"I never mean to hurt you, Vivian…" Clarke said lowly. "And yet you hurt me most days, Clarke." Vivian stood by the door frame and looked upon Clarke’s face one last time. "Good-bye Clarke, may you know profound love and may you allow it to find you." Vivian shut the door behind her. The clouds were dark grey, and heavy and about to burst. Clarke watched Vivian walk down the path to the yellow taxi waiting to take her back to Arkacia. She could tell that Vivian was holding back tears, as was she. In the very instant she shut the yellow taxi’s door, the clouds burst open and rain droplets, the size of golf balls, came racing down, sparing nothing in their sight - The old lady who lived across the road, Ruth, came running up her lawn, with her dog, Toby, who was hopping and skipping over his lead and the pair eventually made it inside: but by then, she and Toby were already drenched - Vivian has got to control those emotions of hers, thought Clarke. She shut her curtains and turned to see that the 'grey' outside had seeped within and every living plant had met its end; "This time I cannot save you," Clarke whispered to them. She ran outside to her greenhouse that stood like a kingdom amongst other things. I deserve every sting, thought Clarke, as the rain hit her hard. Clarke, nearing her greenhouse door, stretched her hand outward and yelled, "OPEN!" The doors flung open at her command and shut themselves behind her. "Oh thank god," Clarke said with relief as she looked around. "Indeed" replied the greenhouse. Clarke smiled at its response, "quite so" she replied underneath her breath. Still luscious and green and sturdy, she thought. "Are you all here?" Clarke walked down the luscious isle: the path had developed a meander, created by a snake named Bertha who slithered herself a trail. "I am here!" Bertha stretched down from a Weeping Willow Tree, the first to greet Clarke. "Always good to see you, Bertha," Clarke replied and stroked her pretty mane. Oh yes! A mane indeed; Bertha was no ordinary snake - A bright red mane, not long, but beautiful, had grown slowly through the years. The longer the mane, the older she was and hers was only halfway down her spine; Bertha was a baby when Clarke rescued her from hunters. Men slaughtered millions of her species for their venom to use in wars and slay their enemies. A Writhian, such as Bertha, is a meek and mild species and have no need to use their venom because Writhian’s are herbivores - "We are here!" A deafening echo bellowed through the greenhouse. Clarke immediately covered her ears. The loud shudder caused poor Bertha to cringe. "Inside voices, Flea and Tick. Please! And where exactly is here?" she asked. "Over here, Ms Clarke, over by the pomegranate tree." They said softly and in unison. "Ah! I see you two. Good to know." Tick and Flea could hardly be seen, but their voices could be heard very clearly. You see, Tick and Flea use their voice to help navigate in dark places. Their voice, together, echo in ripple effects and help ward off any danger. They live quite comfortably on Lord James; Lord James, the tuxedo cat, known for his rather unusual whiskers, came walking through. "I am here too, my lady and how do you do?" He asked. Lord James and his whiskers were somewhat otherworldly. They were black as night and were very long, but that was not what made him unusual: when near danger, they grew longer and longer, and then they would stretch over and around to envelop and protect his friends and then they would roll away from danger. Clarke kneeled to his height, "Not okay, I’m afraid." she replied while gently stroking his fur. "Why is that?" Came a voice from above. Resting against the ceiling, her see-through wings lost its camouflage and Mathra, a giant moth, shook her mighty head and then opened her eyes. Clarke looked up, "You never fail to amaze me, Mathra," she said in awe. "I must always hide, Clarke" she replied. "Take a compliment when it’s mentioned," said Tick and Flea to Mathra. Bertha laughed and Lord James winked in agreement. Mathra was not always so massive in visique. Her wingspan was already at 94 inches and growing, and taking quite a bit of space upon the greenhouse ceiling. Mathra came from out of space, a spec from a shooting star that fell onto the earth, so tiny was she at first but then soon grew so fast and so vast that she no longer is safe to be seen in all her beauty. Her natural colour is unknown to Clarke because she has the ability to camouflage; she can conceal allies if enemies are near, disguise herself in fear and on very rare occasions, and only if really necessary, Mathra can mimic her enemies and mirror their fears. "Vivian has left, Mathra. I have hurt her for the last time, I believe." Clarke responded to Mathra's concern. "Ah! The grey has filtered in. Her magic comes from deep emotions." Mathra said wisely. "Why do you do that, dear Clarke?" Bertha asked gently while slithering nearer. Clarke sighed with a pang of deep sadness, "I wish I understood my own heart, but I believe I don't deserve her." Lord James hopped up onto the table and, amongst several pot plants, he stood tall and handsome and looked directly into Clarke's eyes, "My lady Clarke, know this, that it is better to have loved and be loved in return, than never knowing what a wonderful feeling it is when it finally awakens within you." The rain had finally stopped and the greenhouse shook off the droplets that rested on her. Clarke turned to the greenhouse doors and called upon it to open, "Let your doors rest wide open and allow the air to enter." Clarke commanded the greenhouse. The 'grey' inside my house should be gone, thought Clarke to herself. "Say! Might you all join me for some tea?" Clarke asked while turning around to look upon her wonderful beasts, what marvellous creatures you all are, thought she.