I saw it move.
I heard it hum -
a chant in tongues
no mouth should drum

The vines grew fast.
They knew my name.
The roots reached deep.
They spoke in shame

It bulged beneath forest floor,
a knot of green that throbbed in war.

Not planted -
forced.
of rage in bloom,
a curse exhaled from sylvan womb.

It split the ground with roots like knives,
invading air - devouring lives.
No blossom ever born so vile -
it screamed in spores and bloomed in guile.

I wept-
I screamed -
I prayed to flee -
but vines had mouths -
and they chose me.

Their touch was warm...
Their grip unkind...
They only wanted...
what was mine.

Each tendril sucked light from skin,
and dragged a trembling soul within.
I felt the bark beneath my eyes-
the vines were threading through my cries.

No final scream. No last goodbye.
Just rustling leaves where I should die.
A bloom now walks where I had been-
and something roots
beneath my skin.

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Chronos, in the year 976 AF.