III: A SPRIG THAT BLOOMS IN THE DARK

     Cirogaan had been quite busy indeed...

     It was common that Tiago wander about the forest, even under the gentle light of the moon. It was one night such as this that he encountered a creature he had never seen before, but these whispers had already reached his ears: “Beware the Golden One”. He was frozen before Cirogaan, and yet when the demon spoke he felt a strange swell of warmth and comfort from within. He allowed the demon’s approach, and was given a charming verse:

“Do not fear, young sprite of the wood

for I come with a gift, if you will but look

So grant me your eyes and lend me an ear

might these be the last friendly words that you’ll hear,

Open your hand, do take from me this

A wonder of worlds, none like it exists

Tend it to hence and soon you will see

sprout branches of one most magnificent tree

But heed my words thus, let it not come to harm

lest you wish to live all your days in the dark

And should it bear fruit, you must make me this vow

Do not drink of its nectar, nor others allow

This task I appoint you, and if you succeed

you’ll find that my favor yield all that you dream.”

By these words Tiago was enthralled and he took the mysterious seedling from Cirogaan, their contract bound. The rest of the night they passed together, Cirogaan told stories and sang to him until sunrise. When the first ray of daylight pierced the trees, the Golden One vanished. 

Mind you, Cirogaan still paid frequent visits to Tiago in the dead of night. At times he would whisper tenderly in his ear, others he would boisterously command and denigrate him. Cirogaan somehow knew him so thoroughly: what most he desired and feared, his ambitions, pleasures. But how this came to be Tiago could scarcely describe, only that Cirogaan’s wit was unfathomable and extraordinary. His heart would flutter to hear the demon's words, from his most unassuming even to the most frightening. He had yielded himself to the demon so utterly and yet knowing this a grave misjudgment; the more was spoken and sung to him the further his caring retreated until so distant perhaps it had all but disappeared. 

"Look at you, human! How pitiful and magnificent you are! Heed my every word, for you know nothing greater than what you bear by my will alone! You belong to me now, say it be true!" Cirogaan commanded, and an enthralled Tiago called out, "Yes, yes its true! I belong to you!"

Tiago had been warned, if not threatened. Cirogaan cautioned him not to consume whatever fruit was borne by this strange tree that had taken root. And yet, only one hung from its branches. Only one. Though Cirogaan’s words echoed in Tiago’s mind, the temptation was all too great and something inside him compelled him so urgently to pluck the strange purple and gray fruit from the branch and devour it. As he sunk his teeth into it, a blackened nectar spilled out and dripped down his body. It was delicious and foul all at once, but still Tiago swallowed it down. He scarcely knew himself in those moments, for his hunger was dire and ravenous. When he had finished, he felt quite satisfied. And sick. What had just happened? What had he done?