Engel was the king of this garden.<br/><br/>It spoke to him, and he expressed himself through it. Priced and desired, the overflowing Eden just on House Geslack's threshold was known as a living constellation. Other houses would rent part of it for events, and the mail boy liked to deliver even single envelopes passed the black iron fence so he could enjoy the cobblestone tongue leading to the house. With colorful threads holding blooms at different height overhead it was like running through a private galaxy in full explosion.<br/><br/>It was not the constant spring of this place that let it be adored by its master, even if the public liked to think so. Healing teas and pleasant remedies, it should all be a celebration of life, but Engel wasn't standing on such sopping sentimentality. He was more practical and ruthless. It was mirrored in how dead trees became the home of flowers. He slaughtered animals for the nutrition of his perfectly raised plants, and sent bouquets of healthy specimen to many graveyards of their city.<br/><br/>It was in his nature to understand the waiting decay in everything. They said his gift was ill-will, but he'd always called the craft at the tip of his finger destiny. He was just fate's economist, conjuring it where it was most needed, and when. And everyone has the same fate. The Spire that controls the Veil. That was why he didn't need to build his tall frame with muscles to win battles. What good is a strong heart if your lungs are rotting? And how can you hit anything if your eyes are bleeding?<br/><br/>How might you resist someone that gives you fever?<br/><br/>It wasn't by the Root Veil that their opposing house, Bremmington, had lost members, but they suspected he'd been dabbling in other skills, too.<br/><br/>He might be thinking about it when he'd drank his breakfast among the vines and the fruit, or when he talked to everyone that knew him in the bustling square at lunch. It was a small smile, that sometimes only presented itself in an air of impenetrable confidence, but it was hard to argue that the wickedness that sometimes afflicted the beautiful face was murderous in nature. Deep, violet eyes - deep, violent wiles.<br/><br/>He'd been singing to himself, a perfectly whispered whistle, and then a low song from base vocal chords, all day. It was almost like he was celebrating something vicious. His coat was gray and white, and he had silver brooches and cuffs on, it was all turning warmer shades in the orange sunset. Beautiful spider, playing with scissors through the Geslack garden. He was by the fountain, cutting a hand-full of heads to become ornaments on the surface. He'd seen something, perhaps, in the surrounding greenery, or the plants themselves had whispered to him, but something had seen him for a while too, hadn't it?<br/><br/>"Ah, such a a beautiful evening for sending Bremmington glass wine." he said to himself loudly, to draw the image of the twins of Bremmington house, sick on their birthday of coming of age, during the festivities, coughing thick water that stiffened to cut their throats. In the end stars of glass sliced their bodies open from inside, and they looked like the'd fallen from the night sky, splayed open by clear glass blades. Bremmington liked to think of it as a tragedy, but Engel would have said it was beautiful. Didn't they have ice-sculptures at that party, anyway?