Deep in the shade of the woods, tight against the granite walls leading to the Mistresses grotto is one of the gardens more recent additions. This one had slipped in through the gate late one summer evening, not tired of the world outside but seeking something more. Her pale skin carrying the marks of the places she'd already been, the dream held in her eyes telling of the places she'd yet go.
Slipped in through the gate and taken by the gardeners to grow into a night vine a thing of stars and moonlight, trained in the shed to press tight against the cold sharp walls leading to the grotto. Transplanted then to the twilight of the woods, her hair spread against the wall fasted with pins of silver, and copper combs.. Silver points also pierce her flesh holding her lest she stir too much. Yet still sometimes she stirs and blood drips down along those points to leave russet stains on the dull stone.
Vines climb around her limbs across her body leaves spreading scarlet across her breasts. Her face alone is unbound by the plants upon her skin, looking out from the rock across the pool a pale muse resting within scarlet vines. Bright copper wire binds her wrists continuing the vines across the rock and through her hair, obscuring where her starts or the garden ends. Pale shadows of earlier growth trace different paths never quite fading from her flesh, binding her season after season tighter within the gardens walls.
Sometimes as the mistress passes by on her way from the grotto she traces a cool hand against her night vines face, causing her to sigh an echo of the wind in leaves of soft breezes in calm nights. No other sound does she make, no hint of if she's found her dream. For the gardeners trained her well, only late at night when only darkness keeps her company does the dream still gleam within her echoing the star sheen on the pools mottled waters.
