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Opening
Life feasts unto rot. Green has overgrown, choked out all else, and devours itself from surfeit.
The grove blooms so wildly that no room to breathe is left in it. I go to prune this feast before it consumes the roots.
Ending
I thinned the frenzy — and for the first time in an age the grove drew breath in every color at once.
From beneath the falling leaves comes Smara, the Emerald Gaze: "I guarded the seed of the true color. It is yours."
The feast is stilled. Only the one who wove it all remains. Chromat waits upon the throne.






