Wicked Witch of the Midwest
Darkness in every corner. No light. A vast, never-ending abyss.

No feeling. No thoughts.

Nothingness personified.

Until- what was that? Whispers of the dead, guiding the young one through. They were his eyes and ears.

“Follow us,” they spoke, “You are safe- with us.”

A scream pierced the veil between the living and the dead. An overwhelming floral scent assaulted his nostrils. Blinding moon-light which illuminated the garden. Trapped in a nature cocoon, he clawed his way out and rose from it anew.

Then he remembered what happened. The dark alley, a short-cut he knew he shouldn’t have gone through. A sinister man, whistling as he followed. And when he spoke, his voice was like honey, soothing Fe’ha’s ears.

Oceanic blue irises devoid of any emotion as the blade stuck into his stomach. The pain, the burning pain.

“You lost the game of life, young man,” he stated, “For you are just prey.”

And then nothingness. They say a quick death is a pleasant one, but this was far from it.

Fe’ha pressed a cold hand against his bare gut. No wound. No blood. No pain. All of that was stripped away in the rebirth. The plant cocoon he arose from withered away around him, leaving nothing behind. It took him a few seconds to understand where he was.

“My… garden…”
“Yes Fe’ha… your garden. You understand now, don’t you?”
“Through my blood… runs Te’fil…”
“And their blood… spawns the seed…”
“That creates… the flora conduit…”
“So you may rise from the soil… again and again, and again…”

The young Sephyrran stood himself up. Before falling back onto the ground, his body trembling uncontrollably. Still adjusting, still trying to make sense of it.

“Why… What… How am I like this?”
“You are a Sephyrran, young one. Your people exist between life and death itself. Never truly living…”
“But never truly dying…”
“And now- you exist between that same veil. You live in the veil.”
He slowly began to understand it. His body steadying, able to stand up tall and balanced. Only to be struck with a sinking feeling. With the memory of death, came the memory of what happened after. The abyss.

“I am Fe’ha… a Sephyrran. I exist between the world of the living and the dead. But I will never… join the dead, become... what you are.”
“And so you won’t, Fe’ha, child of Te’fil’s Garden.”