You find yourself at the entrance to a garden. The sky here is blue and calm, the weather warm with a nice breeze like it's the height of spring ready to bleed into summer. The garden is bursting with various flowers and colors, red roses, gold roses, blue forget-me-nots--or ordinarily it would be. Today, they all seem to be struggling under the weight of those purple vines with thorns which wrap and wind their way through the garden as if trying to strangle out every last flower there.
In the center of the garden are two identical individuals with red hair sitting at a wrought iron table in the arbor. They're even dressed the same--or rather, are mirrored--a nice fancy suit with a dark emerald vest and the design on the cape is actually in gold, a single eagle wing. One seems to be content, sipping at his tea and moving a chess piece along the board sitting atop the table as if this is all perfectly normal, nothing wrong. The other… is sweating hard, pale, struggling to breathe. The reason becomes apparent: there's a bloody hole in his chest where those very same thorny vines have stabbed into and pulled the flesh open wide, and his beating heart can be seen struggling in their grip.
The Gardens
In the center of the garden are two identical individuals with red hair sitting at a wrought iron table in the arbor. They're even dressed the same--or rather, are mirrored--a nice fancy suit with a dark emerald vest and the design on the cape is actually in gold, a single eagle wing. One seems to be content, sipping at his tea and moving a chess piece along the board sitting atop the table as if this is all perfectly normal, nothing wrong. The other… is sweating hard, pale, struggling to breathe. The reason becomes apparent: there's a bloody hole in his chest where those very same thorny vines have stabbed into and pulled the flesh open wide, and his beating heart can be seen struggling in their grip.