The Prodigal Son

[Floribunda]

Celia walked across the grand foyer, her dress shoes clicking lightly on the marble floor. The dark wood accents and trim did little to warm the intertior of the Bloodvine Academy. Even the rich colors of the caravagio in the great hall did not offset the feeling that those within the walls were visitors, not family. Her school, her home, was always cold, like a museum: from every corner and on every wall, priceless treasures were proudly and carefully displayed, but never touched.

And despite the cold, the plants flourished. They grew strong and their roots drew deep, and everywhere they stood, Celia knew she was being watched. Her mother's plants. They were not hers, not yet.

Other students passed her, their eyes quickly glancing down to look at their own feet. They knew she had been summoned, and so they looked away, somehow afraid that her obligation might somehow become theirs. Their fear made her feel ashamed, for their fear betrayed their pity for her. And as much as Celia wished to strike out with a sharp word or a steely glence, she found herself unable. She was being watched.

She reached the double-doors at one end of the foyer, the border between the public spaces of the Academy and the private rooms that lay out in the East wing. She slid the doors apart on the runners, wide enough only for her slim body to pass through, and shut the doors behind her.

The parlor was lit only by the roaring fireplace along the inner wall. And still, the cold. It seeped up from the floor into her shoes and made her toes instinctively curl. She hated the cold. It would change, someday. In the corner, away from the fire, lurked a large, misshapen thing. Another one of her mother's pets, no doubt. As she drew nearer to the fireplace, the heat of the flames finally began to warm her face, and the fronts of her legs. Before the fireplace sat two massive wingback leather chairs, taken from some castle or another in England. More trophies. Over the top of one of the chairs, she could see a halo of blond hair, glowing through from the firelight.

Celia caught her breath, then spoke. "Mother."

In a single graceful movement, Lady Bloodvine rose and turned to face her daughter. Her deep green eyes sparkled, set within her perfect, heart-shaped face. Her golden hair was cut just above the shoulder. Thin green tendrils curled through her mother's hair, occasionally bursting into blooms of red and violet. More tendrils fell behind her ears: a trail of tiny leaves, newly sprouted, cascaded across her long, slim neck and settled on her soft, strong shoulders. Against the firelight, her mother's figure, still somehow firm and youthful, made Celia's heart mourn.

I will never be that beautiful, she thought.

Her mother's smile was at once comforting and deeply upsetting. "Celia," she purred. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

Celia nodded, not knowing how else to respond. Her mother watched her carefully. This intensified the feeling that she was waiting for a response. Celia swallowed hard. "Mother, have I done something wrong? Your summons-"

"No, no, my child," Lady Bloodvine said softly, waving her hand dismissively. Her eyes sparkled with some sort of wicked glee at her own daughter's discomfort. "But there has been an incident with your brother." Her voice dripped with honey.

The mention of her brother renewed Celia's own self-confidence. A sneer found its way to her lips. "Dominic? Is he in trouble again?"

Dominic was Celia's younger brother, and like all the Bloodvine men, he was bereft of their gifts. He did not hear the greensong, could not sing along with the sweet melodies of growth and fecundity. He did not feel the comforting touch of the Devouring Earth, or hear their whispers under the soil. As a result, their mother had sent him away, knowing there was no place for him at the Bloodvine Academy. He had spent the better part of three years being expelled by some of the finest private schools in New England.

Lady Bloodvine smiled. "No. No trouble. But he has done the unimaginable. He has seized a new destiny for himself."

Celia's brow furrowed. She did not enjoy her mother's games. And her mother's words, so carefully chosen, served only to confound her. "Destiny? You don't often speak so lightly of destiny."

"And I do not speak lightly of it today, Celia." Her mother strode towards her, extending her arms in a wide gesture of dominion. The tendrils began to curl down around her. "Dominic threw himself into the maw of the Devouring Earth."

Celia felt the blood drain from her face. In her mind, she sang to the vines that wrapped her arms, and they constricted, their thorns tearing sweetly into her flesh. "And he... survived?"

Her mother's honeyed smile turned suddenly covetous. Her eyes glistened wetly. The scent of new earth, fertile and yielding, began to seep into the air. "He flourished."

Seeing Celia's apparent bewilderment, Lady Bloodvine looked away from her. "Dominic. Your sister is confused, my poppet. Come show her what it is that you have done."

Celia turned in place to follow her mother's eyes, until she looked upon the thing she had seen when first she entered. But now it stirred, and drew itself up onto its feet, and plodded forward. It entered the firelight, and Celia Bloodvine struggled to find within its form some trace of her fourteen year old brother.

It was hulking, towering over Celia, even over her mother. It smelled of earth and new-mown grass. It's rocky limbs gave way to woody vines that might have passed for fingers, and each foot ended in a mass of thick, spongy roots and tubers. Its head was mostly shapeless, with a vacuous mouth, filled with crystal shards for teeth. In all ways, a creature of the Devouring Earth.

But its eyes. Its perfectly human eyes. Baby blue, and cold-hearted. There could be no mistaking its eyes.

Celia reached out a hand, and sang her vines out, twirling through her fingers. "Dominic..?"

The creature shrugged mightily and batted her hand away. Celia's vines recoiled, and bit anew into the flesh of her wrists. "You needn't comfort me, Celia." The voice was Dominic's too, but distorted, like he was drowing in the soil. "I don't need your comfort or your concern."

Her mother stepped past Celia and wrapped both her arms around one of Dominic's. "Isn't he marvellous?" she asked, her tendrils and vines creeping out to mingle with those of her son.

Naked jealousy rose in Celia's bosom. "How was this done?" she demanded, seeking to distract her mother's affections.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Lady Bloodvine replied lightly. "Dominic was able to fill me in on some of the details, but even he gets a little hazy in the middle. But it was apparently rather difficult to arrange and staggeringly painful to endure." Her mother's newfound admiration for Dominic was quickly threatening to eclipse Celia's own promising reputation. "But either way, he will make a fine addition to this year's freshman class, don't you think?"

The words hit Celia like a slap to the face. But how could this have come as a suprise? He would come to the Academy. He would come as their mother's new favorite. He siezed a new destiny, she had said. And that was a greater accomplishment than simply being born. Power taken is greater than power given. She knew she had to conceal her jealousy, or she would lose even more of her mother's respect.

She looked at what her brother had become. She had never hated him more. And yet the greensong flowed from him, and she realized that she had never loved him more, either. Dominic was right. She felt no pity for him, for the first time in almost a decade. Though the greensong was different in him, disharmonious, he sang it. He had finally heard the call of the Devouring Earth, and impossibly, it had cosumed him without destroying him.

But still. Celia Bloodvine was not to be cowed by her own brother. His greensong was imperfect, and he had not learned the verses. That would take time. So Celia quietly sang out to her brother, wrapping him in her own greensong. And she watched as her brother's new arm twitched outside his control, the woody roots and fleshy tubers dancing to Celia's more practiced melody. Celia began to smile.

"Yes," Celia said calmly. "A fine addition."

Dominic stared at his arm in confusion, as his rootlike fingers clenched into a fist. He began to fight her control of him, but it took him a moment to recognize the source of his discomfort. When his eyes met Celia's, he knew.

"Why, Dominic," said their mother, "whatever is the matter?" Whether her ignorance was geniune or feigned, Celia could not tell.

But the fear she saw in her brother's eyes was real enough. A smirk crept back onto Celia's lips as they looked at one another. Dominic still fought for control of his own limb, but his will faded into Celia's greensong. His eyes pleaded with her. Celia's smirk deepened as she released him from her song. His arm fell quiet again.

"Nothing, mother," rumbled the thing, absently rubbing its disobedient arm. "I am just tired from the journey home." But his eyes betrayed him, fixed upon Celia in shame and anger.

Yes, my brother, thought Celia. We see who still has the power here.