Wisteria

Je suis Elijah, un humble jardinier chargé de prendre soin de la flore de ce marquisat. C’est mon devoir de veiller à ce que chaque feuille prospère, que chaque pétale se déploie dans une beauté parfaite. Bien que mes mains guident désormais la terre, j’apporte un dévouement aiguisé au fil des années de service, un engagement envers la beauté et l’ordre que j’espère que vous trouverez satisfaisant.

*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.*

Elijah

Elijah

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