Those who dwell in the snake plant hide behind sun rays and dance upon starlight. On the backs of cardinals, they ride to battle against the dust sprites who lurk under the pothos. The lords of the purple passion plant look on from the mantle, amused but uninvolved. The tiny denizens of the herb seedlings on the countertop count the weeks until their training is complete and they can step forward to end the scourge of dust and mystery debris the humans wake to every morning. Their plan is dependent on the seedlings reaching maturity. This event seems unlikely, given the black thumbs of the humans who reside in the home realm. Frailty means certain death. The herb seedlings will perish, and along with them the tiny denizens. The creatures of the pothos and snake plant will live on, resilient, and the dust will continue to plague the home realm.
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