I was awoken from my comfortable slumber with a tearing pain reminiscent of nails being ripped from digits. I held back the pained whimper that wanted to escape, refusing to give that thorn the satisfaction, but I couldn’t keep my leaves from curling.

Extending my consciousness out from my potted flower, my vision filled with the smug smirk of my tormentor.

“Come on out dearie, I have a task for you,” he preened.

The pain of having embers rub against my stim ground into my mind when I considered feigning unconsciousness. Instead, I compiled; preventing the curse from flaring up another notch.

My spiritual form materialized behind the man and I spoke in a low tone, my raspy dialect deliberately exaggerated.

“Come now, is that really necessary?”

Such a shame, I thought, if only the slug was dumb enough to bed a nymph. I guess that would make things too easy.

As he turned to face me, I noticed the bulge forming beneath his robe and quickly averted my gaze to hide my twitching lips.

It’s a small victory, I thought, but I’ll take it. The rancid thing couldn’t get a woman to save his life; with luck, he’ll snap one of these days. At the very least, I can make him frustrated.

“Of course it’s necessary,” he began, “you see I’m a romantic at heart–a poet if you will. And what could be more fitting a metaphor than the plucking of thorns to subdue a rose.”

Yeah right, I thought, it causes your pollen sack to tingle and you know it.

“Right, poetry.” She rolled her eyes, “You realize I look nothing like what ‘rose’ brings to mind, right?”

“Yes well... Helle–whatever is too much of a mouth full and isn’t poetic at all. Thus, rose shall you be.”

With a sultry voice and a slight smile, I asked: “You have a task for me; I wonder, what does master desire of me?”

Lust crept onto his face as he went into a daze; his eyes widened as they rove over my figure covered in a dress of petals that extenuated my curves. A strong breeze seemed enough to threaten my modesty.

His perverted blush distorted into a flush of rage as he realized the manipulation for what it was. He performed a few hand gestures while speaking some drivel of a rhyme that caused a snake of lightning to crawl up my stim.

As the jolt of agony ended, I was panting with a face flushed with a dark shade of indigo.

Strangling dodder, I screamed internally.

“That’s no way to treat a lady,” I cooed instead, with labored breath.

As his face of perverse delight distorted back into anger, I couldn’t help but smirk even as the second wave of pain slammed into me.

“The task,” he growled, “is very simple. You will sneak into the Necime family grove and dispose of a young master.”

“Just pluck whichever one I want? That won’t be too difficult.”

“No, the target is specific. He’s the son of the Necime patriarch and his second wife. He’ll be located in a tower in the outer courtyard, the guards in the area have been informed to throw a blind eye to any maiden's sneaking about. Just don’t be too obvious.”

“Oh, scared for pretty little me? Don’t you worry, I can be subtle.”

With a snort, he shoved a piece of paper into my chest. “Here, a sketch of the layout and description of the target. And don’t forget the terms of your geas.”

Right, I rolled my eyes, as if I would forget the magical spade ready to slice through my roots.

I sauntered out of the garden with hips swaying to gather my equipment from a nearby shed. I giggled in glee when the slug’s dissatisfied groan reached me through the shotty wooden door.

While I could materialize clothing to dress however I desired, the material was as resilient as a wilted petal. I strapped poisoned darts around my thigh and tucked daggers under the folds of my dress, before twirling a blowpipe disguised as a flute between my fingers.

I wished the bastard would spare a few petals to buy some decent armor or at least a shield, but my safety isn’t exactly his priority. Even if my spiritual body is destroyed, it could be reformed as long as my flower is intact. Not that it stops the pain.

Aside from the agony from whatever had caused my demise, I also feel a hollow ache for weeks before my spiritual form is rejuvenated. Often with the prickly sensation of growing new thorns, as the rotworm administers his own punishment for failure.

As I make my way through the narrow streets, I read through the provided information. A pang of guilt mixed with remorse rose as I read that the target was a sprud variant sprouted with the sacred yew.

Spruds are a mix between humanoid mammals and plants. There are many rumors of their ancestry, most believing it involved an elf and a dryad. A group of one or more spruds can fertilize a plant, usually a tree, and cause it to produce a large melon-like fruit that acts as an egg. Those born of a tree have difficulty conserving with any tree not related to their parent tree, resulting in entire communities joining together to protect an ancestral tree and its offspring.

Because of their close association with nature, most plant species view them as guardians. Adding to the fact that this sapling sprouted from The Everblooming Mother, he's’ literally a holy creature to the local flora.

I considered refusing the task, or failing on purpose, but muffled out a groan and stumbled as a result of the geas that the cursed snail placed on me. Even if I didn’t do it, someone would. I readied myself for what needed to be done.

Sneaking to the tower proved to be a simple feat, or so I thought, as I nearly bumped into a guard when rounding a corner. The guard eyed my attire before giving me a wink matched with a knowing grin.

I returned the wink and blew the man a kiss before walking past without batting an eye.

It seems this guy's reputation as a flirt is well earned if the guards have standing orders to let damsels sneak in as they please. Though I guess I should be glad I don’t have the armor and shield I wanted.

I had been planning to climb up the side of the tower and enter through the window, but considering the lax security, I decided that would be more likely to alert the guards than simply waltzing in.

The tower was tall and rounded, with battlements adorning the top. It was likely an active guard tower at one point in time but has since been repurposed as the young master's private lodge.

The door at the base of the tower was framed with an arch of stone and reinforced with ornate swirls of black metal. As I tried the handle, I couldn’t help but shake my head.

He doesn’t even lock the door when he sleeps.

As I shut the door behind me, I decided to fasten the bolts myself. This way, even if I’m discovered inside, I should have plenty of time to finish the job before the guards can break their way in or find a key.

As the door closed, all light in the room vanished. There were no windows on the bottom floors, a feature leftover from its martial history. As such, I furrowed my brow for a moment before the anther’s rising like a crown atop my head glowed with a dim golden light.

The best thing about sneaking around stone buildings is the lack of creaky floorboards, no matter how old the building gets. I felt grateful for this as I silently flowed up the endless spiral of stairs leading to the bedchamber. When I finally made it to the top, I nearly cursed at the sight of another door. Thankfully, this one had been left ajar and was easily bypassed.

The light atop my head dimmed further until it was completely gone. This room had a window and the moon would provide ample light. Drawing my blade, I crept up to the bed in the middle of the room and slowly pushed back the thick red and purple curtains that were draped around the bed’s frame to lock in the warmth.

Before I could even thrust my daggers at the bundle of blankets, the world spun. Something coiled around my arms and legs before quickly jerking me into the air. I bobbed up and down like a hammock, blowing in a breeze. The bed posted acting as the trees and myself as the net.

I heard slow clapping coming from behind me followed by a slow whistle; my face turned a dark violet as I realized my dress was hanging open. Accepting that the job had gone to rot, I dematerialized my spiritual form–or I tried to; something prevented my consciousness from leaving this vessel.

As panic threatened to overwhelm me, I did my best to act innocent.

“Y–young master Avery, I’m sorry. I've just admired you for so long and–ough.”

He placed his hand on my ankle and began to slowly caress his way upwards. A small smirk formed on my face as I remembered his weakness for women; the smirk froze as he reached the darts strapped to my thighs.

“Such a pretty flower hanging in my home,” he began, “It’s a shame it already has an owner.”

“Any chance you would just let me go?” I pleaded, “It’s not like it was personal. Just following orders and all that.”

I saw my captor for the first time as he walked in front of where I hung and lit a candle. His skin was pale white with long snake-like roots flowing from his scalp. He had sharp features that seemed to ride the line between masculine and feminine; If it wasn’t for the report I received, I wouldn’t have known if he were a man or a woman.

“I could let you go, but where would be the fun in that? Besides, I need to get a few answers out of you.”

“I can’t–”

“Talk because of a geas? Such a trifle isn’t worth mentioning.”

“He wouldn’t–”

“Know who hired him? I already know it was my father's first wife.”

“Then what do–”

“I want to ask if you’re interested in trading up with your master. I’m starting a collection of sorts you see.”

I blinked rapidly, unable to mentally adjust to the strange turn in the conversation.

I just tried to kill him and now he wants to steal me? How did he know I have a master anyway?

“Uhm sorry. I don’t have a say in who I serve. You see I’m–”

“A nymph with your corporeal body held captive.”

“And how do you know so much about me?”

“The link.”

“What link?”

“The link between you and whoever placed that joke of a geas. It’s removed by the way.”

I froze; disbelief was written all over my face. That geas had been placed before I was even sentient.

I took a few moments to consider my position. Most obviously, I was trapped and couldn’t escape. Death would likely free me, but it was unknown how long or how painful that would be. Even though I was here to kill the man, I couldn’t help the resentment from my voice as I spoke.

“Why would I trade one slaver for another?”

As if understanding my thoughts, the ropes loosened and lowered me to the ground.

“I won’t make you choose under duress,” he said, ”You’re free to leave, the geas has been removed, and you might even be able to retrieve your flower.”

“Why free me?” I asked, eyes narrowed.

“It’s simple. Your previous owner is parasitic; I am symbiotic. In exchange for your soul, you will have my protection”

I felt as if a cat had saved me from a hungry rabbit and is now trying to convince me he would scare away all the other rabbits. The soul bit nearly made me laugh; everyone knew that only the most powerful deities could use soul magic. It took me a few moments to process my new position.

I was free; somewhat. I would have to retrieve the pot my flower resides in. But then what? The witch would go after me if I don’t kill him. Once he is gone, the friends of those I harmed in the past will likely hunt me down. Leaving the city isn’t an option; the Twisted Thicket lies to the north, the rest surrounded by sea.

“Fine, my life is yours so long as you place no curse upon me.”

“I appreciate that but I’m collecting souls, not lives.”

“Fine,” I chuckled, “If you can take it then it’s yours.”

All of a sudden, the protective cat morphed into a dragon capable of tearing apart the heavens. I had always been able to feel my soul. It tethered between my spiritual and physical bodies but now I felt a segment that I had never realized existed. It stretched, twisted, and bound to–something. My face paled as I realized I agreed to something far beyond my scope of understanding.

“By the way, what’s your name?” he asked.

“I-I don’t have one”

“Then I’ll just call you Ro–”

“Hellen,” I corrected, “Just call me Hellen.”

“Excellent,” he said, “now to retrieve your body. We need to hurry; I’m expecting a guest for breakfast.”