The Gardener sat in his dimly lit study, his rough fingers brushing the edge of a faded photograph. The woman in the image had cascading dark hair and a faint smile, her eyes shadowed with a quiet sadness. He studied her face for a long moment, his lips curling into something that almost resembled tenderness. “You would have been perfect,” he murmured, his voice soft and wistful.
He placed the photograph back on the desk and turned his attention to the wall ahead. It was covered in Polaroids, each one capturing a girl carefully posed and styled to look like a flower. Their faces were blank, their bodies stiff—like fragile porcelain dolls. Most of the photos were marred by thick red X’s, slashed across them in what could only be described as fury or rejection. But there were gaps in the arrangement, empty spaces waiting to be filled.
His eyes lingered on one of the gaps before a smile spread across his face. June’s face flashed in his mind—her dark hair shining in the moonlight, her soft features untouched by the ugliness of the world. She was the missing piece. His Orchid.
He thought back to the night he had found her. It had been perfect. Serendipitous.
He’d been scouting the outskirts of town, parked just far enough away from a popular teen hangout spot to remain unseen. The thrill of the hunt had electrified him, as it always did. He stayed in the shadows, watching the party unfold. Girls drifted in and out, their voices shrill, their movements careless. Most of them were wrong—too loud, too brash. He despised how polluted they were.
And then he saw her.
June.
She stood under the porch light, laughing with her friends, the light catching on her long, dark hair. There was something about the way she carried herself, something graceful and understated. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a soft melody, cutting through the noise. She was vibrant yet delicate, like the orchid she would become.
He had no intention of acting that night, but when she stepped outside alone, it was as though fate had intervened. She leaned against the porch railing, scrolling through her phone, her expression calm and peaceful. He moved closer, savoring the moment. The moonlight illuminated her face, highlighting her natural beauty. She was flawless.
When she noticed him, her fear was intoxicating. The way her body tensed, her eyes darting nervously—it was perfect. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just let her feel his presence. When she hurried back inside, he lingered in the shadows, his mind already spinning with plans.
He followed her home, waiting until her boyfriend left and the house went dark. Her window was easy to pry open, and when he climbed inside, he was greeted by the sight of her sleeping soundly. For a moment, he simply watched, marveling at how peaceful she looked.
When she woke, the struggle was exhilarating. Her muffled cries, the way her nails clawed at his skin—it only heightened the moment. And when she finally went limp, her body surrendering to unconsciousness, he felt the familiar satisfaction settle over him.
Back in his study, he smiled to himself, his fingers trailing over an empty Polaroid frame. She would thank him one day, once she understood her purpose. Once she became his Orchid.