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    Summary

    “Good morning,” Elain chirped to the sleeping figure.
    He didn’t respond, which was no surprise to Elain. She stepped closer. The underbrush hissed beneath her feet, as if warning her not to come any closer. Gradually, the silhouette became more distinguished—the proud nose and the full lips, the long vines of hair that spilled over his shoulders and onto his strong chest.
    She liked coming here in the mornings, before the light hit, because it was when he looked the most human. When the sun rose, it would illuminate the bark of his skin, the twisted wood of his bicep, the hollow of his just-parted mouth. And she would remember that he was just a tree branch with unnervingly human-like features.
    -
    Or; Lucien VanTree

    Or; An attempt at a Prythain Little Shop of Horrors AU

    Language:
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