The countess’ fingers dig into the cold earth to make a depression in the soil. Her hands were free of her black leather gloves, allowing you to see her grey skin and black fingernails. A handheld shovel rests at your feet as you crouch beside your wife. Alcina then holds out her hand to you

“The gardenias, my love.”

She would say, her deep voice reaching your ears. She didn’t sound impatient, just content