[La Divina]: 115.Garden

The is was a living, ancient thing, ivy hanging over it like chain mail. It is a soldier, forever sleeping, forever guarding the secrets within. It is like Eden, with its terrible fruits of knowledge, still ripe, waiting for curious hands to reach... The door is locked, as it has been for nearly a century, the key lost.
Within the walls, weeds ran wild, choking and covering rosebushes like shrouds cover the dead. The trees are bent, patterns in their bark making cold, archaic grins. Flowers grow here and there, dry and faded, tired as ones without souls.
In the center of the callous brick paths, the pathetic hills and weed kingdoms and bitter trees, sits a throne made of marble, once a bench where three children sat and laughed as they basked in the golden sun. The cold stone sinks down into the earth, the ghost of an apricot tree framing one end, a tangle of weeds the other.
It’s just a garden.
But if walls ears, this one has eyes as well, and the living ancient thing of brick and ivy is Argus, watching, watching.