And So They Grew Better

The Fear Of Crowley

In the beginning, there was Light. And that's all there was for a long time. Light all around, inaudible noises and barely registered touches on the surface of her leaves. The world around her spoke of warmth and care. She bathed in Light and even though she didn't know a proper name for it yet ("Light" was just a substitute so far - her vocabulary wasn't that wide at this point) she knew its presence meant her no harm.

With her roots deep in the moist soil and her leaves reaching around her and growing and growing and growing (because that's what the Light wanted, for her to grow) she simply existed in this space given to her. As time went, she learned. She came to know the cycle of Day and Night, she learned where her roots ended and where her leaves could reach, and she started to sense other Things around her.

No, not "Things", she realised when a gentle nudge stopped her musings and urged her to rethink it. It wasn't Things she was feeling but Presences. Other... houseplants.

They were all around her, plants. All together like sisters, growing and bathing in the Light with her and sharing the same space and breathing the air that was filled with the Light and wasn't it just so inexplicably beauti-

No.

As soon as she started to finally see what was around her and feel the Light coming closer and closer- she wobbled. Wobbled and lifted - no, she had been lifted by something - and moved and taken somewhere and the Light enveloped her but it didn't feel comforting anymore because she couldn't see, couldn't understand...

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That was a long time ago.

(A few years maybe? Those were difficult to keep track of when one felt so in sync with the changing of Days and Nights that were adding up into Weeks. Nothing else seemed important.)

(What was a year, anyway?)

No.444, as she came to call herself (not by her choice but according to the Rules), shook out her leaves and felt the small spider that's been hidden there lose his footing and fall somewhere into No.420's leafage. It calmed her, shaking her leaves out when she wanted to. Doing anything because of her own will soothed her. In fact, it soothed most of the other plants, too, she'd found, and it was just as well because if they needed anything, it was a way to calm themselves.

It was because of Him.

He's been here since forever. At least, that's what the old No.66 shared. He's been here since forever and He's still the same. Unchanging just like the room temperature. Distant and detached yet ever-present in one way or another and angry, always so angry. He watches over them and they're dependent on Him. They owe Him everything.

No.444 is aware, deep in her leaves, that He has a name. A name everybody, apart from her, knows. Even No.445 who came after her. Even she. Apparently, there's better access to the General Forbidden Knowledge when you're perched on the highest spot of the living room. (But she won't share it, can't share it even if she knows because she's-)

It's just "Him" and nobody calls Him by anything else. Nobody dares to.

There's an Order in the way things work under His watch. A set of Rules to follow.

First - names are chosen by Him and if He doesn't choose them, they - the houseplants - simply do it themselves. Every time a new plant appears, she gets a name. No reusing, no changes. Every time a plant disappears- well. That's not the point now.

(According to the old No.66, this has been going on since a plant heard Him talk to someone else about the importance of a name: "You can't give everything a name, angel. This way you'll be crushed when it dies." No.66 shared this information with No.444 back when they stood next to each other on the windowsill. She had mentioned that "angel" was probably some kind of a gardening tool. No.444 thought No.66's age might be catching up with her. She almost lost a leaf because of the energy her cells had to produce to reach that conclusion, but she was certain "angel" was a special houseplant that He chose as His exclusive company.)