The courtyard was unusually crowded as everyone gathered around the makeshift wooden platform that had been set up for Lucien's meeting. (Y/N) watched as the residents exchanged murmurs, some anxious, others merely curious. Lucien's recent measures had stirred tension among them, especially after the attack; every resident felt the silent shift in the Garden, a tightening of control that none could ignore.
Lucien stepped forward, his presence alone demanding silence. He looked as he always did — composed, tailored, with that familiar air of confidence. But as he gazed over the assembled crowd, something flickered in his expression. A hint of something sharper, colder, that sent a chill through (Y/N) even before he began to speak.
"My friends," Lucien started, his voice smooth, steady. "As you all know, the Garden was breached. Something we never imagined would happen here." His gaze swept across the crowd, landing on each face, lingering in a way that made people shift under his stare. "We've lost more than just the illusion of safety. We've lost trust in the very sanctuary we built to protect ourselves."
A murmur rose, and Lucien held up his hand, instantly silencing the crowd. "There's no need for fear," he continued, his voice softening. "We're still safer here than we could ever hope to be beyond those walls. But to preserve that safety, we must make adjustments — changes to ensure this never happens again."
Beside her, Thorne tensed, his eyes darkening as he folded his arms across his chest, clearly bracing himself for whatever Lucien was about to say. (Y/N) glanced at him, feeling the same sense of unease; Lucien's reassurances had always come with strings attached, subtle conditions that quietly transformed the Garden from a refuge into something more confining.
Lucien's expression grew steely, the warmth fading from his gaze. "Safety requires structure," he said, the words cutting through the crowd's murmurs like a blade. "It requires control, even when that control isn't comfortable for everyone. If we're to avoid another breach, we can't afford leniency or disorder."
His gaze fell on a small group of residents near the back, the younger ones who often slipped out to the garden edges to watch the forest, as if longing for the freedom they'd once had. They looked down, avoiding his gaze, and (Y/N) felt the uncomfortable weight of Lucien's scrutiny press upon the group.
"We all have our roles here, responsibilities that ensure everyone else's survival," he continued, his tone softening, but the edge beneath remained. "But I need everyone's cooperation. There can be no dissent, no unnecessary risks. One person's error could jeopardize us all."
The crowd shifted uneasily, the sense of something unspoken gathering like a storm. Lucien's eyes were sharp, his words more deliberate than usual. (Y/N) recognized that familiar charm, but she could also see the calculating gleam beneath it. It wasn't fear that drove him. It was control — control he'd been cultivating since the first day she'd arrived.
"And let me be clear," Lucien's voice dropped lower, a warning note in its depths. "Sacrifices may be necessary. No one life can stand above the needs of the many."
A hush fell over the crowd as the gravity of his words settled over them, the possibility of just what those "sacrifices" might entail pressing upon them like the thick humidity in the air.
Thorne stiffened beside her, his hands clenched into fists. His voice was low but audible, a single muttered word. "Unbelievable."
Lucien's gaze darted over to him, his expression unchanging but his eyes sharpening. "Thorne, is there something you'd like to contribute?"
A tense silence spread through the crowd as every gaze shifted to Thorne. He held Lucien's stare, unmoved. "I think the people here would like to know exactly what you mean by 'sacrifices,' Lucien. Or do you plan to leave us guessing?"
The subtle defiance in Thorne's voice seemed to ignite something in Lucien's expression, though he maintained his calm demeanor. "What I mean," Lucien said, his words measured, "is that everyone must be willing to follow the guidelines we put in place. Rules exist for a reason, Thorne. We can't afford to ignore them, no matter the cost."
Thorne's jaw clenched, his dark eyes narrowing. "If that's the case, then maybe you should be more transparent about what those rules are. People deserve to know exactly what they're being asked to sacrifice."
Lucien's mask slipped for a brief, fleeting moment, a flash of irritation passing over his face before he smiled — a smile so tight it could have cut glass. "Transparency is what I'm offering now. I've made it clear what's at stake. But if there's any confusion, I'm happy to clarify."
He turned back to the crowd, his expression smoothing into that practiced calm once more. "Let me assure you all, every decision I make is with our survival in mind. We can't afford division or doubt. This is our home, and I will do whatever it takes to protect it. I need you all to understand that."
The crowd seemed to absorb his words with a mix of fear and resignation. They had nowhere else to go, no other option but to trust in the rules he imposed. And as Lucien's gaze swept over them, (Y/N) could sense the silent agreement in the air, people bowing under the weight of his authority.
Lucien's eyes finally returned to her, lingering for a moment, as if gauging her reaction. For the first time, she found herself unable to meet his gaze fully. The warmth that had once drawn her to him now felt like a distant memory, replaced by a calculating detachment that unsettled her.
"Thank you all for your attention," Lucien said, his voice calm, smooth, as if he hadn't just hinted at the lengths he was willing to go to maintain control. "Remember, the Garden is only as strong as the people within it. We're in this together."
With a last lingering glance, he stepped down from the platform, the crowd parting as he walked past them, his figure commanding even as he moved into the shadows.
Beside her, Thorne released a heavy breath, running a hand over his face. His expression was dark, unreadable, but his eyes held a quiet fury that didn't go unnoticed.
"This isn't what we signed up for," he muttered under his breath, his voice a low, simmering anger that carried a promise of defiance.
(Y/N) glanced at him, feeling the same unease tightening around her heart. She had always sensed a controlled strength in Lucien, a quiet power that had drawn her in. But now that control felt suffocating, like a web tightening around everyone in the Garden, slowly and methodically.
Thorne looked down at her, his expression softening slightly. "We'll talk later," he said quietly, his hand brushing her shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. She could sense the silent promise in his words, the unspoken pledge to stand by her side no matter what.
As the crowd slowly dispersed, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, as if Lucien's shadow still loomed over her, a quiet, inescapable reminder of the power he held. And though the Garden was still, the undercurrent of fear lingered, settling over them like the inevitable chill of a winter's night.
YOU ARE READING
The Garden of Decay
Romans(m. survivors x f. reader) In a world ravaged by the undead, (Y/N) finds refuge in the enigmatic Garden, a sanctuary hidden from the chaos outside and ruled by its alluring yet dangerous inhabitants. As the days blur into a haunting routine of survi...
