Work Text:
The garden was beautiful; pristine.
Tall specimens stretched out towards the exit, and with it fresh air and freedom.
Sometimes, limbs would wilt and need pruning and the heads of the plants would droop around on limp stems due to the lack of nutrients, but all those problems were easily fixed; trivial enough to be no longer called problems at all.
After all, he wasn’t called the Gardener for nothing.
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Ice and frost blazed their way through the garden, glazing wondrous patterns on each long-limbed plant.
Palm-sized fronds froze and grew brittle, snapping and falling down, down, down.
Cold winter air dried out his exquisite specimens but that was quite alright. He could always bring more of his lovelies, ones that were more vibrant and… fresh.
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He was running out of time.
His precious garden, which he had spent so much time on, was about to be found.
There were three sharp knocks at the door.
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Policemen entered the room.
Immediately, they focused on the blur of red amongst a forest of grotesque bodies, each in differing stages of decomposition.
His body lay there, dashed through with bright, enchanting red as his lifeblood drained.
A heartbeat later and he was dead, a bloodied rose blooming in his garden of death.