As soon as Tea's pleased attentions turned to him, the energy sustaining that unnatural flower dried up; the bloom quickly followed suit, withering away to black and falling from her hand in a little shower of black tea leaves. She leaned in to George, drinking in his captivated curiosity.
"I was first drunk over four thousand years ago," she said conspiratorially. "By a mystic named Shennong. And I was not just a drink, George. They wrote books and epics singing the praises of the froth of the liquid jade. I was sung to the stars as a drink of the gods, offered in sacrifice, and said to be a mystical experience in my own right. Is it any wonder, then, that with that kind of worshipful devotion, I came into being?"
She smiled almost maternally; the wide-eyed interest of youth still tickled her. "All gods are born as such, whether people know they are worshiping or not."