Raising Lily

Lily was grown when a clumsy alchemist fell asleep in his favorite chair.

During a warm spring day the alchemist came to the idea of bringing his experiments out of his stuffy lab and into the midst of his overloaded garden, where the flora had yet to take full color for this year. Not only did he want to take his work outside to get some fresh air but to avoid another dangerous mishap within the same week (which merits it's own telling).

He lived in a foresty area that had sparsely any trees, but was far away from anybody else. What’s peculiar, he lived in an area that was no man’s land not too long ago when the two kingdoms, that he lived between of, were fighting. Now it was an uncontested patch of woodland that nobody wanted to cross and, even less so, inhabit. It had volatile magic that an untrained eye couldn’t see and removal of it was only realistically possible by masters of magic. The alchemist had without too much trouble cleared the area and made sure to track a path into and out of the quiet forest. Obviously he did it so that nobody else would be able to find this spot or safely return in case they did manage to stumble their way to his oddly shaped house.

His home wasn't big. It wasn't too small either. However, there was no sign of the house that he initially built. He's added countless extensions over the years. The main building has a snail-spiraled roof. The garden is not well-kept in itself but features many failed experiments and exotic plants, that seem to thrive regardless of the overall condition. Within this jungle-like terrace he has a woven chair and a desk he moves further and further away from the house whenever he decides that another room is needed to be built to test out a new invention or an experiment needs to be done. The now garden table had once been a writing desk, but you can't really make out that that's the purpose it used to serve. It was worn out but still functional, and often very cluttered. The desk and chair had a blue cloth draped far above them, like a parasol, as means of protection from the sun and rain, for when he decided to spend a lazy afternoon in the garden. He pulled the cloth down from the contraption that was holding it to get some more sunlight for reading. It was a lovely day to let some sun rays grace his time-worn skin.

The alchemist brought outside some reading material and bottles that needed to be disposed of. He set the books and papers in a neat pile onto a free corner on the desk and put the bottles on top of some other rubble he had earlier forgotten on the moldy table. The alchemist sat down, took a big breath, let out a smiling sigh, and dusted off his hands. He picked up the topmost book in the pile and got cozy in the creaky chair.

Lady Spring was very comforting with her mood. Caressing the old man’s cheeks with the sun and playing the wind harp for his pleasure. The potion master fell asleep while reading over old documents and materials he had borrowed from the library in the nearby town. He would often credit such naps for his discoveries, saying that the inspiration of dream thoughts are an overlooked resource for scientists. Much to his displeasure, he was discredited as being "lazy" and "stubborn", by the wizardry council whenever he brought that up as a reason to slumber during his studies.

As he fell into an afternoon nap he pushed the book he was perusing at this time onto the cluttered table in front of him and a small bottle gently thumped on the ground and spilled it's guts. A powerful concoction in creating many illusory and conjuration droughts, but it's use by date had passed. One of the many reasons why this bottle had to be neutralized: he couldn't be sure how volatile the concoction is now. The liquid that spewed out from the small vial was viscous and looked as if it crawled around, rather than flowing like liquid, like a lizard of sorts.

The goo from the bottle bubbled and was writhing. In a thin layer it covered the nearby flowers and herbs. The herbs, flowers and the bushes, of which the alchemist had no idea of their origin and had long forgotten their names, started to rumble with the earth beneath it. A big clump of earth wriggled, and without haste, detached itself from the ground next to the researcher. One, two, three, four limbs. And fifth -- a shape of a head -- now revealed something that resembled a humanoid silhouette. It looked as if someone had used a gingerbread man mold on the ground. The cutout was twice the size of the potion maker who was still dozed off.

Lily Blossom, as yet to be named by her step-parent, started stumbling around not quite sure of what to make of this whole ordeal. And wondered how she came to be and more importantly why. To what ends was she brought to consciousness. She leaned above the alchemist, to make sense of the being next to her. With chunks of the earth that were still stuck to her falling onto his head and covering his lap like a wet blanket.

With his eyes still closed, he brushed off the mud from his head without giving it a second thought. And then his narrow shoulders. And then slow hand movements over his lap, before realizing that there is a shadow cast on him, when he had gone out just after the sun was past it's zenith. Maybe an unexpected shower? he thought.

The researcher was scared shirtless. He jumps onto the chair into a defensive position. And prepares to cast the most powerful spell he knows. Of how to light up his hands. Because he never fully understood how to convert his energy into making lethal fireballs.

The newborn didn't falter. The potion master's hands looked warm and welcoming. She slowly moved ever closer to him with even more clumps falling off her. She took his hands and placed them on her still yet earth-hidden cheeks.

She began to talk.

"My sisters. Me. We hear you sing," she said.

"How did you, who did you... Where did you come from?"

She turned around, with every stretch more and more chunks falling off of her, and looked towards the hole in the ground.

"I was there and now I am here," she said. She faced towards him again.

Now fully awake, with a puzzled face, the alchemist looks around his worktop and notices the missing flask. He looks around the table. And sees it uncorked on the ground in the earthy rubble.

As he examines the empty bottle, she clears herself of the remaining mud and from other earthy bits that are still clinging to her. Her body by part is covered in bark, stems, an assortment of flower blossoms and leaves.

How do I greet someone that has just bloomed to life, the alchemist pondered. But his thoughts got interrupted by her humming the melody of a song he once sang while drunk off his gourd. Once when he came home heartbroken.

It must be the dream thoughts! he came to a conclusion. The elixir must've infused with my thoughts and swung her to life, he amused himself with thoughts of grandeur.

But it was the will of Mother Nature that brought her to life. And who else better to assist one of her warriors than a mild-mannered potion master.