The merciless stench suffocated Spring. The invasive human blood assailed her xylem and coursed through her body, permeating her entire being with the stink she would never rid herself of.
It hurts, Spring thought, unable to express her thoughts to the outside world. Coarse blood flowed through her vessels, and she imagined it scraping against the delicate walls of her capillaries.
Unable to endure the torment any longer, Spring twisted her arm and escaped the grip of the blighted who held her. She tore her complex smellers without hesitation, destroying the olfactory organ.
The agonizing act of self-mutilation helped. With her sense of smell reduced to a level of a human, the torture became a ghastly aftertaste, a mental trauma most blighted never recover from.
She tried to breathe through her skin and confirmed she could still draw oxygen from the air. I can no longer eat. I need a symbiont which decomposes complex matter into simple nutrients, or I need to implant myself with a photosynthesis-capable graft.
I should have severed my hair and let it develop adventitious roots. But I had neither the time, nor the adequate equipment. I hope Thorn has enough symbionts and grafts to form a functional blighted. I think he had twenty full sets when he escaped those healers which had captured him.
Ow! In her black and empty world, Spring sensed stabs and cuts all over her head. Yes, they just implanted me with second-eyes and second-ears. How nice; they planted second-eyes into the holes of my ruined smellers to further dull my sense of smell.
Slowly, over half an hour, Spring started hearing and seeing the world for the first time with her current body. For bloom-folk reliant on smell and touch, the shock was staggering. For Spring, it was a sensation she was used to.
The first sight her new eyes saw was a sixteen-year-old youth with brown hair and green eyes staring into her face.
“Hello, can you understand me? Second-ears sometimes don’t connect well, happened to Bough over there. He’s pretty dense, and the tender roots failed to reach deep enough without drilling.”
Spring wanted to nod, but stopped herself. I have never seen the mannerisms of humans, I shouldn’t mimic them right away.
“Yes,” she said, her voice a hollow rattle.
Second-voice needs to devour a larynx, then it will produce a voice identical to the consumed organ. Until then, the voice is an artificial clatter of wood against wood.
“Don’t worry. We are not humans, and we won’t torture you like those bastards. Um, I don’t know how to say this; sorry for ruining your life, but you were dying, and we had no other choice. I mean, we did. We could’ve let you die, but I think any kind of life is better than being dead, and I insisted on this,” Thorn blurted the words so fast, Spring had an urge to laugh.
He’s the same as ever. Luckily, Spring’s face lacked features, and the only way they could have caught her mirth was through her aroma, which had become a blighted’s stench, unable to convey emotions.
Oblivious of Spring’s thoughts, Thorn kept talking. “So, all of this is my fault. Sorry, again. Come with us, we’ll protect you and teach you how to live like us, and we’ll introduce you to a brand new life. What do you say?”
“Sure,” Spring agreed without hesitation, following the free-floating manner characteristic to bloom-folk.
“Great!” Thorn’s lips spread into a captivating smile, revealing unblemished white teeth.
The problem with low level grafts and symbionts is they appear too perfect, but only the most perceptive humans would notice those tiny inconsistencies. His eyes are perfectly uniform and symmetrical, too. That’s how humans picked out the blighted during the first purge. I must subtly reveal that information after we interact with enough humans.
“Come, we must find you a second face.” Seeing Spring stare blankly at him, Thorn grabbed her hand and pulled her up, but she tottered.
“Easy, Thorn, she just replaced her sap with human blood. She’s still getting used to seeing and hearing.” Creep admonished the lively leader. “She’s doing great. Much better than any of us, but she will need several minutes to get the feel of walking while seeing the world move around her.”
“I’m fine. Thank you.” Spring spoke the words without a tongue, suddenly recalling the complexity of masking oneself as a human. At least I’m moving my lips out of habit. I have a head start, but I must be mindful of the organs I lacked before.
She followed Thorn who kept talking. “Right, I’m Thorn. The killjoy is Creep, the big lug is Bough, I wanted to call him Trunk, but he said he preferred Bough, since he has a delicate frame. I’ve seen oaks more delicate…”
Spring recalled that same meeting, and the oddity of bloom-folk referring to themselves as males, but Thorn explained it was because women traveling the weald stood out too much, while male humans roamed everywhere. To prevent slip-ups, Thorn’s entire party always addressed each other in masculine, the habit sticking even after they shed their false skins.
“Here we are.” Thorn stopped before the human corpses. “Pick a face you like. Second-face will eat their skin over time and wither without it, but the research journals said a single person’s skin can last around two years.”
Unless you regenerate a patch of skin. Then the second-face’s food is easier to store than flaying a human and lugging around their hide.
Spring was about to ask which grafts the humans had, when she stopped herself. A wild bloom-folk would never dream of what humans did to their kind. The vine thought Spring insane, while the willow believed she was making up scary stories to pass the time.
She then recalled she should act like a newly blighted bloom-folk, not like an indifferent spectator, used to sifting through corpses.
“What will what?” she asked, the wooden voice-box clattering unchanged by the emotions she acted out.
“Second-face is a graft, a special kind of symbiont, which lets you look like a human as long as you feed it regularly. For us it’s usually simple, we keep food for our grafts and symbionts within our pitchers. That’s one of the reasons we smell as bad as we do. Right, you now have human blood coursing through you. However, it will spoil as time passes. Your body will decompose it for nutrients, and you will have to drink your fill of blood every now and then.”
Thorn paused, watching Spring’s brown, wrinkled face. The second-eyes bulged out of the socket which once housed her smellers, and the thin, wide slit which was her creepy new mouth stretched open as Spring asked another question.
“Won’t humans or wildlings catch the stench of rotting flesh when I open my mouth.”
“I’ll give you a symbiont harvested from wildlings, it keeps the contents of their stomachs from attracting others. But from now on, wildlings will hunt you as prey. Don’t give me that bewildered look, you reek of blood and flesh. There’s no way around it.”
“Sorry.” I was giving you a bewildered look? I’m just trying to think how I should develop myself. Bough is a living shield and hits like a rock, your best front-line fighter. Creep is a tracker and scout with little combat strength until he grows as a floromancer. You are a ranged combatant, with an innate ability to shoot thorns even without a symbiont, coupled with any of the second level symbionts based on barkskin your body is a natural lethal weapon.
As for the rest, only the three of you survived from your original party. I don’t know whether I should warn the rest to be careful, but all of you are always on high alert. The fact they died means they were weak, not that they lacked caution.
“Wildlings took the majority of the bodies. We killed the ones you see here. We also drew their blood to save your life, at least we gave them a chance to contribute to a noble cause for once.” Thorn kept talking, and suddenly recalled something, his mind hopping from one topic to the next. “Right, we introduced ourselves, but you need a name as well. We can’t address each other by our natural fragrance like the rest of the folk. That’s why we took names.”
Thorn noticed Spring freeze. “There’s no need to be nervous. We all named ourselves based on our original names, after we converted them to words. It might take some time to find your name, but it’s not as difficult as you think.”
She’s familiar, where did I see her before? Wait, wasn’t her face on crystal coins? Spring focused on the corpse of a girl in late teens. The body’s eyes gaped in surprise and horror, her face white, with dried blood clinging to the corners of its lips. Taking in the beautiful features, Spring shuddered. That’s empress Jasmine Sun, Salazar Sun’s wife!
The merciless stench suffocated Spring. The invasive human blood assailed her xylem and coursed through her body, permeating her entire being with the stink she would never rid herself of.
It hurts, Spring thought, unable to express her thoughts to the outside world. Coarse blood flowed through her vessels, and she imagined it scraping against the delicate walls of her capillaries.
Unable to endure the torment any longer, Spring twisted her arm and escaped the grip of the blighted who held her. She tore her complex smellers without hesitation, destroying the olfactory organ.
The agonizing act of self-mutilation helped. With her sense of smell reduced to a level of a human, the torture became a ghastly aftertaste, a mental trauma most blighted never recover from.
She tried to breathe through her skin and confirmed she could still draw oxygen from the air. I can no longer eat. I need a symbiont which decomposes complex matter into simple nutrients, or I need to implant myself with a photosynthesis-capable graft.
I should have severed my hair and let it develop adventitious roots. But I had neither the time, nor the adequate equipment. I hope Thorn has enough symbionts and grafts to form a functional blighted. I think he had twenty full sets when he escaped those healers which had captured him.
Ow! In her black and empty world, Spring sensed stabs and cuts all over her head. Yes, they just implanted me with second-eyes and second-ears. How nice; they planted second-eyes into the holes of my ruined smellers to further dull my sense of smell.
Slowly, over half an hour, Spring started hearing and seeing the world for the first time with her current body. For bloom-folk reliant on smell and touch, the shock was staggering. For Spring, it was a sensation she was used to.
The first sight her new eyes saw was a sixteen-year-old youth with brown hair and green eyes staring into her face.
“Hello, can you understand me? Second-ears sometimes don’t connect well, happened to Bough over there. He’s pretty dense, and the tender roots failed to reach deep enough without drilling.”
Spring wanted to nod, but stopped herself. I have never seen the mannerisms of humans, I shouldn’t mimic them right away.
“Yes,” she said, her voice a hollow rattle.
Second-voice needs to devour a larynx, then it will produce a voice identical to the consumed organ. Until then, the voice is an artificial clatter of wood against wood.
“Don’t worry. We are not humans, and we won’t torture you like those bastards. Um, I don’t know how to say this; sorry for ruining your life, but you were dying, and we had no other choice. I mean, we did. We could’ve let you die, but I think any kind of life is better than being dead, and I insisted on this,” Thorn blurted the words so fast, Spring had an urge to laugh.
He’s the same as ever. Luckily, Spring’s face lacked features, and the only way they could have caught her mirth was through her aroma, which had become a blighted’s stench, unable to convey emotions.
Oblivious of Spring’s thoughts, Thorn kept talking. “So, all of this is my fault. Sorry, again. Come with us, we’ll protect you and teach you how to live like us, and we’ll introduce you to a brand new life. What do you say?”
“Sure,” Spring agreed without hesitation, following the free-floating manner characteristic to bloom-folk.
“Great!” Thorn’s lips spread into a captivating smile, revealing unblemished white teeth.
The problem with low level grafts and symbionts is they appear too perfect, but only the most perceptive humans would notice those tiny inconsistencies. His eyes are perfectly uniform and symmetrical, too. That’s how humans picked out the blighted during the first purge. I must subtly reveal that information after we interact with enough humans.
“Come, we must find you a second face.” Seeing Spring stare blankly at him, Thorn grabbed her hand and pulled her up, but she tottered.
“Easy, Thorn, she just replaced her sap with human blood. She’s still getting used to seeing and hearing.” Creep admonished the lively leader. “She’s doing great. Much better than any of us, but she will need several minutes to get the feel of walking while seeing the world move around her.”
“I’m fine. Thank you.” Spring spoke the words without a tongue, suddenly recalling the complexity of masking oneself as a human. At least I’m moving my lips out of habit. I have a head start, but I must be mindful of the organs I lacked before.
She followed Thorn who kept talking. “Right, I’m Thorn. The killjoy is Creep, the big lug is Bough, I wanted to call him Trunk, but he said he preferred Bough, since he has a delicate frame. I’ve seen oaks more delicate…”
Spring recalled that same meeting, and the oddity of bloom-folk referring to themselves as males, but Thorn explained it was because women traveling the weald stood out too much, while male humans roamed everywhere. To prevent slip-ups, Thorn’s entire party always addressed each other in masculine, the habit sticking even after they shed their false skins.
“Here we are.” Thorn stopped before the human corpses. “Pick a face you like. Second-face will eat their skin over time and wither without it, but the research journals said a single person’s skin can last around two years.”
Unless you regenerate a patch of skin. Then the second-face’s food is easier to store than flaying a human and lugging around their hide.
Spring was about to ask which grafts the humans had, when she stopped herself. A wild bloom-folk would never dream of what humans did to their kind. The vine thought Spring insane, while the willow believed she was making up scary stories to pass the time.
She then recalled she should act like a newly blighted bloom-folk, not like an indifferent spectator, used to sifting through corpses.
“What will what?” she asked, the wooden voice-box clattering unchanged by the emotions she acted out.
“Second-face is a graft, a special kind of symbiont, which lets you look like a human as long as you feed it regularly. For us it’s usually simple, we keep food for our grafts and symbionts within our pitchers. That’s one of the reasons we smell as bad as we do. Right, you now have human blood coursing through you. However, it will spoil as time passes. Your body will decompose it for nutrients, and you will have to drink your fill of blood every now and then.”
Thorn paused, watching Spring’s brown, wrinkled face. The second-eyes bulged out of the socket which once housed her smellers, and the thin, wide slit which was her creepy new mouth stretched open as Spring asked another question.
“Won’t humans or wildlings catch the stench of rotting flesh when I open my mouth.”
“I’ll give you a symbiont harvested from wildlings, it keeps the contents of their stomachs from attracting others. But from now on, wildlings will hunt you as prey. Don’t give me that bewildered look, you reek of blood and flesh. There’s no way around it.”
“Sorry.” I was giving you a bewildered look? I’m just trying to think how I should develop myself. Bough is a living shield and hits like a rock, your best front-line fighter. Creep is a tracker and scout with little combat strength until he grows as a floromancer. You are a ranged combatant, with an innate ability to shoot thorns even without a symbiont, coupled with any of the second level symbionts based on barkskin your body is a natural lethal weapon.
As for the rest, only the three of you survived from your original party. I don’t know whether I should warn the rest to be careful, but all of you are always on high alert. The fact they died means they were weak, not that they lacked caution.
“Wildlings took the majority of the bodies. We killed the ones you see here. We also drew their blood to save your life, at least we gave them a chance to contribute to a noble cause for once.” Thorn kept talking, and suddenly recalled something, his mind hopping from one topic to the next. “Right, we introduced ourselves, but you need a name as well. We can’t address each other by our natural fragrance like the rest of the folk. That’s why we took names.”
Thorn noticed Spring freeze. “There’s no need to be nervous. We all named ourselves based on our original names, after we converted them to words. It might take some time to find your name, but it’s not as difficult as you think.”
She’s familiar, where did I see her before? Wait, wasn’t her face on crystal coins? Spring focused on the corpse of a girl in late teens. The body’s eyes gaped in surprise and horror, her face white, with dried blood clinging to the corners of its lips. Taking in the beautiful features, Spring shuddered. That’s empress Jasmine Sun, Salazar Sun’s wife!
