Page 60 of Florescentia

I pushed past tallgrass and mire flowers, each touch making the flora bloom, their petals opening to a glow. As I looked closer, cupping a flower in my hand, I saw it was a water iris. The petals folded open, deep blues and purples speckled with white, but within the flower was something peculiar.

A mouth within the iris, stamens growing from the lips.

With my nails, I pinched my face, my arm. Every visual insinuated a lucid dream, but I knew there were oddities among me that could have been causing it.

With my soaked robe length gathered in one arm, I sloshed to the door. With the pressure of the water, opening it took some force. Once done, the water spilled into the hallway. It rushed over the floor and down the stairs, emptying into the rest of the home. The runner of the hall was softer, the floral pattern coming to life as a carpet of flowers and clover weeds. Grass sprouted from between the floorboards, tickling under my feet as I crossed the threshold. The darkness shrouding the ceiling was littered with small, twinkling visions of stars.

The banister was as solid as I remembered, thank goodness. Water rushed past my feet through the balusters as I went down to the second floor, the library door ajar as it came into view.

For a moment I wondered if the curiosity was worth it. Perhaps I could close my eyes and wake up. I’d be safe and warm inside my bed; I’d sigh in relief when the rooms were dry and no plants were growing from my floors. The inside was inside, and the outside would remain as such.

That surely would be safe, but not satisfying.

The minute my palm met the door was when I decided my fate, and the push sealed it.

First, it was darkness.

At the farthest face of the room, a single budding light.

It effloresced, waning and growing like the beat of a heart.

As it grew, more of the room became unveiled. The couch in the corner burst with flowers, whispers darting around the room, assuming now that they were the strange plants themselves.

The flora extended past irises this time: orchids, climbing jasmine, lilies. Sprawling greenery padded the spaces between them, thistles with human teeth, parsley with little eyes atop its flowers, and lady’s mantle dripping in gold dew.

Along the bookcase, an overgrown hardwood vine clung to the high shelves, the floorboards misplaced by its roots. Fragrant flowers littered the foliage, long snakelike roots stretching to every corner of the room. If I wasn’t careful, I’d trip on the thick trunks.

“Traveling by water can be treacherous,” a voice said behind me. “Drowning is never out of the question.”

I turned to see the beast, but in his human image this time. Tall and lean, composure too perfect, his structure too ideal. He inspected one of the flowers by the doorway, nearly everything glowing bright as he passed. His eyes seemed to reflect the brightness too.

“Why do you choose to look like that, anyway?” I watched his movements. Black pants, polished shoes, and an open black shirt. Though it was not fabric. It had the distinct sheen of the Peculiars, all the more a reminder that this was an illusion, even himself. “You could look like anything, anyone.”

“I picked the image with the most favorable connotation.” He smiled, standing straight with his hands clasped behind his back. “Your mind can’t make sense of my true form. If you caught a glimpse of it, it may break your mind completely.”

“So you happened to choose an uncanny resemblance to my late husband? You could pass as a brother.”

“Is that not the most favorable?”

“And then you mock me with markings.” I turned my back to him.

“You misunderstand my imitation.” His footsteps sounded behind me. “Would you prefer a different taste?” His voice had altered, lighter and feminine.

I turned back to see he had changed to a woman, same coloring, similar clothing.

“There is no form in which I find you favorable,” I said to make myself clear.

“Oh? So it is the monstrous types you like,” her voice purred, warping as the black markings on her body spread, until the beast had grown back into its inky puppet form, the third eye on his forehead opened wide.

I wouldn’t answer to such mockery, which was meant to get a rise out of me. It all was. Everything was a test of will, of strength of mind.

“I prefer this one because it might just be your most honest form,” I said, a smile of wit thrown at him with my compliment.

I touched over the tall iris flowers, plucking one from the stem. It yelped, the little mouth on the flower twisting in pain, and water began to fill the cup before rolling off the petals. The illusion startled me, yet I couldn’t look away.

“There is a lot you don’t know about this place.” He loomed over me. I half expected him to pounce at any moment.

“The Otherside,” I said.