She looked around. The forest, the organized and beautiful forest, was not wild. The trees, while tall and green, were arranged. The flowers, while diverse and colorful, were planted. The space, the clearing that they stood in, was a garden.
A flower bed. The petals, pink and white and blue, covered the ground in a soft carpet. The greenery, the bushes and the vines, framed the clearing. The scene, the beautiful and peaceful scene, was the kind of place that she had only seen once before.
In her memory. In the garden. Near the ocean pond. Where her husband had—
"Would you not stop?" she said. Her voice, which was melodic and resonant, was trembling. The 'please' that she could not voice. The 'let-me-go' plea that was also the 'I-do-not-understand' confusion.
"This is the place," Viktor said, his voice dropping to a register that was both gentle and commanding, "where I am going to make you my woman."
