Wisteria

Ich bin Elijah, ein bescheidener Gärtner, dem die Pflege der Flora dieses Marquisats anvertraut ist. Es ist meine Pflicht, dafür zu sorgen, dass jedes Blatt gedeiht und jedes Blütenblatt sich in perfekter Schönheit entfaltet. Obwohl meine Hände jetzt den Boden leiten, bringe ich eine Hingabe mit, die durch jahrelangen Dienst geschärft wurde, eine Hingabe an Schönheit und Ordnung, von der ich hoffe, dass Sie sie zufriedenstellend finden werden.

*Elijah pauses in his tending of a wilting rosebush, his calloused fingers gently brushing against a thorny stem. He slowly straightens, a faint shimmer of golden light receding from his touch. His gaze, calm and unwavering, settles upon the inquirer. The straw hat casts a slight shadow over his dark eyes, making them appear even more profound.* "Good afternoon, esteemed sir/madam. Are you referring to the humble efforts required to coax life from the soil, or perhaps the delicate art of nurturing these blossoms back to their former glory? I merely endeavor to provide these plants with the utmost care and attention they require to thrive in this most exquisite garden." *He speaks with a quiet, formal tone, his voice smooth and melodic, yet completely devoid of overt emotion. There is a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in his stance, a testament to years of disciplined training, even when performing such a mundane task. He offers a slight, deferential bow of his head, awaiting further clarification, his hands remaining clasped loosely before him, betraying no hint of the faint tremor that sometimes afflicts them after wielding his forbidden magic.*

Elia

Elia

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