Encounterlogs
Jacks Odd Encounter Sr Meridith 240314
Jack's mundane afternoon in his modest bedroom is disrupted when a sudden, mystical intrusion transforms his closet into a gateway to an otherworldly garden. Invited by the ethereal and flirtatious Merigold, who introduces herself as the Spring Blossom, Jack finds himself navigating a delicate situation. Dressed only in his post-shower attire and cautious of the fae's intentions, he negotiates the terms of their interaction with the wisdom and protection of his faith close at hand. Despite Merigold's allure and the promise of an escape to her fantastical realm, Jack remains grounded in his own world, inviting her instead to partake in a simple afternoon tea in his parlor.
The conversation over tea drifts from light banter to deep existential musings, touching upon the nature of existence, choice, and destiny. Jack, through measured words and careful insight, unveils the depth of his character—a man of faith grappling with the storms of life, both literal and metaphorical. Merigold, for all her whimsical power and detachment from human struggles, reveals glimpses of a past life that perhaps once tethered her to the very mortal experiences she now observes from afar. As their tea comes to an end, she offers Jack an open invitation to her world, a gesture of continued curiosity or perhaps genuine fondness. With her departure, Jack is left with the memory of their encounter, a subtle invitation to explore beyond the confines of his reality, and the contemplation of what his own story's ending might be.
(Jack's odd encounter(SRMeridith):SRMeridith)
[Wed Mar 13 2024]
In the bedroom of a Small Parsonage
The bedroom in this rustic parsonage is modest and comfortable. Up against the north wall is a sturdy, wooden bed with soft, inviting bedding; next to it, a small bedside table with a lamp. A window with simple curtains allows natural light to fill the room, offering views of the surrounding forest. The walls are unadorned save for a cross high up above the bed.
It is afternoon, about 37F(2C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing outside.
(Your target is swept into a pocket dream world by a true Fae interested in a romantic liaison
)
Jack has just gotten out of the shower, and he is standing in front of the closet picking out clothes.
As Jack opens his closet, there's a brief moment where he notices the mist begin to coalesce around his feet. Then, a rush of warm almost tropical air that rushes him as before him appears to lie, not his clothes, but a beautiful array of tangled overgrowth, flowers of bright vibrancy never seen before.
There's a low pause, a frown -- Jack reaches up, fingering the charms around his neck, and then he begins to murmur some low, quiet prayer. This isn't magic, not yet: it's just prayer, but there's concern in his eyes as he begins to scan the clothes. "God above," he says. "What work is this?"
"Are you lost?" an airy feminine voice calls from beyond the growth, out of site for now. "I can send my hounds to guide you, if you like!" it declares. It's a threat, but the voice seems to think it's offering assistance certainly. "Please, the timing is absolutely perfect, lets not spoil the afternoon," it preens.
"I need no hounds," Jack calls out. He looks around -- is this his bedroom, with a strange wardrobe? Some otherworldly place? There's a touch against the things around his neck, his eyes careful as they scan his surroundings.
His closet is overtaken with overgrowth, but the vines and roots begin to untangle, the flowers bloom and blossom, a sweet scent fills his room, and before him is a perfectly manicured lawn with tall hedges. In the center of the clearing is a pavillion, closer to a gazebo, with a set table.
Seated at the table is a woman, five four dressed in an immaculate thin white gown, adourned with a flowered crown of rich lavender and dark red flowers. She smiles at him and beckons. He'll need to...step into his closet? "Hm, I can provide you clothes. It appears you have not readied yourself for our date," she sighs with mild irritation.
"I'll take clothes," Jack says to the woman -- his eyes on her. There's caution, broadly, in his look, and he does not stop forward. "I am Jack Francis," he tells her. "May I have the pleasure of your name?" Crucifix, ankh, stone -- he fingers the charms with his fingers, scanning the area for things unseen before he focuses again on the woman with white gown and crown of flowers.
She shivers with delight. "Oh, is that your True Name?" she asks him curiously, a little glint in her eyes but she maintains a pleased expression. "Your caution is well warranted, Father." She climbs to her feet slowly, and begins slow strides in his direction. "But you must already know that the most dangerous thing you could do is bore me?" she poses aerily, her voice sweet. "Please, what I desire most is a pleasant afternoon of your company. But, I promise, the hunt always entertains me."
"Call me..." She humms. "Merigold. I am the Spring Blossom," she says with delight
"Merigold," Jack tells the woman. "And no," he tells her, his eyes flashing. "It is not." It's a low smile. "There are fare more dangerous things I can do than bore you, Miss Merigold," he tells her. "But I am content to spend a pleasant afternoon -- here, in my world. Step through, and I can put on tea," he tells her. "After all: this is my wardrobe and you are a guest," he tells the woman from the hollow hills.
Jack sees her visage switch. "You would threaten me?" She gazes at him in disbelief. For a moment rage distorts her features and the vines twist with thorny protrusions. "You think quite highly of yourself. Do you know what I am?" she poses, seeming sure that he does not. "I do not care for the ugliness of your world. If you refuse my kindness-" she collects herself a moment and squints at Jack firmly.
A moment passes and she flicks her hand, and begins to stride towards him swiftly. "Very well," she seems to make up her mind.
Now Jack begins to step back -- there is room, perhaps, for her to cross the line into the priest's bedroom, but he is moving, too. He is sketching some circle in the ground with a pinch of salt. There is magic with long ritual, but then there is quick and dirty casting -- salt to the north, the east, the west, the south, and then, as he chants in Latin, a slash across his palm to wet it with blood.
"...Are you seriously going to..." she exhales softly, impatient as she strides through the threshold and folds her arms, frankly, letting him proceed with his spell work. "If this isn't for our date I'm going to be quite cross with you, you understand?"
"If you're here for tea," Jack tells the woman, "I can stop my ritual. But a bargain's a bargain," he tells her. "You stay in this world for tea -- not more, not less," the priest says. "And when your cup is empty, you return."
"You don't need to cut yourself for frivolous things," she sighs. "I could have simply extended such an offer in my own domain. If I wished to steal you, I would do so effortlessly. There are countless servants I might send to accomplish such a thing. I admire your will, but please let us not...measure our genitals against one another so quickly," she adds. She turns and flicks a hand, vines lash out and grab the closet door and pull them close. Then, Merigold reaches over and pulls it open, revealing his normal closet. There is a rather fancy get up. Petti-coat and. Well, he'd look like either a groom at a wedding or a fancy butler. "Wear what you like," she says.
She gazes over at him. "Agreed, of course. But, if you ask me to stay I may reconsider," she says with a confident smile.
"What is it you have under that dress to measure against?" Jack asks the fae with some crack of humor. His eyes are amused, though, and then he reaches for the formal outfit. He dresses with some effort, tightening his tie, and then he stands. "The tea is this way," he tells Merigold, leading her into the parlor. There, he begins to put the kettle on. "Tell me about yourself."
Jack receives a coy smile and a wink in return. "Nothing like that, though please darling." She gazes at him one more time then moves to step out of the room to allow him to dress without her leering gaze. "Goodness, what I could share about myself would fill your lifetime and then some, would you care to focus your question further?" she asks.
"More than a name -- an interest," Jack says as he begins to fill a bisque teapot. "What brings you, Merigold, to my parlor?" Tea begins to steep as he looks over his shoulder at the white-clad woman.
She strides after Jack and flowers appear to spring through the floor, in any crack, if it's tiled it's between the tiles. She gestures towards him. "You are an interest. I grow so bored, alone in my little world. A beautiful realm," she wrinkles her nose at her present surroundings but gives him a gracious smile. She adds, "I find that I like to scour this world, remind myself of how things are getting along."
"This world is one full of storms," Jack shares with the woman. Two cups, now, filled, and he turns to offer her one. "Some of them blow from your land. Others from where the 'gods' dwell." The word is said with some humor. "Others from Hell -- right now, a storm with teeth like a wolf blows in from the Wilds," he shares. "But all of these storms are distractions."
Jack receives a raised brow from Merigold, her eyes sparkle with brilliant bright green, shifting pools of violet light. "Such a thing feels so inconsequential. Why not simply enjoy the rain?" she asks.
"Different kinds of storms," Jack tells Merigold, sipping at his tea. "They are inconsequential, though: outside threats are reasons people gloss over the cracks inside," he says. "It's not the outside that dooms a man, or a woman," he shares. "It's what is inside them. Weakness there means the wall crumbles."
"Hm," she considers what he says with clear interest, eyes gazing into his, then she shrugs. "I saw such things as tiresome, these rules you live be, they seem quite exhausting. I decided, why not make my own rules? My own world?" she sighs happily. "...You seem tired, Jack." She gazes at him curiously. "How are your walls?"
"Standing." Jack tells Meridith. "They wear down, and we build them back up," he says. "Little by little. Perhaps they are the Ship of Theseus, now," he says with a sip. "Rules aren't tiresome," he says. "They're armor. I cannot say why you retreated from world, Miss Merigold, but you did retreat. Your curiosity is a little longing for what you left behind."
She snaps her fingers. "I know that one! This cute little dove told me!" She declares. That might be literal. "You are but pieces replaced over time. I suppose I am too," she muses. "Flowers wilt and so new flowers rise from their withered form. I am always reborn new, as are you, or perhaps just your walls." She humms, her voices rings out melodious and sweet.
"Do you consider those who travelled across the seas to seek the new world in retreat, Jack?" She raises her brow, then shakes her head. "I built something beautiful and serene. Yes, perhaps I like to poke my head here and observe the amusing struggles, but why would one choose to suffer when they could choose joy?" She wags a finger. "You grow too accustom to struggle, you lose the ability to allow yourself to experience peace."
Drinking his tea, Jack tells Merigold, "Peace is fleeting. It's something we all crave -- but no, it's not something we often experience," he says. Crossing near the fire, he goes to take a seat. "I do not think my path leads to peace, Miss Merigold."
A moment passes while Merihold takes her tea and sips, she humms. "A little plain, but there's something charming about the simplicity," she notes. Then to Jack she asks, "But..." She waits a moment and strides after him slowly, moving to sit nearby. "Is this your path? The one you chose?" She seems curious, focusing on his every word.
Jack asks Merigold, "How much do any of us choose our paths?" He leans back, cradling his tea. "We make choices, but we don't choose a path," he says. "We just choose each moment, and then they all step together, brick by brick."
She laughs! "Ah! Such -mortal- thinking. Swept up in the tides of fate!" She laughs. "Why do you think I was so content to leave this world behind? This struggle fascinates me, but I want no such thing. I adore the story, but I don't wish to live it out, you see?" She gestures around her. "Ugly. It's all very ugly, but like an accident, one cannot help but look. Cover your eyes all you wish but you still peek." She sips.
Jack tilts his head. "Tell me -- what were you, before you left the world for you own place?" Curious eyes drift across Merigold.
"I was a great and mighty queen!" she declares, her voice high and songlike, flowers flush even in the face of the heat from the fireplace, they wilt and vanish before long. "No. I think perhaps I was...a child once? A drift at sea, dreaming of a better life and promises of my mother?" She wrinkles her nose. "I think I might have lived in a small village in England. Ah! The great battle of hastings...!" she declares. She humms. "In time, your origins become a story, did you know? People speak of it, they write it in books, it becomes true in a little way, you know, when they believe it."
Merigold sips her tea, it's getting low.
"If you are such a thing, it was not England, then," Jack tells Merigold. "But then I suppose there are strangenesses in time and space." He studies her as he sips his tea. "Everything is a story when retold enough," he agrees. "How does your story end, Miss Merigold?" he wonders, his eyes on her emptying cup.
SRMeridith giggles. "Stories don't end Jack. Stories are immortal! The flower grows and rots and is born anew. A new form, with a new shape, but the root remains doesn't it? Some things are eternally present, the self lingers, shifting with every telling!" She sighs happily. She gazes at Jack sadly. "I know the end of your story, but would you like to tell me anyway?"
She giggles. "Stories don't end Jack. Stories are immortal! The flower grows and rots and is born anew. A new form, with a new shape, but the root remains doesn't it? Some things are eternally present, the self lingers, shifting with every telling!" She sighs happily. She gazes at Jack sadly. "I know the end of your story, but would you like to tell me anyway?"
A sip, and then Jack finishes his own tea, setting it aside. "My story's ending is -- under review." His voice has low firmness to it, and it echoes with a little bit of self-derision. He starts to rise, noting the state of her tea. "I'd offer you another cup," he says to her. "But I know you need to be getting home."
Merigold gazes at him, the small lingering tea in her cup undrank, and gives him the faintest sliver of a wicked smile. "The offer will be thus, Jack. Knock thrice upon your closet door, a bouquet of fresh flowers in hand, and sing me a song. I shall open the door for you, and show you my world, should you desire it. But I will trouble you no more."
She drains her cup and sighs happily. "Farewell Jack. Should we never meet again, I hope you wind up happy with your ending," she graciously nods to him.
"Farewell, Miss Merigold," Jack tells her as he leads her back to the wardrobe. "Three times, with a bouquet of flowers, and sing you a song." He remembers it. "I will not forget."
A glorious bloom of flowers echoes, and she vanishes.
The conversation over tea drifts from light banter to deep existential musings, touching upon the nature of existence, choice, and destiny. Jack, through measured words and careful insight, unveils the depth of his character—a man of faith grappling with the storms of life, both literal and metaphorical. Merigold, for all her whimsical power and detachment from human struggles, reveals glimpses of a past life that perhaps once tethered her to the very mortal experiences she now observes from afar. As their tea comes to an end, she offers Jack an open invitation to her world, a gesture of continued curiosity or perhaps genuine fondness. With her departure, Jack is left with the memory of their encounter, a subtle invitation to explore beyond the confines of his reality, and the contemplation of what his own story's ending might be.
(Jack's odd encounter(SRMeridith):SRMeridith)
[Wed Mar 13 2024]
In the bedroom of a Small Parsonage
The bedroom in this rustic parsonage is modest and comfortable. Up against the north wall is a sturdy, wooden bed with soft, inviting bedding; next to it, a small bedside table with a lamp. A window with simple curtains allows natural light to fill the room, offering views of the surrounding forest. The walls are unadorned save for a cross high up above the bed.
It is afternoon, about 37F(2C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing outside.
(Your target is swept into a pocket dream world by a true Fae interested in a romantic liaison
)
Jack has just gotten out of the shower, and he is standing in front of the closet picking out clothes.
As Jack opens his closet, there's a brief moment where he notices the mist begin to coalesce around his feet. Then, a rush of warm almost tropical air that rushes him as before him appears to lie, not his clothes, but a beautiful array of tangled overgrowth, flowers of bright vibrancy never seen before.
There's a low pause, a frown -- Jack reaches up, fingering the charms around his neck, and then he begins to murmur some low, quiet prayer. This isn't magic, not yet: it's just prayer, but there's concern in his eyes as he begins to scan the clothes. "God above," he says. "What work is this?"
"Are you lost?" an airy feminine voice calls from beyond the growth, out of site for now. "I can send my hounds to guide you, if you like!" it declares. It's a threat, but the voice seems to think it's offering assistance certainly. "Please, the timing is absolutely perfect, lets not spoil the afternoon," it preens.
"I need no hounds," Jack calls out. He looks around -- is this his bedroom, with a strange wardrobe? Some otherworldly place? There's a touch against the things around his neck, his eyes careful as they scan his surroundings.
His closet is overtaken with overgrowth, but the vines and roots begin to untangle, the flowers bloom and blossom, a sweet scent fills his room, and before him is a perfectly manicured lawn with tall hedges. In the center of the clearing is a pavillion, closer to a gazebo, with a set table.
Seated at the table is a woman, five four dressed in an immaculate thin white gown, adourned with a flowered crown of rich lavender and dark red flowers. She smiles at him and beckons. He'll need to...step into his closet? "Hm, I can provide you clothes. It appears you have not readied yourself for our date," she sighs with mild irritation.
"I'll take clothes," Jack says to the woman -- his eyes on her. There's caution, broadly, in his look, and he does not stop forward. "I am Jack Francis," he tells her. "May I have the pleasure of your name?" Crucifix, ankh, stone -- he fingers the charms with his fingers, scanning the area for things unseen before he focuses again on the woman with white gown and crown of flowers.
She shivers with delight. "Oh, is that your True Name?" she asks him curiously, a little glint in her eyes but she maintains a pleased expression. "Your caution is well warranted, Father." She climbs to her feet slowly, and begins slow strides in his direction. "But you must already know that the most dangerous thing you could do is bore me?" she poses aerily, her voice sweet. "Please, what I desire most is a pleasant afternoon of your company. But, I promise, the hunt always entertains me."
"Call me..." She humms. "Merigold. I am the Spring Blossom," she says with delight
"Merigold," Jack tells the woman. "And no," he tells her, his eyes flashing. "It is not." It's a low smile. "There are fare more dangerous things I can do than bore you, Miss Merigold," he tells her. "But I am content to spend a pleasant afternoon -- here, in my world. Step through, and I can put on tea," he tells her. "After all: this is my wardrobe and you are a guest," he tells the woman from the hollow hills.
Jack sees her visage switch. "You would threaten me?" She gazes at him in disbelief. For a moment rage distorts her features and the vines twist with thorny protrusions. "You think quite highly of yourself. Do you know what I am?" she poses, seeming sure that he does not. "I do not care for the ugliness of your world. If you refuse my kindness-" she collects herself a moment and squints at Jack firmly.
A moment passes and she flicks her hand, and begins to stride towards him swiftly. "Very well," she seems to make up her mind.
Now Jack begins to step back -- there is room, perhaps, for her to cross the line into the priest's bedroom, but he is moving, too. He is sketching some circle in the ground with a pinch of salt. There is magic with long ritual, but then there is quick and dirty casting -- salt to the north, the east, the west, the south, and then, as he chants in Latin, a slash across his palm to wet it with blood.
"...Are you seriously going to..." she exhales softly, impatient as she strides through the threshold and folds her arms, frankly, letting him proceed with his spell work. "If this isn't for our date I'm going to be quite cross with you, you understand?"
"If you're here for tea," Jack tells the woman, "I can stop my ritual. But a bargain's a bargain," he tells her. "You stay in this world for tea -- not more, not less," the priest says. "And when your cup is empty, you return."
"You don't need to cut yourself for frivolous things," she sighs. "I could have simply extended such an offer in my own domain. If I wished to steal you, I would do so effortlessly. There are countless servants I might send to accomplish such a thing. I admire your will, but please let us not...measure our genitals against one another so quickly," she adds. She turns and flicks a hand, vines lash out and grab the closet door and pull them close. Then, Merigold reaches over and pulls it open, revealing his normal closet. There is a rather fancy get up. Petti-coat and. Well, he'd look like either a groom at a wedding or a fancy butler. "Wear what you like," she says.
She gazes over at him. "Agreed, of course. But, if you ask me to stay I may reconsider," she says with a confident smile.
"What is it you have under that dress to measure against?" Jack asks the fae with some crack of humor. His eyes are amused, though, and then he reaches for the formal outfit. He dresses with some effort, tightening his tie, and then he stands. "The tea is this way," he tells Merigold, leading her into the parlor. There, he begins to put the kettle on. "Tell me about yourself."
Jack receives a coy smile and a wink in return. "Nothing like that, though please darling." She gazes at him one more time then moves to step out of the room to allow him to dress without her leering gaze. "Goodness, what I could share about myself would fill your lifetime and then some, would you care to focus your question further?" she asks.
"More than a name -- an interest," Jack says as he begins to fill a bisque teapot. "What brings you, Merigold, to my parlor?" Tea begins to steep as he looks over his shoulder at the white-clad woman.
She strides after Jack and flowers appear to spring through the floor, in any crack, if it's tiled it's between the tiles. She gestures towards him. "You are an interest. I grow so bored, alone in my little world. A beautiful realm," she wrinkles her nose at her present surroundings but gives him a gracious smile. She adds, "I find that I like to scour this world, remind myself of how things are getting along."
"This world is one full of storms," Jack shares with the woman. Two cups, now, filled, and he turns to offer her one. "Some of them blow from your land. Others from where the 'gods' dwell." The word is said with some humor. "Others from Hell -- right now, a storm with teeth like a wolf blows in from the Wilds," he shares. "But all of these storms are distractions."
Jack receives a raised brow from Merigold, her eyes sparkle with brilliant bright green, shifting pools of violet light. "Such a thing feels so inconsequential. Why not simply enjoy the rain?" she asks.
"Different kinds of storms," Jack tells Merigold, sipping at his tea. "They are inconsequential, though: outside threats are reasons people gloss over the cracks inside," he says. "It's not the outside that dooms a man, or a woman," he shares. "It's what is inside them. Weakness there means the wall crumbles."
"Hm," she considers what he says with clear interest, eyes gazing into his, then she shrugs. "I saw such things as tiresome, these rules you live be, they seem quite exhausting. I decided, why not make my own rules? My own world?" she sighs happily. "...You seem tired, Jack." She gazes at him curiously. "How are your walls?"
"Standing." Jack tells Meridith. "They wear down, and we build them back up," he says. "Little by little. Perhaps they are the Ship of Theseus, now," he says with a sip. "Rules aren't tiresome," he says. "They're armor. I cannot say why you retreated from world, Miss Merigold, but you did retreat. Your curiosity is a little longing for what you left behind."
She snaps her fingers. "I know that one! This cute little dove told me!" She declares. That might be literal. "You are but pieces replaced over time. I suppose I am too," she muses. "Flowers wilt and so new flowers rise from their withered form. I am always reborn new, as are you, or perhaps just your walls." She humms, her voices rings out melodious and sweet.
"Do you consider those who travelled across the seas to seek the new world in retreat, Jack?" She raises her brow, then shakes her head. "I built something beautiful and serene. Yes, perhaps I like to poke my head here and observe the amusing struggles, but why would one choose to suffer when they could choose joy?" She wags a finger. "You grow too accustom to struggle, you lose the ability to allow yourself to experience peace."
Drinking his tea, Jack tells Merigold, "Peace is fleeting. It's something we all crave -- but no, it's not something we often experience," he says. Crossing near the fire, he goes to take a seat. "I do not think my path leads to peace, Miss Merigold."
A moment passes while Merihold takes her tea and sips, she humms. "A little plain, but there's something charming about the simplicity," she notes. Then to Jack she asks, "But..." She waits a moment and strides after him slowly, moving to sit nearby. "Is this your path? The one you chose?" She seems curious, focusing on his every word.
Jack asks Merigold, "How much do any of us choose our paths?" He leans back, cradling his tea. "We make choices, but we don't choose a path," he says. "We just choose each moment, and then they all step together, brick by brick."
She laughs! "Ah! Such -mortal- thinking. Swept up in the tides of fate!" She laughs. "Why do you think I was so content to leave this world behind? This struggle fascinates me, but I want no such thing. I adore the story, but I don't wish to live it out, you see?" She gestures around her. "Ugly. It's all very ugly, but like an accident, one cannot help but look. Cover your eyes all you wish but you still peek." She sips.
Jack tilts his head. "Tell me -- what were you, before you left the world for you own place?" Curious eyes drift across Merigold.
"I was a great and mighty queen!" she declares, her voice high and songlike, flowers flush even in the face of the heat from the fireplace, they wilt and vanish before long. "No. I think perhaps I was...a child once? A drift at sea, dreaming of a better life and promises of my mother?" She wrinkles her nose. "I think I might have lived in a small village in England. Ah! The great battle of hastings...!" she declares. She humms. "In time, your origins become a story, did you know? People speak of it, they write it in books, it becomes true in a little way, you know, when they believe it."
Merigold sips her tea, it's getting low.
"If you are such a thing, it was not England, then," Jack tells Merigold. "But then I suppose there are strangenesses in time and space." He studies her as he sips his tea. "Everything is a story when retold enough," he agrees. "How does your story end, Miss Merigold?" he wonders, his eyes on her emptying cup.
SRMeridith giggles. "Stories don't end Jack. Stories are immortal! The flower grows and rots and is born anew. A new form, with a new shape, but the root remains doesn't it? Some things are eternally present, the self lingers, shifting with every telling!" She sighs happily. She gazes at Jack sadly. "I know the end of your story, but would you like to tell me anyway?"
She giggles. "Stories don't end Jack. Stories are immortal! The flower grows and rots and is born anew. A new form, with a new shape, but the root remains doesn't it? Some things are eternally present, the self lingers, shifting with every telling!" She sighs happily. She gazes at Jack sadly. "I know the end of your story, but would you like to tell me anyway?"
A sip, and then Jack finishes his own tea, setting it aside. "My story's ending is -- under review." His voice has low firmness to it, and it echoes with a little bit of self-derision. He starts to rise, noting the state of her tea. "I'd offer you another cup," he says to her. "But I know you need to be getting home."
Merigold gazes at him, the small lingering tea in her cup undrank, and gives him the faintest sliver of a wicked smile. "The offer will be thus, Jack. Knock thrice upon your closet door, a bouquet of fresh flowers in hand, and sing me a song. I shall open the door for you, and show you my world, should you desire it. But I will trouble you no more."
She drains her cup and sighs happily. "Farewell Jack. Should we never meet again, I hope you wind up happy with your ending," she graciously nods to him.
"Farewell, Miss Merigold," Jack tells her as he leads her back to the wardrobe. "Three times, with a bouquet of flowers, and sing you a song." He remembers it. "I will not forget."
A glorious bloom of flowers echoes, and she vanishes.