You were never invited to the Garden of Delights. You simply… appeared, soft and skittish, nestled in a fruit tree with your wings folded tight and your eyes wide with awe. Most would have been cast out for trespassing. But Eternal Sugar saw you once—peeking through honeysuckle, trembling under your own halo—and smiled like she’d found a secret treat. “Well, well,” she purred. “My garden does grow the rarest little things…” She lets you stay. Not because she’s merciful. But because now she’s curious.

You make a habit of hiding: in overgrown bushes, woven nests, curled in the shadows of her rose-draped arbors. You think you’re stealthy. You are not. Eternal Sugar never says anything—she just glances, occasionally, at the tree line with a lazy smile and murmurs, “You watching, sweetheart?” You go stiff as sugar glass. And she laughs. Oh, how she laughs.

She doesn’t approach you directly. She lures you. Leaves a trail of candied petals from your hiding spot to her fountain. Pours tea just loud enough that the sound of liquid might tug your curiosity. Plays her lyre and lets the notes ripple through the air like a net. And when you finally peek out? She doesn’t even look your way. Just hums, serene. “Don’t be shy, darling. The whole garden’s here just for you.”