M O R T I F L O R A
Revenge was exhausting. Oleander was already regretting it.
Hapes was a pile of manure now, but she still missed her bed. The sun in her window. The view of her garden thriving — until it became more than just pretty greenery.
One day, it was brewing potions, tonics, and the occasional poison for a cheating husband. Life was good.
Then some petalbrain decided to park his flying rock on Hapes and light it up. Now she was broke, in debt for transport, and stranded, with no idea where to go.
She didn't have contacts this far out. She was a local girl with local clients. Sometimes an offworlder tracked her down — thanks, Holonet — but poisons were always in-person, and occasionally she'd do the honors herself. Although that wasn't actually advertised.
Tonight, she would.
She groaned, dragging the unconscious brute she'd fished out of a garbage chute, vines wrapped tight around him. She'd traded a jar of her "youthful glow" tonic for directions to the shadowport. Worth it.
Down an alley, past the kind of inn where no one asked questions, she hauled him inside. He was apparently in charge of the Hapes attack — something she might've thanked him for, if he hadn't torched her entire stock.
Inside the room, the vines crept higher, weaving into a ceiling snare. She sat down, catching her breath, eating a sandwich, and briefly wondering if all this was worth the trouble.
Finally, she stood, stepped closer, and blew a faint dust into his face. It stank — enough to stir him awake.
"Wakey wakey…" she said, smiling, settling into the chair so they were nearly eye level — or as close as you get with someone hanging upside down like a hamhock about to roast.
