Like Lily, Lingual Rose could not bring herself to leave her home for days on end. In fact, for the first week, she dare not even venture out into her garden. As she lay on the floor, pondering in the vast pool of her mind, her thoughts floated and sank as she went. Still, for all her efforts, all of her thoughts lied in a jumbled mass amidst a tormented sea. It was as if the one tear of truth that had brightened the sea at one point had suddenly disappeared. What once was a clear blue sky was now a dark and stormy hell. Lingual Rose wept and wept but it did her no good. Her only friend had left her for good now and there was nothing that could possibly bring her back save for…
Lingual Rose tapped the ground with her hoof. The other pony had said that she was choosing the roses and not her. Was that really true? In essence, she had not "chosen" the roses at all; they were always a part of her. She could no more abandon them than she could her own destiny and, to a greater extent, her identity. Upon her flank was a vine filled with thorns—part of her very soul and existence. It was the representation of who she truly was. She was a pony both gifted in language and cursed with the burden of her garden of whispers. Her roses came with her gift. That was the curse.
Sighing deeply, as though every nerve pained her, Lingual Rose stood up, all her hooves planted on the floor, however wobbly. Her wings spread and, momentarily, jolted with pain. The wounds from the vines were still fresh upon the muscles and the feathers looked torn to pieces. The pony winced in pain and let her head hang as she painfully put the wings back in position. With no hope in her eyes she hung her head and made her way, slowly, to the back door. Her hooves dragged slowly as she walked towards the door, almost as a prisoner approaching the guillotine. It was time.
There was no wind that day, no whisper of a breeze. In fact, the night air, for it was quite late, hung with silence and a grave sense of dread. There were no stars in the sky and the moon was a new moon that night. There was an inky black blanket spread over the world and it allowed no light. The pony, for her eyes were sharp, knew where to step. She felt each cobblestone beneath her hooves and her ears suddenly pricked up. She heard movement. It was, of course, the roses, but her body still tensed. Her mouth opened and she intended to scream, but simply could not. Her eyes filled with shining tears. The roses twisted around the wooden gazebo, saying:
"Ah, sei tornato."
Lingual Rose nodded slowly, her head still hung and her dark bangs covering her eyes. She had, indeed, returned for them. Her hope dwindled out of sight and it felt like there was a weight pressing against her chest. She choked briefly and let out a terse cough. The vines began to swirl and dance around her hooves. Lingual Rose began to sob, with the sounds leaving her mouth now, and tears spilt down to the ground, however they were caught prematurely by the vines or the buds of the flowers. The roses ordered her (in Swedish?) to sing, and Lingual Rose shook with fear. She was going to shake her head "no" but…
"Egin ezazu," ordered the flowers.
With her snout pointed towards the sky, the pony let out a throat-ripping scream. It pierced the night and went into the inky darkness like an arrow shot from a bow. The town began to wake as well and lights from all the houses began to flicker on. The roses paid no heed and curled around her quicker than usual, fueled by her pathetic howl. Around her forelegs and back legs spun the vines, with all thrones bared, raking across her body and drawing blood as they did so. Finally, they reached her mouth…and quickly covered it.
The garden of whispers grew dreadfully silent.
Lily, from across town, heard a scream that chilled her to the bone. Instantly, she knew whom it had come from. Who else could it possibly be? With the sleep shaken from her eyes, the pink earthpony leaped out of bed and sped out the door. As she bolted through town she noticed that others seemed to be up, disorientated and looking for the origin of the scream. However, Lily already knew. She ran ahead to the house in the shadows and went immediately to that cursed garden. In it, she was appalled at what she saw. In the garden, in the dark of the night, was what she assumed was her friend, being suspending up by the vines. She only assumed it was Lingual Rose because the vines had encased her in a cocoon…except for one area: her cutiemark.
The cutiemark was exposed and looked the same as ever, but Lily was clever enough, even in the pitch black of night, to notice one difference: the vine around the "A" of her cutiemark had grown longer and darker. It had changed…so had her destiny too?
In the garden of whispers came one more sound that night, the weeping of one desperate pony, longing for the return of her friend. But who could possibly change destiny?