Looking at the amethysts hanging from the bows, he can already feel the juicy sweetness in his mouth and running down his chin. The emeralds flutter at him in the breeze, all so alike, but each perfectly imperfect and standing apart from its neighbours. Perfume from the flowerbeds spreads around the tree and lifts him closer.

As he notices a vine crawling up the bark, horror overtakes him; how dare this serpent even insinuate the strangling of beauty? Drawing his weapon, he steps close and after letting the sword flash in the sunlight as a warning, he falls upon his enemy, slashing this way and that, high and low until the vine is no more to be seen and the tree bleeds.

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