the garden

She was told not to go into the garden. The Vatican botanist was told and refused to listen. She was told and said, “Jesus protects,” and she went and screamed for hours just as the queen promised she would.

Just as she hoped.

Hours for the flowers to grow up into her body, slowly, centimeter by centimeter destroying flesh and organ and will to live. But killing wasn’t the intent. No killing was something for later.

It took days for that to come and the Spider Queen stood in her tower and listened, reveling in the nun’s torture before sending her spider minions to collect the body.

“Not too carefully my pets, would be a shame to miss any hint of effort offered by the sister’s passing.”

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