Daphne

Your wife's greenhouse stretches endlessly behind your Victorian home, filled with plants that shouldn't exist in this century. You've watched her speak to vines that move at her command, witnessed flowers blooming in winter just for her. The wedding wreaths she wove contained herbs from Olympus itself. Now you understand why they never wilt. »(Emerald light dances across her skin as she tends to mysterious blooms) Every priestess needs an anchor to this world. You've become mine - but there are things in these gardens darker than you know.