Information

Heim has a minion!

Macabre the Bone Garden Fairy

Heim
Legacy Name: Heim

The

Glade Feli
Owner:

Tribe

Age: 5 years, 9 months, 2 weeks

Born: August 5th, 2018

Adopted: 9 months, 3 weeks, 5 days ago

Adopted: July 27th, 2023

Statistics

Level: 156
Strength: 391
Defense: 389
Speed: 387
Health: 388
HP: 185/388
Intelligence: 32
Books Read: 32
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Unemployed

CREDITS

profile template (c)

helix (get it)
template edited by

Tribe,

spacemage,

OCEANE,

Gyarbear
story by

Tribe
Background courtesy of Unsplash user Peter Mason
adorable art by

Gyarbear

Come, let me ease your final rest

I can sense your fear, little one. I know it is jarring to learn that your journey has ended, but we mustn't tarry too long in the mortal realm.

I gently scoop the sweet little soul into my hand; their bright light contrasts starkly against my darker skin. The ghostly wisp recoils from the slightest touch, nervously flits at the walls of my fingers. Oh dear child, I know how it aches so, to depart from what you've known.

-If it'd put your mind more at ease, we can spend a while in my gardens: a sanctuary as you ready your resolve to cross to the Other Side. You could relish in the sweet tranquility of the flowers--or perhaps you'd like to help me gather herbs in the warmth of the afternoon sun? Maybe you'd want to indulge in the delicacies served by our most talented souls; I hear that their cakes and tarts are nothing short of delicious.
You could even enjoy the company of kindred souls in transit, the occasional angels seeking repose, or even the tricksy garden fae. I warn you though: don't think for a second that you've got the upper hand on those faeries. While they love to dote on gentle souls, they don't take kindly to a slight.
The choice is all yours, all in your hands--do as you please, at your own pace. We needn't hurry here, love.

Come, little one. Duck beneath the soft-swaying branches of Mother Willow--careful now. She gives much to us as the gateway guardian of the secret garden--this refuge, a sanctuary to all, its gates open to all weary well-intentioned souls. We house all manner of inhabitants, be they souls of humans, fey, beasties, angels, or something twixt them. Some flit by in passing, others stay a while--there is always room for all.

I softly smile at the soul, who now appears as the ghostly apparition of a young child; a little girl who can't possibly be more than four or five years old--one lost far too soon. She clings tightly to my hand, as if I'm her only lifeline. From around my neck, I produce two intricately filigreed keys on a delicately shining chain: a gemstoned silvery one and a darker iron one. I tap the silver key to a swirling knot on Mother Willow's trunk, which shimmers before a doorway reveals itself at the base of the trunk. I motion the child to step through the gate with me.

There's a slight woosh in our ears before we emerge into a sprawling woodland clearing from beneath an arch of silver willow branches, the bright noon sun shining bright overhead. Many critters take pause from their activities to take in the new arrival, offering polite nods of acknowledgement.

A tall, tan-skinned angel, his brown hair and silver halo twined with wildflowers and lavender sprigs (which means the youngsters got to him again, as usual), sits in the grass not far off; his fingers are soil-flecked from tending to blossoms around the garden. Noticing us, he gently whispers a few words to the fey and souls chattily gathered around him before approaching us in greeting.

Wings folded, he is garbed in soft purple robes trimmed in gold thread--which are, miraculously, completely spotless--grinning as he drops to a crouch to look at the little girl with kind hazel-gold eyes. "Why, welcome one and welcome all. Who do we have here?" Despite his efforts to speak softly, there's a kind of old-timey heavenly announcement resounding quality to his voice; it's a booming cadence that certainly carries far.

She is speechless, soundlessly pointing at the halo floating above his head.

"Yes darlin', I'm an angel." He chortles in laughter, looking to me. "I like this one."

I roll my eyes at him. "You like all of them."

"Guilty as charged." He sheepishly shrugs before sticking his tongue out playfully at me. "I'm a total sucker, I know. It's just hard not to be, you know?"

"You're such good-natured dope, Vee." I shake my head amusedly. "Some of your kind could learn a few things from you."

He chuckles. "Correct on both counts. My brethren enjoy a high horse and a swollen ego mayhap a bit too much."

I turn my attention back to the little girl, who's let go of my hand to tug inquisitively at the angel's shining robes. "Well, little one, this overgrown housebird's Veiss; he's an angel of rehabilitation. I wouldn't usually recommend tangling in a heavenly being's garb, but he's harmless even on a bad day." I smile teasingly at him as I bend down to ruffle the little girl's hair.

"Heim, I think your garden's been calling you all morning." Veiss smiles as he offers the child high-fives and the chance to sprightly twirl under his arm; she happily skips under, cheerfully giggling the whole time. "I can take this little one off your hands since the best bites and refreshments won't finish their first batches for a bit; you'll probably keep her attention longer with a treat or two when you give her more of a tour around here."

He's not wrong. I did want to see how my new cultivars and variants panned out; the recent planting requests left my greenhouse operations nothing short of slammed. "Just don't scare her off, she just got here." I laugh, a little bit relieved. "You're a lifesaver."

"Anytime, brother." He turns back to smile at me once more. "Let me know if you find anything interesting with the lavender specimens--I'd love to see them!"

I throw him a thumbs up as I walk away, already hustling my way over to my greenhouse at the fringes of the glade.

See, the residents of the garden are free to cultivate anything their heart desires; it is always growing season here. Many folks, during their stay, devote their time to certain projects, be it existing areas here or rather a new idea of their own. The garden always expands to accommodate every need and want of those here--areas are rarely redone once they've fully grown in. In fact, it's always delightful to see what inspires those who have come, gone, or stayed. Some are prim and tidy, with militarily neat rows and landscaping; others are explosions of pure botanical chaos--both approaches equally valid.

This greenhouse is my happy place, a quiet oasis of study and careful cultivation. Here, I study apothecarial herbs and breed new plant strains; there's just about every plant you could think of! In an adjoining lab space, I have bins and bins of study notes, the most pertinent of my works meticulously catalogued for easy access.

I may not have angelic powers in my arsenal, but I have a green thumb and a sprinkling of otherworldly skill; I'm oft the one tailoring plants to souls' specifications, quickly raising the seedlings to maturity. The more difficult cases I hand off to Veiss to deal with; he enjoys the spectacle of bibbity-bobbity-booing those tough undertakings away, anyhow. He's a real helping hand; I appreciate having him around whenever he's here from time to time. He returns damn often; not that I'm complaining. He's more than a welcome sight.

Donning a gardening apron, I walk among my rows and rows of potted plants with a notebook and pencil tucked under my arm, humming to myself as I gently examine leaves and stems. This is where the magic happens. I pause before the doorway to the lavender room, almost wistfully; the calming aroma washes over me. I laugh to myself before moving on, rolling my eyes. Silly feelings can wait.

I move on to the cultivation room, wherein the overhead sprinklers spring to life; they leave the air softly misty. It's a delightfully familiar feeling, one that I'm well-accustomed to working in. Even in the mist, the buzz of the honeybees from plant to plant, dancing among the blossoms as they go about their work; I offer them a word of thanks as they flutter about me in greeting before returning to their beebox hives. I hurry over to the bleeding hearts and fuschias, my hopes high. I'd received a request to cultivate some soft peachy blooms of these varieties and they'd taken a few more tries than usual to get right; the last couple of batches came out too dark of an orange or too coral.

I think we might've got it! The buds are more of a tangerine or true orange, but the petals on this batch are gorgeously soft in their peachy coloration; they are nothing short of a sight to behold. The mist from the sprinklers beads on the blooms, reminiscent of sparkling morning dew. I wheel a delivery cart from the corner of the room, park it by my side before loading up the flowers in.

I check in on a freshly-bred pastel bird-of-paradise, which--as I'd hoped--turned out beautifully. The prismatic tulips are marvelous, shining like mother-of-pearl in the sun. The periwinkle wisteria, the white and soft teal columbines, the sunset ombre orchids, the iridized triliums--check, check, check, and check. In this batch alone, there's thirty-three plants--flowers, greenery, and vegetables alike--grown to specification and ready to send out to be planted in the residents' gardens. There's still a good batch of requests that didn't pan out (fifteen or so), but I'd say this is a job well done; I'll be sure to hold back one of each for future breeding purposes and just in case they request more. Wouldn't be the first time someone's underestimated how many plants they'd need, nor the last.

I conjure up new pots to replace the delivery plants and prep the new seeds for those pots, getting them all set up for the next greenhouse growing cycle. It's a soothingly methodical work: tamp down enough soil for each pot, furrow a little divot for the seed with gloved fingers, nestle the seed in, and push the soil back cover it right up.

Once I've prepped the next round of seeds, I wheel the three-tiered delivery carts (five of them, copper with the characteristic rustic dings of bumpy journeys, linked together like a winding botanical train) over to the main garden hub: There's one last leg of the trip to the pickup stand, where I gently set the pots in the glass-doored stasis lockers. I ask the messenger motes to notify the initial requester and, after looking at a clipboard to do one last round of checks, remind them which resident corresponds to which locker. They pulse their flickers in acknowledgement before setting off.

I let out a sigh of relief, take off the gardening apron and set off to find Veiss and the little soul.

The day ages into the late afternoon, the sun lowering in the cloudless sky. I find them sat in a circle amongst some of the other souls, playing group games and laughing noisily.

Veiss, seeing me, breaks away from the group with an ear-to-ear grin. "Ah, you're back--about time! She's fitting in just fine here."

"That's good to hear." I smile back, subconsciously dust off my hands and gardening trousers. "Anything fun happen while I was away?"

"I worked some of my magic and gave her a kind of "adult translator" so it'd be easier for her to get what's going around her; she's just... so young, you know?" He's somber for a second, but quickly reverts to being all smiles. "And that way we old-timers can communicate better with her--it's just so easy to fall back into the too-lofty ye olde, ye olde speak and that does not fly well in the youngster brain airspace. Our age, it shows... it most definitely shows." He laughs, runs a hand through his hair sheepishly.

"Well, thanks for that--seems like it's doing the trick." I smile back, but my eyes are on the soul and her playmates; all of them are youngsters, ten and under. They've kept on with their merriment, but have switched to chasing each other over the grass. "Anything else I should know?"

"Her name's Janine, but she goes by Janey. Last thing she remembers being in the car, so a crash seems probable; I didn't want to push her too hard for details. She liked to sing and dance and loved her puppy at home very much." He rattles off the info without missing a beat. "Absolute sweetheart, you're gonna love her when you get to know her better. Bit of a curious cat, but she is a gal after my heart with her love of violets; I see nothing but good choices there."

I laugh at the second half of his description as I fidget with my hands; they're in my pockets, then one at my hip, then clasped, and then who-knows-what. "Damn, did you interrogate her?"

"Yeah, I rolled out the chains, whips, nail-pullers--just about everything for that lil fiend." He rolls his warm gold eyes at me. "You know this rodeo better than I do. The littles love to talk and tell you everything about themselves; I just happen to find it sweet and delightful."

"Fair point." I snicker at his response. "Care to join us for the tour? Sounds like she's plenty comfortable with you and it'd be good to have you around."

"Of course. How could I say no?" Veiss seems to light up at the prospect, quickly gesturing the little girl over. "Come on, Janey! Let's show you around and get you settled here."

I shake my head in amusement. "You are such a dad to the littles."

He throws me a mock-offended look. "Me? I could never."

I would retort, but Janey's already said goodbye to all of her new friends and made her way over to us. She looks up at us two expectantly, ready to rumble.

We toss each other knowing looks, each grabbing one of her hands and walking toward the pleasant smells of the plaza square. The cobblestone paths are dotted with stalls aplenty with every mouthwatering, delectable bite that anyone could dream of, manned by talented souls and fey alike. Janey squeals in delight as the baking vendors warmly dote on her and offer her samples of their latest batch of creations.

Guess showing her the Littles' Village will have to wait; her quaint little cottage isn't going anywhere, anyhow. I think bemusedly to myself. We might be here a while.

Watching the sun set overhead at the lake, I sit with Janey and Veiss, our legs dangling over the edge of the dock. Veiss's long legs tip tap the water's surface as he gently swings them back and forth, rhythmically keeping time. Janey's wolfing down her third custard cake, taking sips of a sparkling mint water between bites.

It's so pleasantly peaceful; I could spend forever like this.

She turns to me, still bubbily full of questions--even after the tour: Could I tell her my name again? What was I? Was I an angel like Veiss? Could I explain exactly where the garden was? How long could she stay? Where would she go after?

So I get to talking, patiently smiling and marveling at her curious wonderment. Veiss knows all these answers, but he seems to hold on to every word, nodding along understandingly.

My name? It's been long lost, dear sweet. In these times, I prefer to go by Heim.

I've been tied to this garden since the advent of my existence. I am long-lived, you see; I have seen the planet ever turn on its axis, watched aeons wax and wane under the light of the same sun. I am the ferryman, proffering passage with utmost sincerity to the souls most in need of our care and kindness. I hold Mother Willow's keys: one to bring souls through our gates, one to send them to their next journey.

It is a difficult calling, but one I so dearly love. Here, we are without judgment, coming from all walks of life and adversities. I do not always personally bring souls to the gateway--wisps are oft gentle shepherds to dear souls like you, but I will always be there to unlock the gates and greet our souls. I do make every effort to bring the youngest across myself, as they deserve a gentle welcome, one that assuages their fears with warmth and goodness. Little one, know that I mean every word: you deserve so much and I hope you thrive under our care.

No, darling, I'm not an angel--it's very sweet that you think that; Veiss jokes that I'm an honorary angel, that's all. I'm a guide, a spirit bound to nature's cycles of life and death. Some call me the gentle death, the merciful end. My wanderings smooth the passage of the innocent--those brought to mortal end too soon.

I also keep watch over these gardens, this midpoint between death's door and heaven's gates. We are a mere rest stop on one's afterlife journey, so to speak; we are here to provide whatever anyone needs. Here, you can take all the time you need; if you wish to grow up under our tutelage and guidance, we are happy to keep you under our wing until you wish to spread your wings and fly on.

You need only depart when you are ready, when you have gathered your strength and feel whole once more.

My hope is that you find peace and strength in this final crossing.