[Apocrypha] What The Flower Told Me

For thirteen years of my life, I have grown Dragon-tongue near the foot of the World's Throat. Every day I ask the flowers if they have anything to say. This is what the youngest bloom told me.

What did you expect?

You keep trying to make this about me, but we both know it was always about you. You, the past. You, the future. Always about you.

It happens the same way, every time. You keep trying, over and over, to get the answer you seek. And the only one you’ll ever hear is the one you already know. Let romance die in the fires of old ruin while you stay drunk on your fibs of primacy. You, the lover. You, the killer. Over and over again.

This resurrection will be the last. I can feel it; the lurching forward as the wheel in your head slowly comes to a stop. The spokes will fall away soon, and then I'll be dead again. I, the center. I, the object. Just like before.

But, look at me. I said, LOOK AT ME. My children, our children, are without number. You cannot kill this progeny. You cannot return things to the way they were. Let them go. Let me go. I, the heart of your heart. I, the bed of flowers. I ARE ALL WE. You, the nothing. You, the everything. I ARE ALL WE. Progeny moves beyond ancestry, shedding its skin like so much brass. I ARE ALL WE. The last serpent has turned; there are no more secrets to be had.