In the Garden of Eden

“Nimdok.”

The voice was sharp, slicing through the soft haze of his daydream. Nimdok blinked, the vision of the mysterious man dissolving into the mundane view of rain-speckled glass. He turned, his cheeks still faintly warm from his wandering thoughts, and was met with a figure that filled the doorway like an unyielding stormcloud.

Darcia stood there, arms crossed, her tail flicking in sharp, irritated movements behind her. Her fur, a sleek and stormy gray, caught the light from the window, but there was nothing soft about her expression. Long, jet-black hair cascaded over her shoulders, trailing all the way to her waist, its sleekness a testament to her meticulous care. Her Blacken eyes narrowed at him, gleaming with the exasperation only a relative could muster. her eyes shielded by large glasses with rather cute freckles that cover her face.

“You’re doing it again,” she said, her voice clipped. Her pointed ears twitched as if they could catch every thought he dared to entertain. “Standing there, staring out the window like a lovesick poet. Meanwhile, the weeds in the garden have grown so tall they’re practically knocking on the apothecary’s door asking for rent.”

Nimdok scratched the back of his neck, offering her a sheepish grin. “I was just—”

“Dreaming about some phantom lover again, weren’t you?” Darcia cut him off, stepping further into the room. “By the gods, Nimdok, if daydreaming paid the bills, you’d be richer than the king himself. But it doesn’t. And while you’re floating off in whatever romantic fantasy you’ve cooked up this time, I’m the one keeping the apothecary running.”

She gestured broadly with one hand, her claws catching the light. “Do you even know what the garden looks like right now? The nettle vines are strangling the herbs, the dandelions are staging a coup, and I swear I saw a toad make its throne in the thyme patch.”

Nimdok laughed nervously, standing and brushing crumbs from his shirt. “Alright, alright, you’ve made your point. I’ll handle the garden.”

Darcia’s eyes narrowed further, her tail snapping once in triumph. “You’d better. If I come back and find you scribbling another one of your heart-rending sonnets instead of pulling weeds, I’ll toss you in there with the nettles myself.”

With that, she turned sharply, her hair sweeping dramatically behind her as she stalked off, leaving Nimdok alone with her lingering annoyance—and the faint scent of rain and wild herbs that always seemed to follow her.

Nimdok sighed, glancing back at the window. His fantasy was gone, but his heart still hummed with the lingering warmth of it. He grabbed his coat and stepped toward the garden, muttering to himself as he went. “Nothing like a sharp-tongued woman to drag you back to reality…”
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The rain had softened to a misty drizzle by the time Nimdok followed Darcia to the apothecary garden. She led the way, her tail swishing with every firm step, her irritation palpable in the charged air between them.

“The rain’s been relentless,” she began, her tone sharp but edged with resignation. “Not good for business. People are less likely to come out in weather like this, and those that do—well, they’re looking for shelter, not tonics. Profits are down again this month.” She glanced back at him over her shoulder, her golden eyes narrowing. “Not that you’d know. You’re too busy writing love poems to ghosts.”

“Hey, my poems are heartfelt,” Nimdok quipped, though the defensive edge to his voice was softened by his playful grin. “If ghosts could pay for them, we’d be rich.”

Darcia snorted, an unwilling chuckle slipping through her irritation. “If ghosts paid you, I’d demand a cut. Do you know how much ink and parchment you go through?”

They reached the garden, and Darcia gestured toward the overgrown patch of greenery with a dramatic flourish. “Behold! The untamed wilderness where my patience has come to die.”

Nimdok surveyed the chaos. The herbs were barely visible beneath a sea of stubborn weeds, and he spotted a fat toad perched smugly on a cluster of thyme, as if it had overheard Darcia’s earlier comment and decided to play the part of tyrant.

“Well,” Nimdok muttered, rolling up his sleeves, “it’s nothing we can’t handle.”

“‘We?’” Darcia arched a brow, though she crouched down beside him as he sank to his knees to begin the task. “Don’t think for a second I’m doing this for you. I just can’t stand to watch you flail around like an idiot.”

Her claws worked deftly, yanking weeds from the damp soil with practiced ease. Nimdok, by contrast, struggled with a particularly stubborn root, grunting under his breath. Darcia’s sharp eyes caught his effort, and she reached over to brush his shoulder. “Careful there, poet. You look like you’re proposing to the weeds.”

Nimdok barked a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

“Terribly charming, you mean,” she shot back with a smirk, her tail flicking in what might have been amusement.

For a time, they worked in a companionable silence, the rhythmic pull of weeds and the occasional drizzle filling the air. Darcia’s biting commentary softened, replaced by the occasional quip about the weather or a muttered complaint about the garden’s state. And despite her gruff demeanor, she stayed close, her shoulder brushing his from time to time, her presence grounding him.

As Nimdok reached for another clump of dandelions, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was scowling at a particularly resilient vine, her ears flicking in annoyance, but there was something unspoken in the way she lingered beside him. For all her sharp words and exasperation, she was here, in the rain, helping him.

Nimdok sighed, his hands covered in soil, and for a moment, his heart felt lighter. No, it wasn’t love—not the kind he dreamed about in his stories. But this was something. A kind of closeness, a bond that didn’t need grand gestures or poetic declarations.

It wasn’t everything, but it was enough.

Darcia glanced over, catching his expression. “What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head and returning to the weeds. “Just… glad you’re here.”

Her ears twitched, and she looked away, muttering something about how he’d better not slack off. But Nimdok caught the faint curve of her lips, a small, fleeting smile.

And in the rain-soaked garden, surrounded by chaos, it felt like a piece of home.