text: (IP) Guardian of the Poisoned Gardens Everyone knew of the Poisoned Gardens, forbidden to all but the monks who tended the deadly plants. From childhood, they were trained to withstand all of the Garden’s hidden threats. He’d only heard legends, rumors, whispers. He’d spent his whole life chasing fairy tales, certain that if there was true magic out there, he would find it. And he was finally here at last; the garden smelled suspiciously of flowers, a trap for an unwary traveler. None of the monks he’d read in his books were within sight, but that hardly meant he was alone. Booby traps, an ambush; his fingers twitched, itching to free his weapons from their sheaths. But it would not do to wander in unfamiliar territory with weapons waving about. He hadn’t come all this way just to die at the threshold of the garden. No, he was living to tell this tale, or he would die trying. “I mean no harm!” He said softly, and his only answer was the bubbling of the brook and the sigh of the wind. How could he explain to these isolated monks that all he’d done was follow his curiosity, eager to see where it led? It was past twilight but not yet full night; the sky was painted with a gorgeous palette of blues, purples. If the boy didn’t know better, he would’ve thought the Gardens abandoned. But they were too well-tended to be so. If the boy hadn’t been listening closely, he would’ve missed the soft, almost inaudible rustle of the leaves. Before he could so much as take another breath, he felt a presence, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. “Don’t move, or I’ll run you through where you stand!” A quiet, musical voice, female, sounded just next to his ear, rustling his hair. He gritted his teeth to resist shuddering. “Who are you? Who sent you here?” “Nobody sent me here,” He stammered; his Adam’s apple bobbed, coming dangerously close to the woman’s weapon, a long *bo* staff with a sharp, tapered point. It was gorgeous, and under other circumstances, he would’ve admired it. But right now he was too occupied with saving his own life. “Only my own curiosity, miss,” He added, and she frowned at him, eyes narrowed. Her head was shaved, but there were a few wisps of hair growing in on the sides, as if she were putting off shaving again. Her eyes were a strange, vivid purple, too dark to be natural. Her skin was olive, and he could see tattoos peeking out of her sleeves. But the thing that was strangest about her was the thick black veins that marched across her skin. She caught him staring and glared. “What are you staring at?” She snapped. “I should pluck out your eyes for seeing this place. Humans aren’t allowed, you know.” He blinked, his mind snagging on the word *human.* Did that mean that this girl wasn’t human, as he was? He’d thought he’d stumbled upon a sect of monks, not an angry, impulsive girl who looked like she had an infectious disease. Maybe his curiosity had led him wrong.