Around 2pm Sunday afternoon, in the Garden, three flags have been put up. However, they were not to remain there for long…
One of Ailil, the dragon fluttering in the breeze. The Second Fiona, the silver Lion splendid. The third flag in this little triangle presentation is that of House Daireann. The Silver of each allows the different other colors to flow a bit more, though they’re spread out enough that it wouldn’t be jarring anyway…
However, as of 10PM, the flags have been removed – forcibly, or rather, flammably. A bit of a mess remains where they once stood – a smear of oil on the grass here, a sticky patch with a shred of black silk there – and around the clearing, scorch marks – though the cold weather prevented the flames from catching on the chilled ground. A faint chemical odor, overpowered by that of whiskey, and the reek of singed fabric flood the air. The smell is slowly dissipating on the wind, and already the sprouts of new grass are starting to poke through to cover the traces… And with the speed given to creations in the dreaming, some strange flowers seem to be growing from the ashes. A green stemmed tulip with silver blossom, a silver-leafed rose with vivid red petals, and a night blooming lily, black petaled but for a tongue-like extending stamen, which appears to be forked…
