... The Church and the Garden felt safe, or... the Church felt safe when the iconography was still there. And the Garden feels safe, but if you linger too long, you risk disappearing and becoming part of the mist there.

The Forest... it's...

( she's quiet, clearly uneasy, but- )

It's like where someone is stabbing you repeatedly while they tell you they love you. You can't rely on anyone but them, but they won't feed you or grant you water. You can't look at anyone, but they call you cruel, awful names when its just the two of you. You can only do as it wants, because you exist for it. When you talk poorly of it, it hurts you, but it's so controlling it'd sooner break your wrist before it lets you lift something yourself. It stole my legs. It jerks my hands away from things I want to touch, refuses to let me eat while trying to keep me alive like any other plant. It says it loves me while calling me an idiot.

... And maybe some people think there's a dark beauty in that sort of love... But I would hate to meet that person. And I'll make sure they'd hate to meet me.

It's been quiet though, this winter. It's never quiet. I forgot what it felt like, having my head to myself.