Mm. [ Viktor lights his fingers on a petal, thoughtful. He's well acquainted with his flowers, the aether that thrums within them. The familiar chill tingling beneath the velvety plant matter, stillness, rectification, waiting to be released. It is, he realizes, not all that different from Emet-Selch's aether in that regard. His flowers, briskly, midwinter cold. The chill of a morning under Menphina's moon. Hades's aether, the permeating cold of an early spring night, the night of the last snow. Almost funny, that Dark and Light would be so similar. Funny, but not surprising. ]

I am a garden. [ The words ring, familiar, and with a twitch of his ears, he places where he knows them. ] The- the creature I made. The one that r-resembled Aepymetes. He- it told me... I- we- it said "We are a garden." T-told me I need to look to the roots. [ Viktor examines the callouses on Emet-Selch's fingers curiously. Were those always there? ] He c-called me Hythlodaeus.

[ His tired gaze flicks up to study Emet-Selch's face, the lingering stern worry. What sort of explosion is occurring at this moment in that busy head? A thousand potentials and how to plan for them. ]

I will have a c-care. I promise. [ He gathers up one of Emet-Selch's hands in his own, brings his palm to his lips and presses a kiss in the center. A faint smile tugs across his lips. ] You haven't lost your appetite, have you?