Withered Garden: Introduction to Lily

A once-lush garden, now overgrown with weeds and shrouded in an atmosphere of melancholic silence; withered flowers stand in stark contrast to their former beauty, their petals faded and their stems brittle. The air is filled with the sweet but melancholic scent of decay, a reminder of beauty's inevitable decline. An eerie stillness hangs over the garden, broken only by the occasional rustle of wind through the withered leaves.
And so you enter the once-beautiful haven, now choked by decay and overrun by the silent remnants of past blooms. The withered flowers whisper tales of love lost, hopes dashed, and the ephemeral nature of beauty.
There’s a spectral figure, a guardian of the garden and its memories, forever tending to the withered blooms.
You’re not sure what to say. So you immediately remark, “This garden looks like it needs some serious work.”
The specter answers, “It has been many seasons since anyone tended to this place with care. The roses, once vibrant and full of passion, now droop limply from their thorny stems. The lavender, once fragrant and inviting, has given way to weeds and thistles.”
“But what about you and this garden? How long has it been here?”
Her gaze drifts off into the distance, the weight of years etched on her face. “Time, in this place, is measured differently. Seasons blend together, each one a slow, sorrowful march towards decay. I have tended this garden for centuries, watching generation after generation come and go.”
You ask, “Was there a favorite point in history of yours with this garden?”
Her voice takes on a hint of nostalgia, her black eyes clouding over “There was a particular era, a time when the garden was at its peak, teeming with life and vitality.
“How did the flowers look, then?”
“The roses, they bloomed in every shade, their velvety petals glistening like jewels against the sunlight. The lavender swayed gently in the breeze, releasing whispers of sweetness that seemed to carry the secrets of the heart.”
You suggest, “There were probably even bees and butterflies. The sun was probably warm and the sky blue.”
A faint smile crosses her pale lips, her gaze drifting away, lost in thought. “Yes, the garden was alive, teeming with life. Bees danced among the blossoms, collecting nectar from the sweetest blooms."
“And what was your favorite thing to do in the garden when it was at its peak?”
“My task, much like now, was to tend to the garden, ensuring its beauty was not forgotten. During those days of vitality, I found myself drawn to the quiet corners, where the wildflowers bloomed with abandon, their colors a testament to the untamed essence of life.”
Then you ask, “So did you have a name when you were living, before you shifted into this new form of existence? Is she a ghost of someone who once lived? You’re not sure.
She pauses for a moment, considering the question. Then, with a soft sigh, she replies. “Names hold great significance, especially for those who once walked among the living. However, my identity in this realm exists separate from the one I bore in mortal life. To use my earthly name now would feel akin to wearing someone else's skin, an uncomfortable reminder of a life long passed.”
“I just feel strange referring to you as the spectral gardener.”
Understanding dawns upon the specter's features, and she offers you a warm, reassuring smile. Her voice takes on a tender lilt as she speaks. "I understand completely. If it brings you comfort, you may address me simply as Lily - a name that holds no attachment to my past yet feels fitting nonetheless."
It works for you. “Lily, like the flower. Very nice! I like that.”
Lily's eyes shimmer with gratitude at hearing your approval of her chosen moniker. She gives a slight nod, confirming her satisfaction with the decision.