And it was done. He broke her from the earth, and breathed warmth onto her tiny leaves, and he swore a brahmin's promise under an immediate sky. Under the watchful eyes of her netherworld nannies.
But they swore promises too. To take her back when the need arose. And it would. Because the evil wives of lovelorn kings tend to be women of science, and flowers tend to wilt in the lab.
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