No Questions Asked

[victorianflorist]

You bring yourself deeper into the grove, crouching and ripping a chunk of the rich, uniformly green turf using your left hand. You clutch it and stare at the ball of green, you stuff the clump of grass into your mouth in an impulsive and animal motion, chewing greedily. Your mouth is quickly overwhelmed by the sharp, acrid taste, like salt and vinegar, and you spit slightly, your emerald drool dribbling out of the corner of your mouth as you gulp the clump of indigestible plant matter down. 

You start staring at your grass-stained hand in abject horror.  You search in yourself to find some justification but you can't find the impulse within yourself, it has passed. You feel it may have been GIVEN to you, though as you wipe bits of grass from your lips, you doubt it was a gift.

You reach into the blade, worming some part of you into it, reaching for the blood that you GAVE. You find it, entwined within the crimson metal, woven into the fibers of the blade and something else. You sense threads of something, something rich and invigorating. You grasp it instinctually, drawing it into yourself. You TAKE what the blade is holding within itself and you feel a curious warmth in your right forefinger. You look at the aggravated flesh of your fingertip and gasp softly as the hole in your finger knits closed, leaving your finger pristine. 

You look around the clearing, and at its center is another statue, much like the first you encountered. This is of a woman, standing tall, a sapling entwined around its form. The two twist together, the statue leaning into the sapling like one embraces a lover. Her hand is open, palm outstretched outwards.