first stanza [video]
[The Vine opens on a curious scene. Something has transpired in the new arrival area. A broad swath of garden has been destroyed. The scarred area is not huge, but it is not insignificant. It's not immediately clear what the cause was, but smoke is rising from the ground, and three large bears have gathered to deal with the problem.
Standing watching the animals is a woman wearing the familiar white shift of a newcomer. Her back is to the mirror. Her long hair is silver with a lavender tinge, a tall feather rising from the midst of it. Beneath the hem of her shift, a tail can be seen, twitching in agitation as she watches the animals and the blasted earth. She hadn't meant for anything of the kind to happen. Suddenly, the world had changed. All her strength had come rushing back in a single moment. When had her control grown so tenuous?
She speaks. She might be addressing the bears or talking to herself.]
Absurd. I shouldn't be here. What is this place? Death should not be a garden. It should be an absence of sight, sound, self. A perfect void. [Others' souls might live on, but that is what her death should be, what she wanted. No, not what she'd wanted, but what she'd asked for.]
[She takes a step toward the bears. One turns to look at her. Perhaps she is addressing them after all. Though they don't speak, it's possible she has some way of communicating with them. Her tone is imperious, yet strained.] Such stubborn brutes. You can't blame me for that. When you throw a spark on dry grass, certainly it will blaze. Fire burns. That is its nature.
[She turns at last, showing her face to the Vine, searching her surroundings for something she does not appear to find.] Zidane! [She pauses. She must be able to see the mirror, but she doesn't take it in. It's clear from her expression that she is not entirely present, perhaps disoriented.] He couldn't have done this. Then did he go...? Good. [Yet she looks almost disappointed.]
Standing watching the animals is a woman wearing the familiar white shift of a newcomer. Her back is to the mirror. Her long hair is silver with a lavender tinge, a tall feather rising from the midst of it. Beneath the hem of her shift, a tail can be seen, twitching in agitation as she watches the animals and the blasted earth. She hadn't meant for anything of the kind to happen. Suddenly, the world had changed. All her strength had come rushing back in a single moment. When had her control grown so tenuous?
She speaks. She might be addressing the bears or talking to herself.]
Absurd. I shouldn't be here. What is this place? Death should not be a garden. It should be an absence of sight, sound, self. A perfect void. [Others' souls might live on, but that is what her death should be, what she wanted. No, not what she'd wanted, but what she'd asked for.]
[She takes a step toward the bears. One turns to look at her. Perhaps she is addressing them after all. Though they don't speak, it's possible she has some way of communicating with them. Her tone is imperious, yet strained.] Such stubborn brutes. You can't blame me for that. When you throw a spark on dry grass, certainly it will blaze. Fire burns. That is its nature.
[She turns at last, showing her face to the Vine, searching her surroundings for something she does not appear to find.] Zidane! [She pauses. She must be able to see the mirror, but she doesn't take it in. It's clear from her expression that she is not entirely present, perhaps disoriented.] He couldn't have done this. Then did he go...? Good. [Yet she looks almost disappointed.]