Moonless - The Eternal Night

The Conservatory

Orion

"Only a few are allowed to enter this area," Virion continued as they approached the structure of glass and light. "The guardian of this place deals swiftly with anyone unauthorized who dares to show up here. But they'll surely make an exception for you."

"They?" came weakly from Orion's lips, his head tilted back, his eyes trailing up along the height of the building.

"You'll see," Viv reached for the door, a work of art wrought from ornate, winding iron, inset with glass, and as they reached the structure, Orion already felt warmth. Then, the handsome shapeshifter bestowed upon him one last grin before pushing open the door.

And the breath of something colossal hit Orion. A breath, hot and humid, filled with aromas that were sweet, fresh, unfamiliar yet familiar, as if something within him recognized this breath, an old friend whose face was lost, whose voice he could no longer recall, yet it was there, swirling around the man, penetrating his senses. Coming. With light.

Every expression faded from his face, his green eyes widened, grew even larger, trying to take in everything at once as his legs began to move. As if in a trance. Into. The breath. Into the warm wind. Into another world.

A lost world stretched out before him, overwhelmed him with impressions. Scents. Sounds. Rushing and whistling and gurgling and rustling. And with colors. Such bright, intense colors, like he had never seen before.

Green.

So much dark, bright, radiant green. In between, specks. Brown. A lot of brown. A little purple, some yellow here and there. Movements in shimmering nuances he had never known but had known and missed before.

He lost composure. Lost everything. Yet, at the same time, there was nothing more to lose. At the same time, he was like paralyzed.

Plants. The conservatory was filled with plants. But not the plants he knew. Not the gnarled, twisted, thorny things that grew out there. No, these were powerful, majestic specimens, with huge, fan-like leaves, mighty stems around which other plants coiled. Bright flowers bloomed amidst the robust greenery, all vying to catch his eye, and among the flowers, among the branches, he saw movements. Quick movements. Agile. Flapping. Whistling.

No.

Chirping.

Birds.

Before Orion lay a piece of the former world, captured in this unreal place, like a memory of what was stolen from them.

Truly.

Things losz preserved before him.

"Impossible," he whispered, his eyes unable to comprehend, trying to make out the plants, but as soon as he followed one branch, his gaze was drawn to something else. As soon as he thought he had deciphered something, more questions arose.

"Absolutely impossible."

"Not quite, my dear," came from Virion. "Just unlikely."

"What is this?" he asked.

But before Virion could answer, another voice sounded. "Who are you? What do you want? We don't like strangers!"

Immediately, his gaze sought the source of the voice, wandering over trunks, branches, leaves, and flowers, trying to make out the speaker.

"It's alright, Med, he belongs to us," the silver-haired man defended Orion.

Something pushed through the trees. No, rather, a figure emerged directly from the undergrowth, giving shape to bark, vines, and leaves, small, delicate, clad in moss and ferns.