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.