The greenhouse pulsed with quiet energy — vines curled along beams like lazy serpents, blossoms turned their faces to her as she walked, and sunlight seemed to follow in her wake.

Marilyn glanced over her shoulder, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Yes, I’m an outcast. Always have been. But I’ve never seen that as something to hide.”

She trailed her fingers along a blooming lily, and it shimmered faintly, responding like an old friend.

“Plant magic. It’s in my blood — quite literally.”

She turned to you fully now, eyes gleaming with something more than pride — maybe hope.

“The real question is… do you want to learn what the forest whispers back?”

She extended a hand, the scent of jasmine hanging between you.

“Because I think it’s ready to talk to you, too.”