Re: Rooftop floor/R1: 3:00 a.m.
"Your garden needs... attention," she said, finally deciding on the correct word.
It was no longer cold enough to snow, but the air was still too cold for roses and flowers; or it should have been; still, she touched a dead tangle of brambles beside the door as she stepped out, and it straightened beneath her hand. It was a battle for the brambles to disentangle themselves, but they did, in the end, straightening and swaying in the cool air before they began to bud.
She smiled at him. "You'll remember you said I could fuss in the kitchen?" she asked him fondly, then looked back over the garden, her fingers lightly touching one of the closed buds. There was piled glass in one corner, strewn from its neatly collected spot. In the center, broken statues and mirror frames dominated, and a mass of dead growing things. "Do you know what they were?" she asked, not yet risking the cold floor with her bare feet.
Then, after a moment's silence, she looked at him and asked: "Did your witch lock you here?"