Bloom

1: The First Petal That Sprouts

"Ah, the first bloom. Black dahlia. How fitting."

A tall woman wearing a black dress and glass heels towers over someone. Her hair is a haunting black, wavy, passing right by her shoulders. Her eyes glare in a piercing pink colour. She paces back and forth in front of an individual, wearing a cunning grin upon her face plumped in red lipstick. This individual is only wearing a grey toga, but their back is exposed. Exposed to pain, as the first flower has pierced from their skin.

"You smell that in the air, fugitive?" Her voice is strong like crimson, sharp as nails. "It's another reminder as to why you're here."

Still, the individual remains quiet, other than soft winces in pain as it travels throughout their body. The woman dips down to peek at their eye level, then rises back up with a scoff when they hide their face.

"Poor thing is suffering already. Such a pity, if only I could care."

Her heels clack along the transparent floor, making no marks as she walks. The room is dark, except for a lone light illuminating the space like a spotlight at a theatre. The individual makes an attempt to sit up, but cowers back to a near-fetal position as the pain grows worse.

"Aren't you going to ask me anything?" The woman turns her head to look behind her shoulder in a grimace. "How you got here, what you've done? What is happening to your delicate body?"

They stifle, reducing their need to yell at this strange woman down to pure silence. Another petal appears on the flower.

"Nothing? Well then," she turns to face them once more. "You're in luck, as I feel chatty today."

With a snap of her finger, she summons a throne. The noise of it materializing makes the person look up. They watch her saunter over to the royal seat and sit down in one graceful swoop, with one leg resting over the other.

"I don't like how you acted in the living world, fugitive. You think my job is a simple walkway to the heavenly gates above?"

No answer. She continues.

"It took me quite some time to catch you in the act. You've already done enough damage for cleanup to take three hundred and sixty five life days. Strolling around, thinking just because you connect to both the living and the dead, that allows you the ability to deteriorate a system that's long been around since the creation of time. You," her voice drops to an irritated bellow, "are an anomaly to our professions."

Their expression doesn't change, despite the building pain growing from their back as another petal sprouts. The woman cackles.

"You may call me Mortelline. Don't shorten it. I am one of the many deities of death. Yes, life is a precious thing, isn't it? That is why it's my job to help those who die pass onto the next life. Your disgusting little antics would have ruined the flow of time had I not stepped in."

She pauses, as if taking a long drag of smoke from a cigarette.

"I cannot kill you, but I can make you feel pain. Pain of those who didn't deserve death, those who didn't die peacefully. Every time someone dies under the reign I am responsible for in the living world, a flower will bloom from your spine. Every single petal represents a death. When the clock resets, which is twenty four life hours, the flowers will disappear, making room for more to bloom the next day."

Tears well from their eyes. Every time they blink, a tear falls onto the floor. They don't understand though, why that speech is making them cry? Perhaps it's the constant ache coming from their back. Mortelline notices, chuckling.

"Oh, now you are showing empathy? Sure, sure you are," she rolls her eyes.

Suddenly, there's a distant knock. A towering door from behind slowly opens. Both are alerted to the noise it makes. A small figure peers from the crack.

"Pepper," Mortelline says in a sigh, "please sit and wait outside, dear. I'm not finished with them yet."

Without haste, they shut the door, not even giving enough time for the "fugitive" to get a good look of who they were. Her attention returns back to them. As soon as she stands and walks closer, the throne disappears as fast as the figure shutting the door. The individual's eyes travel up to her. They never bothered to wipe away the tears now staining their face.

"If you're wondering how long this curse lasts. Well," she tips their chin up so they come face to face with her. Her expression is brimming with confidence. "That's if you decide to change your ways permanently."

In one final cackle, she disappears, leaving them all alone in the room. The interrogation seems to be over.

As they shift their weight, they take extra care not to hit their back against some wall that they'd expect would appear from behind. They run their hands through their sweat-soaked hair. As they do this, they realize moments where they experience darkness, instinctively making them look up. The light above them dangles. The talk with the goddess is done.

For now.