Post by Brahm van Tassel on Feb 1, 2024 18:45:08 GMT -5
Brahms pushed open the creaking door to his greenhouse, a small lean-to attached to the barn with white panes of glass, their peeling paint revealing a history of neglect. Shabby chic was an overly generous label for this structure, as it was held together with mismatched screws, bits, and bobbles salvaged from other van Tassel household projects.
The atmosphere inside is a delightful blend of warmth and moisture, starkly contrasting the cold end-of-summer rain that taps gently on the glass walls. The air is thick with humidity, creating a cocoon of comfort amidst the chill outside. The rhythmic pattering of raindrops on the roof serves as a soothing melody, punctuating the quiet hum of life within the greenhouse. The vibrant green foliage glistens with tiny droplets, reflecting the soft glow of ambient light. The scent of wet soil mingles with the earthy aroma of the diverse plants that thrive in this controlled oasis. As the rain continued dancing on the greenhouse roof, a sense of tranquility enveloped the space, making it a sanctuary where nature and shelter coexist. He could breathe.
This was Agnes-free territory, making it the ideal setting for Brahm's plan. Tired of coaxing information, he was determined to extract the truth himself. Inside the greenhouse, he set about assembling his task. A shallow cardboard box with a lid, peat soil, compost, and a mister were all set down on the surface of his potting table. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew the small envelope containing the spores. Brahm carefully prepared the space for the growth of the mushrooms, selecting the perfect soil mix and placing the seeds in a tray with precision.
Closing the lid over the tray, Brahm retrieved a black magic marker from his back pocket. With focused intent, he scrawled the elder futhark rune Ansuz on its cover. However, it bore more resemblance to an italicized F. The next phase involved a spell. Brahms took a moment to center himself, rolling back his shoulders and chest, ensuring his mind was clear for the task ahead.
He repeated the spell three times, his voice a soft whisper of breath. He then took the box and tucked it under the potting table, out of sight. Turning, he fished his ancient cell phone out of his pocket and set a reminder to check three weeks from now. By fall, he could finally have some answers.
The atmosphere inside is a delightful blend of warmth and moisture, starkly contrasting the cold end-of-summer rain that taps gently on the glass walls. The air is thick with humidity, creating a cocoon of comfort amidst the chill outside. The rhythmic pattering of raindrops on the roof serves as a soothing melody, punctuating the quiet hum of life within the greenhouse. The vibrant green foliage glistens with tiny droplets, reflecting the soft glow of ambient light. The scent of wet soil mingles with the earthy aroma of the diverse plants that thrive in this controlled oasis. As the rain continued dancing on the greenhouse roof, a sense of tranquility enveloped the space, making it a sanctuary where nature and shelter coexist. He could breathe.
This was Agnes-free territory, making it the ideal setting for Brahm's plan. Tired of coaxing information, he was determined to extract the truth himself. Inside the greenhouse, he set about assembling his task. A shallow cardboard box with a lid, peat soil, compost, and a mister were all set down on the surface of his potting table. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew the small envelope containing the spores. Brahm carefully prepared the space for the growth of the mushrooms, selecting the perfect soil mix and placing the seeds in a tray with precision.
Closing the lid over the tray, Brahm retrieved a black magic marker from his back pocket. With focused intent, he scrawled the elder futhark rune Ansuz on its cover. However, it bore more resemblance to an italicized F. The next phase involved a spell. Brahms took a moment to center himself, rolling back his shoulders and chest, ensuring his mind was clear for the task ahead.
"Spore of earth, multiply and grow.
In my care, you shall sew
truth from my aunt's lips
revelations new and known.
Air of darkness, hide from sight
Let it be safe from men of might
Shelter them in your blanket tight
So none may see but me and mine."
He repeated the spell three times, his voice a soft whisper of breath. He then took the box and tucked it under the potting table, out of sight. Turning, he fished his ancient cell phone out of his pocket and set a reminder to check three weeks from now. By fall, he could finally have some answers.
