moon.
It stayed but a moment, cast by waves of distortion, forcing its way into this world. Captivated by its radiance, my dreams forever stolen, locked in the gaze.
The years following, zealously given over to this obsession. I needed to see it again, needed to know why. I looked for it in all of life’s experiences, only to have it kept in the corner of my eye.
In my dreams, was it possible to gaze at the Verdant Moon once more. So I slept, choosing to fall into the preserved memory. But, such a reliance on the delusional means, caused the false moon to distort. As if it grew angry that I, but a human, had tried to hold it in my mind.
Eventually, corrupted by this hubris attempt, my dreams were that of nightmares. The garden had become a bed of horrors. Sitting there, the dead branches would twist themselves about my body, making small cuts along their tightening embrace. Long dead buds greedly lapped up my blood spilt. The moss grew fungal, releasing spores that both dulled my sense of reason, but hightenined my sensitivity to pain. The insects returned to their hovals, chiming in a haunting choir of regret.
Faced with no other choice, I returned to my grandfather’s garden, long after it passed to the care of another. On a similar night as that accursed moment, I walked along the same broken path. Beneath the same dieing petals, I knelt on withered legs and watched the horizon.
No moon rose that night.
A voice called from behind, “Another pour soul that hath seen the Verdant Moon.”
Startled, I turned to find a being silhouetted as human, dressed in a black suit, but for a strip of dull green that ran the length of their body. A cruel grin slithered behind stands of cascading ember hair.
“Come, sit with me awhile,” the being lured with a beckoning gangly hand. Where I knew for sure no table stood, there now was one, just off the path with two chairs eagerly waiting to fulfil their purpose. They shook at the notion of use.
“The Verdant Moon was not for you to see,” the being said in a lectoral tone as I moved to sit. The chair seemed to rise to meet my lowering. Once seated, I could feel hundreds of pin pricks forming to my contour. The pain was dulled a moment later, after taking notice to the scent of lilacs seeping from the legs of the chair. The chair gave a purring of satisfaction.
Across from me sat the being. The other chair seemed to resist their sitting. It gave a low growl in protest. The being paid it no mind as they were with arms rested on crossed legs. Again, that grin crept from behind the curtain of smothered flame.
“Two choices lay before you. Leave and lose your mind to the creeping madness. Or, stay and become one of the many plants rooted here. The madness will consume you, and haunt all those come to know of you. But, if you remain and take your place among them, you’ll have the chance of seeing the Verdant Moon again.” The begin’s hands swept wide, gesturing to all of the garden, before returning to their rest. They seemed to have been enjoying the movements of their physical facade.
“My life ended all those years ago. A part of me never left this garden as a child. It is only fitting that I am made whole in this End.” The words slipped from my mouth so resolute before my mind could begin to protest.
The being’s head rocked back as they let out a howl of laughter, alternating between a ferocious eruption of sound and the cackle of a winding whip. “You Drth never cease to surprise me,” the being said once it regained composure. “Take the stone from the table and swallow it,” the being instructed. As their head lowered to face forward, displaced strands of hair briefly reveal a single eye, or what should have been an eye. A polished verdant gem took delight in my reaction.
It felt of a familiar, powerful gaze. Averting my eyes, I now noticed the thumb sized stone passively waiting for me to pick it up. Much Like the table and chairs, this too came at the being’s call.
I forced a brief stay of my already reaching hand. What would become of me? A concern I quickly dismissed as my fingers lifted the stone. It had no weight and was polished smooth. Had it not been on the table, it could have easily been mistaken for a river stone. But, it gave a warmth of its own.
The being watched eagerly as I placed the stone in my mouth and swallowed. “It is done,” they said with aspiration. The chair beneath me began to rumble as the sensation of pin pricks became like nails driving into my skin, piercing muscle and embedding themselves in bone.
Racked with pain, I tried to get up, but could not move. My scream was even muffed, becoming a hollow shriek. The being rose from their seat and came to my side. My vision narrowed, with their hair filling my view. Through the burning pain, I could feel their long cold fingers trace lines across my head.
“I won’t deprive you of a better view, Drth.” They teased. I know not what they did, but I could feel myself turned about. I heard the crack of wood, and felt as if my legs were broken. Forced onto the damp ground, my head was pulled up. Again I saw the verdant gem of an eye.
“Watch Drth, a night will come when the chosen walks this very garden. And, when they are seen by the Verdant Moon, the spell will be broken.” The being pulled back from me, and before my world turned to black I saw their true form.
Arms grew, broke, and rearranged into that of long thick wings. Their torso shortened, pulling up legs that became muscular appendages that bent in opposing directions, ending in three jagged talons.
Above the mouth, their head expanded into a shoulder wide, as it was long flat crown. Their ember hair pooled into the surface, swirling in place to create the appearance of a shifting mirror. At the center was the verdant gem, pulsating with a sickening power.
The being folded into itself and was gone.
My vision is lost, but I can feel the world around me. The chair had fused with my body, and our legs and my laid hands took root. My back, head, and brace of the chair have sprouted branches. Lilacs grow from me.
Time has slipped away. All I can do is wait for the night of the chosen. For the night of the Verdant Moon.
Alexander J Hernandez 