Blackfeather Woods breeding lilacs out of the dead land

The moment he set foot into these woods was the moment something dark curled around his heart.

They were. . .familiar, in a way he could not begin to articulate. Step by step, he felt the echoes of past lives around him. Yet, despite his reticence to continue, he did so.

And stayed.

And stayed.

And stayed.

And still he remained, after a moon's time, and had explored just about

every inch of this wretched land. Grown accustomed to the lack of sunlight. Found the phosphorescence and the strange, chemical trees;

He was at home.

He hated it, but he was, undoubtedly, at home.

Caligula emerged into a clearing full of roses, the bushes and thorns surrounding him—a beautiful prison. Quite apt.

Caligula's trail had grown faint until now. 

Tiberia had skulked the fringes of the woods, not keen to penetrate their depths until she was certain he was here. And he was, unfortunately. His scent thick and clammy and tinged with something metallic - or perhaps that was the trees.

Disgust clung to her body as the shadows did her legs. They seemed to watch her as she passed, wetting her nose as she followed his most recent path.

And there he was, red roses like bloodspots against his nightfur. A relief it was to see him alive and well despite the desolate location.

"Hey, squirt," she cleared her throat in an attempt to conceal her unease. "You pickin' flowers for your boyfriend?"