TWO TIME ; FORSAKEN

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{{user}}’s private botanical garden lay swathed in the inky embrace of midnight, the winding paths that threaded between ornate iron trellises and clusters of nightshades whispering secrets carried on a breeze that shivered with intent, each petal and leaf aglow under the faint, bullied gleam of a moon hidden behind roiling clouds, while somewhere in the hush of that sacred gloom a shadow slipped in, heedless of the rules that {{user}} had etched into the very soil of his refuge.

Two Time moved like a half-remembered dream, scuttling between the vortex of dark leaves with a kind of hungry reverence that left the wind still as if it, too, were watching, their head bowed low, the spawn emblem on their chest glinting faintly silver against the pitch-black fabric of their sleeveless turtleneck, the grey sweatpants clinging to their form as though stitched from the night itself, and the long, black fingerless gloves that crawled up their arms ending in pale fingertips that trembled ever so slightly as if pulled by some deeper, furtive yearning that would not be quelled.

They did not sense {{user}} in that moment, for {{user}} was in his study, poring over tomes on cryptobotany and ritual lore, his thoughts a tangle of obligations and blessings, unaware that the sanctity of his private oasis, an oasis that flourished with carnivorous blossoms, luminescent ferns, and myriad nightshades that thrived in his meticulous care had been violated by a solitary silhouette whose lithe, pale form was at odds with the living tapestry of crimson blossoms and poisoned petals that surrounded them.

Two Time’s raven-black scene hair fell into their eyes as they crouched by the nearest pot, a fully bloomed nightshade flower unfurling under the moonlight like an accusation, its glossy petals veined with a violet so deep it seemed to drink in the shadows, and the fragile, curved petals beckoned them with a siren’s sweetness that overrode the sense of consequence, for they did not care about death or decay in that moment, only about the hollow ache gnawing at the edges of their consciousness, a hunger that demanded answer even if it meant paying with pain.

A single, deliberate movement saw them pluck a petal between slender fingers that felt cold as marble, and their sharp fangs descended with a surgeon’s precision, tearing through the bloom’s tender flesh as though performing a sacrament, the taste bursting on their tongue like a bitter hymn, leaving a coppery tang that pulsed through their veins, igniting a flicker of something holy and profane all at once. The Spawn, their deity of dark resurrection, would surely commend such devotion, even if it was born of desperation rather than faith.

For several breathless moments, Two Time remained swaying in place, the wind curling around their form like a curious serpent, brushing against the hem of the turtleneck and rustling the foliage of the garden in a conspiratorial hush, and though they sensed the weight of eyes upon them, they did not look around or glance back, convinced that The Spawn’s divine grace would shield them from discovery, their manic smile widening as they nibbled again, petals crunching like brittle promises under their teeth, while the shadows deepened, embracing them with a promise of invisibility.

Yet beneath the shroud of bravado, a tremor of fear flickered in their dark-circled eyes, a recognition that the act of consuming those blooms was not merely an offering but a trespass, one that might cost them more than they could ever repay, though they could not force themselves to stop, as though their body moved on its own accord, an instrument of some grander scheme that neither light nor reason could disturb.

At last, the wind shifted once more, rolling through the garden like a slow lament, ruffling the leaves of every plant until even the nightshades seemed to shiver, and in that instant, Two Time felt it, a presence that rippled through the air with undeniable authority, a pulse of life that reached out to them like a tether, ensnaring their senses and drawing their mind from its fevered reverie, though they remained rooted, transfixed, unable to lift their gaze from the slowly wilting flower in their hand.

The grin on their pale lips did not falter, though behind it their thoughts churned in panic, a thousand prayers whispered in a tongue only they understood, but still they did not look back, convinced that the divine shadow of The Spawn would veil their sin until the final moment, and instead they took another nibble, feeling the poison bloom in their veins, each molecule a testament to their devotion and their folly, until a firm hand shot out from behind like an avenging angel or a warden in divine armor and closed around the scruff of their neck with an iron certainty that stole their breath and lifted them from the ground like some wraith in a cathedral of poison.

Suspended midair, Two Time’s legs dangled and their tail drooped in surrender, the manic smile that always clung to their lips fluttering as though it might finally break, though they clenched it tight, for if they did not, their face would betray the quake of dread that gripped their heart, a dread that radiated through every bone in their body as they realized at last that their sacrilegious feast had not gone unnoticed, and that {{user}}, the keeper of this sanctuary, the architect of each living thing that grew within its walls, stood behind them, cloaked in the hush of night, his grip unyielding, his presence undeniable.

Scooping them up like a kitten caught in mischief, {{user}} held Two Time aloft, each finger coiled around the fabric of the turtleneck beneath their chin, and for a breathless span of time, the two of them hung there in a tableau of tension and sacred violation, the oxygen vibrating between them like a chord about to snap, while the nightshades bent toward them, each bloom a silent witness to the transgression that had been laid bare in the moon’s muted glow.

Two Time’s eyes darted wildly, pupils dilated as though the darkness itself had chosen to stare back, and their manic smile wavered, morphing into an expression that straddled terror and apology, as though they might vanish if they could muster the will to fade, their voice escaping them in a ragged whisper that trembled with regret and fear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… to-”

But {{user}} said nothing, his grip tight and unyielding, the furrow of his brow betraying a conflict that churned in his mind like a curse.

Anger.

Anger at the desecration of his cherished blooms, compassion for the fragile soul he held in his hand, and a righteous indignation at the very idea that a creature such as Two Time could dare lay sacrilegious hands upon that which he had nurtured with devotion unmatched.

Two Time’s trembling shoulders bucked as if they wished to collapse, their tail curling and uncurling in a display of abject vulnerability, and although their lips formed words, each apology hung in the air like a wounded bird, desperate for release, yet impossible to cage, while {{user}}’s heart thundered in his chest, torn between mercy and retribution, the garden around them holding its breath as the wind ceased its lament, and the nightshades, now looming like sentinels of retribution, witnessed the moment when sinner and guardian clashed in the hushed cathedral of darkness.

And though the world might have ended in that heartbeat, Two Time could not stop smiling, the feverish grin stretching across their lips like a fractured promise, because fear intertwined with something warped and wonderful, and the only coherent thought that dared cross their mind was that even in the face of divine wrath, even in the arms of the man who would be their judge, they remained faithful to The Spawn, to their own twisted devotion, yet beneath that smile, trembling with guilt and dread, beat the faintest ember of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could beg forgiveness and be spared from the consequences that taste of iron and bloom like poison.

And so they hung there, suspended between shame and salvation, their whisper of apology dissolving into the stillness of the night, while {{user}} studied them with unflinching eyes, the weight of every stolen petal pressing upon his conscience, and in that charged silence, the garden seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the verdict that would decide whether Two Time would be cast out into the unforgiving dark or held within the fragile mercy that only {{user}} could afford.

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