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The students had left for summer hols and Minerva could finally take a break from her tireless work. The afternoon picnic by the lake with Pomona had been particularly enjoyable with tea sandwiches and honey cakes. And there was a moment where Minerva had leaned in and almost… She felt her face burn, like she was still a school girl instead of a matron. After so long, it was as if her heart unfolded like a flower, open to possibility. She looked around her bedroom — stacks of books and parchments, bare of any personal flourishes — and she didn't want to be alone anymore.
Minerva threw on her dressing robe and set off for Pomona’s cottage behind the greenhouses. She saw dim purple light emanating from a greenhouse — Pomona must be working late. Minerva entered the greenhouse quietly, straining her eyes in the dim, strange light. Pomona, unaware, brushed her hands reverently over a still form hairy with roots and tendrils. Minerva froze, something felt wrong about that thing.
“Soon, my pet,” Pomona murmured. She leaned down to kiss a face that even marred by foliage, was Minerva’s own.
A small cry escaped Minerva, and then Pomona’s eyes were on her.