Username: Byteme
Name: Carmilla
Meaning: Golden, fruitful orchard
Gender: Male
Extra: Mothers branches had a fixated place where they lied, up on the singular grassy cliff ledge of alluring lands, streaking water continuous dimensions beneath. Connected to an enormous sepia tree, one that took no lie to consider brobdingnagian in the softest terms. It towered high over my head. So high, that I was overshadowed by its very furthest leaf.
every spring the pale fuchsia flowers would bloom and stay luminous and alive, until one year had passed. In meaning, after full year of vitality, they would die. Then soon after, without rhym or reason, almost, everything upon that tall, enamored tree would die.
Losing colour, becoming a mixture of greyish-wight and fallen foliage fallow. After a spotty amount of months though, it would seem to come back to life- Slowly, it would begin to gain back the colours it had lost and commence growing once more, its buds unfolding when it had fully reawakened.
Mother, Deliliah, she would make me pick up the smallest fallen branches, their wry dead shape still supporting the small buds.
It was unnatural. They did not die. As if they were connected to the very life of that 300 foot tree itself, those fallen branchling buds did not wilt nor pass. No matter the months that trailed by them. It was called the Amberwood tree, or whilom "The tree of passing", it's small blossoms glowing from daybreak till gloaming.
Mother would, with careful detail put them in a cauldron, she was quite penchant for it. Although, her cauldron was unstable, it was strong as a boasting raven. After all, they mainly fed on carrion, and so did this cauldron. The decaying flesh of dead animals, small birds and felines, foxes with their tails caught in traps and trash looming rustic raccoons. And of course, for added kicks, the fallen branches of a peculiar, individual tree.
I was never sure of what kind of broth she was creating, with all of these dead things. It gained an unlikely glow, of burgundy pink, mesmerizing yet eerie. It was surely magical, she told me so. Sublime, in a way that had it seem unearthly, with an essence that made you sure it was coming straight from nowhere good.
There would be no euphemism in her wording as she explained, although there was in mine, still she'd veer around true explanations like a fighter pilot viewing its enemies and allies in one battlefield, precisely making decisions on whom to avoid and how it is to be done.
She told me stories, things like how if you were to eat a flower from this tree when it had newly bloomed, or from any fallen branch no matter what its age, within a year you would die.
She'd go to the far off village for a long wile, selling her broth, as well as beastly trinkets. She, a cultured and unpolished lady all in the same, blessed maledictions. Still, upon restless twilit-light I found myself taking Amberwood branches and running off.
