“Is this not beautiful, Avicinda?” cooed Chigda as he gazed down at the fairy laying before him.
Avicinda could say nothing, on account of the vines wrapped around his every limb and over his mouth and face, so all he could do was gaze back up at Chigda with his glassy eye.
And Chigda saw only agreement and adoration there.
Nothing could grow here, in Chigda’s barren garden, where vines and Dark Essence danced together. But Faewish Sprites were not formed only from stars; they were children of the Grand Tree.
And now one of them could be a seed.