Flowers of Death

On the first day in Max’s home, I felt for the first time in my life a coldness that I couldn’t warm away. Not that the weather was cold, but that Max remained shut off from me. I couldn’t put a finger on it, exactly, but there was something there that made me curious about why he acted so coldly towards me, despite his request.

He spent the day in the other room, making my bed, he had said. The only other time he came out was to eat and to go to the bathroom. Neither time did he try to speak with me, and any time I tried to speak with him, he would shut me out and tell me to watch TV. Then, night came and he told me to sleep.

It felt like I had taken one step forward and ten steps back. There was no progress to be made here, and I needed to figure out what I needed to do to get him to accept this battle. Perhaps cooking him breakfast hadn’t been enough?

Starting tomorrow, I would find other ways to make Max open up to me. There had to be something he liked or enjoyed that I could offer him. I loathed sharing my hoard with him, but I could easily bring him anything he wanted. He must surely like something other than the magical TV screen.

I allowed myself to sleep the night away, though not needing to sleep, and as soon as the first light hit the room, I was up and ready to study the courtship of human friendship.

Everything in Max’s home told a story, and each item gave me some more insight into the things he liked. He had many books, though most of them looked to be on old myths and legends, others were on flower types and how-to books on growing flowers.

There was a small flower pot by one window, but there was nothing in them, as far as I could see. I poked at the soil and easily knew it was far too dry for anything to grow. I might have been the caretaker of death, but even I knew how to keep plants alive.

With my powers, I checked the state of any bulbs or seeds within the pot, and found the only thing in there were a few dead insects and soil, little else remained of any plants that I would have expected to see. With a small shrug, I figured I could start here. It was as good a place as any to start working up that friendship Max had wanted.

Putting all my focus on this task, I removed the dead things, burning them into a crisp to avoid wastage, then I brought forth some bulbs from the underworld. Planting them into the pot, I then used my powers to bring forth some water from outside, and used it to give life to the soil and bulbs. Within moments, and thanks to my powers, the pot was soon alive with several fire-red and yellow Chrysanthemum flowers.

Admiring my work, I nodded. Max would have to appreciate this.

“What are you doing?” Max’s voice came out in a tired, groggy sound. Perhaps my actions had woken him up?

Turning around, I motioned to my handy work and said, “I saw you liked flowers, so I grew you some. Whatever you had tried to grow was as dead as the souls I look after back home.”

Max looked at me for a moment, then at the Chrysanthemums. He blinked slowly, then shook his head and walked back into his room, closing it behind him without a single word. Had I been wrong about his like of flowers? Or was it because they were a symbol of lost loved ones? Was it the colours? Would he have preferred cooler tones?

Frustrated with his reaction, I march over to his room and, before I realise what it is I am doing; I bang on his door. “Stop avoiding me, Max! You can’t stay there all day!”

“G-Go away!”

I look up in annoyance. He is so stubborn. “You were the one who wished for me to stay!” I reminded him, then with a bit of force, I pushed the door open, only to find he was leaning against it. However, he is no match for my strength and I easily barge in.

“W-what do you think you’re doing!?” Max demands of me. His face is bright red. Is he angry at me?

I hesitate for only a second before I ask, “if I was wrong about the flowers, I can kill them?”

“N-no! Don’t kill them!” He hisses at me, then barges past me to get to the flowers.

I don’t understand this man at all. Does he or does he not like them? I follow behind him, watching him as he protects them from me. I don’t even have to touch them for them to die, but for some reason, he thinks he can keep me from doing so.

Scratching my head in bewilderment, I say, “I will not kill them if you like them. Your reaction, however, is the opposite of liking something.”

Max’s face burns red again, and he looks away from me. Is he acting shy now? I just don’t follow this man at all. “I like them,” he whispers, unable to look at me.

“Then they can stay?” I offer, confused. I move closer to him, my head tilting to the side curiously. “You should thank me for creating them for you, not ignore my attempts and walk away as if you are mad.”

For some reason, my words fluster Max despite me believing they would anger him. He fidgets his fingers together and lowers his voice into a quiet mumble.

“I did not understand a word of that,” I replied to him, which is true. However, he just mumbles again, this time even quieter. I’ve never known someone to act so strangely. Is he thankful? Or is he annoyed with me? I can’t quite tell, as with each word, he lowers his face so that I can’t see it clearly anymore.

After a few moments of this, I give up trying to get him to thank me correctly. I’ll only annoy him if I keep trying to get him to speak up. Instead, I try to get his attention so I can see for myself what kind of face he is making. I use my hands to lift his head to meet my gaze, but he avoids eye contact.

Despite his stubbornness, I can at least tell he is thankful for the flowers, though how he is acting is bewildering to me. I’ve met no one who acts like this in my whole life. Perhaps this is an ice-dragon quirk? I know human souls never act this way, but then again, souls do not exactly behave like any living person.

“Well, if you like them, I can make more,” I offer, lowering my hands again and looking back at the pot. There’s no more room in that one, but that doesn’t mean I can’t summon more with my powers.

Max shakes his head at me and perks up as he says, “just them are fine. I do not have a green thumb, despite wishing I had. They will only die if you give me too many.”

“Such is life. Things live and die all the time,” I respond with a small shrug. “Though I can easily tend to them for the year.”

“It’s fine,” Max insists, and I nod, relenting to his wishes to not have any more flowers. “I have work to go to in a couple of hours,” he then tells me. “You can’t come, but if you want to go out of the house, I can give you the spare key.”

I tilt my head to the side and shrug. “Work? Ah, are you a farmer or…” I trial off when Max laughs. “What is so funny?” I ask.

“You’re so stuck in the past that it’s actually kind of silly,” he teases me, moving closer and placing his hand on my chest. The coolness of his fingers causes me to shiver. “Farmers still exist, but not everyone is one. I work in the history museum, only part-time for now, but it’s enjoyable.”

I nod slowly. I at least know what a museum is, and if it holds history, then I can assume it has a lot of old things in there too. What I am not so fond of is letting Max out of my sight. Hafgan’s spirit could be anywhere. Though I should be able to sense him, so maybe Max will be fine?