The Garden of Decay

Chapter 13

Since the confrontation between Lucien and Thorne, things had changed. Subtle, almost imperceptible shifts in the way the Garden functioned rippled through her life, creating a feeling she couldn't quite place. She wasn't sure when it had started, but Lucien's presence had grown ever more suffocating.

At first, it had seemed like kindness. He'd given her more responsibilities, but they always seemed to place her apart from others. The tasks he assigned kept her busy in quieter parts of the Garden, far from the small clusters of people who gathered in the courtyard or around the greenhouse. The words he used always wrapped his demands in concern.

"You should take some time to yourself," Lucien had said one evening as they stood by the edge of the Garden's walls. The sunset cast an amber glow over the tranquil landscape. "It's important for you to focus on your own safety here. Some of the others-" He'd paused, his hand lightly grazing her arm. "They may not have your best interests at heart."

It sounded reasonable at first. After all, she was still new here, still finding her footing among the residents. But the more he pushed her to keep to herself, the more isolated she became. At times, it felt as if she was being watched — not by the other residents but by Lucien himself. His gaze lingered too long, his requests for her presence growing more frequent. And whenever she asked to join the others or tried to break away, his answers were always so... final.

"Trust me," he'd murmur in that smooth, unshakable tone. "It's for your own good."

But something gnawed at her, a seed of doubt taking root deep within. Lucien had framed it as protection, as though keeping her away from the others was to shield her from harm. Yet the more time she spent in her isolated tasks — cleaning the farthest cabins, collecting herbs from the dense corners of the garden — the more it felt like a prison.

One morning, she ventured toward the greenhouse, hoping to bump into Elias. She hadn't seen him in days, and the thought of his calm, quiet presence offered a strange comfort. She hadn't made it far, though, when Lucien appeared, as if he had known her plan. His expression, though composed, carried a quiet warning.

"I need you to help me with something today," he said. It wasn't a request.

"Can't I do it later? I was just going to check on the plants."

Lucien's eyes flickered with something she couldn't quite decipher. "Later," he agreed, but there was no room for argument in his tone. "For now, stay close. We need to keep an eye on things."

She had no choice but to follow. His grip on her life tightened with every passing day, but it was always veiled in that same calm authority, his words laced with concern for her well-being. He pulled her further from the people, from the spaces that felt alive with the hum of conversation and laughter. He confined her to the edges of the Garden, where the silence pressed down like a weight on her chest.

During meals, she found herself seated next to him, away from the main tables where the residents chatted in low murmurs. Lucien's presence was constant, his eyes always watching, as if gauging her every reaction. When she did manage to catch someone's eye from across the room, the connection was fleeting, interrupted by Lucien's quiet pull of attention.

The more he isolated her, the more trapped she felt. Even Thorne, who had once warned her to be cautious, seemed to drift away. Their interactions were growing rare, and when they did cross paths, his eyes held a tension she hadn't noticed before. It was as though a silent battle was being waged beneath the surface, one she wasn't entirely privy to.

But it was in the small moments of solitude, when Lucien wasn't around, that the full weight of her isolation sank in. She would sit outside her cabin, staring at the tall walls of the Garden, wondering if this was truly the sanctuary she had believed it to be. The whispers she had overheard, the warnings about leaving — everything weighed heavily on her mind. And then there was Lucien's cryptic remark, still lingering from their conversation days ago.

The air inside the Garden was warm, the trees rustling gently in the breeze, yet she felt a chill settle deep in her bones. Was this protection, or was it control?

Lucien had painted a world where she was safe only because of him, where her survival was tied directly to his influence. And as much as she tried to reason with herself, she couldn't shake the feeling that her isolation wasn't just about her safety. It was about keeping her in line, about ensuring she remained tethered to him — and the more she thought about it, the clearer that became.

Her sense of unease deepened as the days stretched on. The Garden, with all its beauty and tranquility, had become a cage. And Lucien held the key.

One evening, after another long day of distant tasks, she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The once-soft walls of her cabin now felt suffocating. The moonlight that filtered through the window seemed harsh, casting shadows across the room like fingers reaching for her.

She didn't know how long she could take this.