[ WP ] You declare to the heavens that you will never fall in love . Aphrodite herself took it as a challenge .

The gardener crouched, a still air surrounding his form as he slowly pruned the bush in front of him with a set of garden shears. He took great care in removing the parts that were dying, that were diseased. The whole greenhouse was lush, vibrant greens swaddling bursts of red and blue and then giving way to earthen brown and the grainy textures of wood. It had gotten late, but that barely mattered to the gardener: to him, time waited for him, served only him. 
 
 His hand froze, and the gardener blinked. Carefully, he stood up, and looked out toward the horizon. The sun, blanketed by clouds, cast myriad brushstrokes of golden hues across the sky's canvas. The gardener took this sight in with a calm contentment, and as he did, his thoughts turned to his life. With pride lining his smile, he remembered a wordless declaration from decades past. 
 
 `` You should n't say such things,'' the wind whispered beyond the glass in front of him. `` I do n't believe you.'' 
 
 The gardener paused, face blank as he continued to stare out at the coming dusk. 
 
 `` If you're referring to my thoughts, I believe I can think anything I want,'' the gardener replied after a time. `` I am the master of my own mind. Who are you to say otherwise?'' 
 
 `` Aphrodite,'' the leaves rustled. `` I have known you for a long time though; in a way, I've known all mankind for a long time. I've been waiting for you to get here for eons, I suppose.'' 
 
 `` But why now? If this is about love, about my disdain for it altogether, then why not back in my youth, when I decided that I would never love?'' 
 
 `` Because I knew you were lying,'' the stars shimmered. `` Because I thought you would see that too, in time; I did n't think I would have to intervene to show you that you will. I did not think I would have to make you.'' The gardener frowned at this, raising an eyebrow. 
 
 `` I do not love, I have not loved; I will never love. Not my parents, any woman, any being in this world. I am above it all.'' His smile returned, the pride stronger and held front and centre for Aphrodite to see. `` I am above you.'' 
 
 Flora spun and surged, and the palm tree nearby parted itself gently, wooden flesh writhing as it bubbled out. Bark turned to cloth and wood to skin, and before the gardener stood a buxom woman. A body that curved in and out in all the right ways, and half-lidded eyes promised secrets and desires. `` I know you are interested in the fairer sex,'' the glass trembled. `` I can feel it in the pulse in your veins. This one, one of your patients. Before you tended to your gardens, you tended to peoples' minds. You helped them, earnestly trying to heal their broken souls. I know this, as I know all things.'' But the gardener waved a hand, only appearing annoyed. 
 
 `` As I said, I am a master of my own being.'' And with that, the woman dissolved, skin turning to ash and leaving behind a sense of emptiness. `` That one was barely human anymore - operation after operation, turning herself more and more hideous with each passing year as she strove for beauty. No, she embodied sin and corruption.'' 
 
 The soil shuddered, and rose up. A figure emerged from the dirt, perfectly clean and almost shining. A warm and familiar smile greeted the gardener, and he was almost taken aback by the girl in front of him. 
 
 `` I knew her long ago,'' he mused, looking upon her face. `` We were friends.'' 
 
 `` She wanted more than friendship, did n't she?'' the dusk's dew sparkled. `` You considered it, took an interest in her. You were closer to her than to anyone else.'' 
 
 The gardener scoffed at this. `` I examined her during our friendship and found her lacking. She was impure. I could not hold her to my own standards, as she had malice and selfishness inside her, born from her time in this world.'' At this, the woman froze, skin turning to granite. Her smile remained, but the man was left with a sense of loss. 
 
 Aphrodite was silent for a bit. The gardener began to think that she had left him and this woman turned statue for good. 
 
 `` I can make you a woman,'' the womb of the statue pulsed. `` I can make you the perfect partner, untainted by humanity, unspoilt. I can take her, and lock her away from the world. She will grow up knowing only you, loving only you, living only for you. Your name will be what she utters as she sleeps, and as she wakes. This is within my power. This shall come to pass.'' 
 
 `` She will never be my equal,'' the gardener replied immediately. `` I could never respect someone that lived for me, and not for themselves.'' The statue's womb fell silent, and crumbled, cracks forming until the woman's face was unrecognisable. 
 
 He smirked, his smile still prideful but oddly hollow. 
 
 `` I have won. You can not make me love.'' 
 
 The wind roared outside, slamming into the greenhouse and the home it was built onto and buffeting them. 
 
 `` You have turned your flaws into a victory for yourself, claiming you are above nature! You will not let yourself love due to impurity, yet you can never accept perfection,'' the sky howled. `` You prideful man, you think yourself pure?!'' 
 
 `` I have chosen never to love because I can never accept something that has been tainted, even if that is the way of the world,'' the gardener said through gritted teeth. `` I would rather never love than love something that is wrong.'' 
 
 Branches twisted and grasped the man's chin in the form of a gnarled hand, raising his face to meet the heavens where unseen eyes lurked. `` You say you can not accept impurity, that it is an impossible obstacle to you,'' his own heartbeat thundered. `` Yet I shall show you your own hypocrisy, your own folly. I will make you see your love.'' 
 
 The hand fell away, as did the branches that formed it. The bush went next, leaves browning and falling. The gardener whirled in panic as one by one the plants of his garden died, bark splitting and greenery shrivelling and curling up. 
 
 He was alone. The thought struck him as strange. He had been alone before, and was alone even during Aphrodite's visit, so his feelings truly puzzled him. He crouched again, bringing him level with the small bush that was now withered and contorted. The pruning shears, still in his hand, seemed pointless now - there was too much wrong, the decay too far gone. He could no longer help to fix anything. He blinked, realising drops had appeared on his hands, his face, the ground; it must've started raining, he reasoned, and so hurried indoors to escape it. 
 
 It took until the next day for the shock to lessen, and for the gardener to realise that he had still been inside the greenhouse.
