The rose shed was quieter than usual—or so Lena thought at first.
She stepped inside, sweeping away stray petals and fallen thorns, dust and dirt mingling under her broom with soft, muffled whispers that made the hair at the back of her neck stand on end. Sunlight filtered through the wooden slats, scattering across the roses and dust motes, painting the shed in gold.
At first, she assumed the shadows she saw flickering among the petals were tricks of the light.
Then she paused.
The roses weren't just swaying in the draft—they were turning, ever so slightly, almost as if their stems were stretching toward her. Their petals quivered, minute tremors that felt conscious, aware. Lena knelt and leaned closer. A single crimson bloom twisted toward her hand as though sniffing, or examining, her.
"...Okay," she muttered, stepping back. "I've been working with animals all my life. I can handle a fox, cows, chickens… not sentient flowers."
She shook her head and continued sweeping, trying to ignore the subtle movements of the roses.
Then it happened.
A nick.
A thin line of blood ran down her finger, glistening red in the sunlight. She hissed and sucked at it, but a drop fell to the ground.
Instantly, the nearest rose bent. Slowly, deliberately, its petals curling inward and down, the thorned stem bending toward the blood. Lena froze as she realized—the rose wasn't moving randomly. It was cleaning the blood. Each petal brushed along the floor, like a hand, gathering her blood, swallowing it carefully.
"Hey!" Lena snapped, backing away. "I am not feeding you!"
The rose froze for a heartbeat, then recoiled, straightening itself. Its petals shivered like a sigh of resignation.
Lena glared at it, arms crossed. "I said, I'm not feeding you."
And it returned to its position, as though nothing had happened. But she could see the faint shimmer of awareness in each petal, the subtle twitch of every stem, as if the roses had remembered her command.
She stepped lightly, sweeping again, careful to avoid nicking herself. Each rose followed her movements with uncanny attentiveness, leaning slightly in her direction, yet respecting the line she had drawn.
"Great," she muttered, kneeling to collect fallen thorns. "I've gone from maid to gardener for plants that are aware of me. Just what I always wanted."
Ashikai padded quietly behind her, sniffing the air. They remember you, he remarked telepathically, his tone a mix of awe and irritation. Don't spill a drop of blood, or they'll expect a feast.
"I know," she whispered back, though her fingers still twitched nervously.
She worked in silence, the roses humming almost imperceptibly—a vibration in the air rather than a sound. Every now and then, a leaf would brush her hand, as if curious, or warning. Lena continued, stubborn and unflinching. She didn't scream, she didn't retreat; she simply glared.
I said no, she muttered under her breath, more to herself than the roses. And they seemed to listen.
By the time she finished, the shed was spotless. Dust, fallen petals, and debris swept into neat piles, thorns clipped and stacked. The roses leaned back into their orderly positions, each bloom radiant and sharp, yet aware. Lena exhaled slowly, kneeling on the floor and wiping sweat from her brow.
"Good," she said, glancing around. "We're done. And no one is getting fed today."
The roses shimmered faintly in the sunlight as if acknowledging her authority. Lena smirked. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
Ashikai padded over, tail flicking. You actually survived your first day in the rose shed without giving them a taste, he said.
"I am not a breakfast buffet for flowers," she said, standing and brushing her hands off. "Next time, they better behave."
The fox purred quietly, curling around her legs. Not a chance, he murmured. They know exactly who to scare.
Lena laughed softly, shaking her head. "I'll keep that in mind."
For a fleeting moment, as she surveyed the shed, she realized the roses weren't just plants—they were sentient observers, aware of who she was, what she did, and perhaps even why she was there.
Her heart skipped. Somewhere deep down, she understood that these weren't ordinary flowers. And if Marianne had sent her here, it wasn't just for cleaning.
But Lena didn't flinch. She straightened, set her hands on her hips, and looked at the roses.
"Good. I run my own rules here."
And for a moment, the roses seemed to nod—or maybe it was just the wind, but Lena didn't care.
Ashikai pressed against her side. You think that's impressive? Wait until they start whispering.
Lena smirked, running a hand over his orange fur. "Then I'll just have to be louder."
Outside, the palace lights glimmered faintly against the evening sky. Inside the shed, the roses swayed—not from the wind, but because they were alive, and they had noticed her.
And Lena, for the first time, didn't feel afraid.
She felt… ready.
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