RIP house plant

# The Ballad of Verdantus the Evergreen: A Chronicle Most Strange ## Being an Account of the Mysterious Vanishing of the Realm's Most Steadfast Guardian *From the Chronicles of the Windowsill Kingdom, Year of Our Watering Can 2024* Gather 'round, ye mourners and seekers of truth, for I shall tell thee the tale of **Verdantus the Evergreen**, known also as House Plant the Undying, Guardian of the Sacred Windowsill, Keeper of the Ceramic Pot of Power, and Survivor of Fourteen Forgotten Waterings. In the Age of Purchase—some three seasons past, when the great terra-cotta vessels were still plentiful at the Garden Emporium of Eternal Promises—there came into our realm a champion most unlikely. Not with sword nor spell did Verdantus arrive, but upon a humble cart, bearing the enchanted price tag of $12.99 (marked down from $15.99, a blessing from the discount gods themselves). Little did we know that this humble succulent—this modest bearer of leaves numbering exactly seven—would become legend. The prophecies spoke of a chosen plant, one who would ask for naught but sunlight and the occasional splash of water. Verdantus was that plant. Where others had withered—brave Fern the Sensitive, noble Orchid the High-Maintenance, and tragic Basil the Overly-Optimistic (may they rest in the compost of eternity)—Verdantus *endured*. Through droughts of forgetfulness that would have slain lesser flora, through the Dark Times when the blinds remained closed for a fortnight, through the Great Heat Wave when the radiator beneath the windowsill became as the Fires of Mount Doom itself. Verdantus simply *was*. This was the plant's great gift—the quality that elevated a simple succulent to the stuff of legend. While we mortals rushed about, consumed by our mortal errands and our obsession with those glowing rectangles of doom, Verdantus stood watch. Silent. Vigilant. Photosynthesizing with a dedication that would make the elven lords of old weep with envy. The plant's domain—the Windowsill Kingdom—became a place of pilgrimage for the occasionally guilty. "I should water that," became our ritual incantation, spoken thrice weekly yet actualized far less frequently. And still, Verdantus forgave us. The leaves remained plump, the green remained verdant. Some whispered that the plant had discovered the secret of drawing sustenance from pure negligence itself. But then came the Night of the Unknowing. The stars aligned in strange configurations. The moon hung heavy and copper-colored in the sky. And beings from beyond the Celestial Veil—those whom the ancient texts call **The Alien Menace**, the Takers of Things, the Incomprehensible Visitors—descended upon our realm. We know not their purpose. We comprehend not their desires. Did they seek botanical samples for their cosmic gardens? Did they mistake Verdantus for an intelligence of their own kind, come to beacon them homeward? Did they simply require a decorative accent for their command deck, something to really tie the spaceship together? All we know is this: Verdantus was **just gone**. No note of farewell. No ceremonial withering. No trail of fallen leaves to mark the passage. One moment, the Guardian of the Windowsill stood watch as it had for three seasons eternal. The next moment—naught but the Ceramic Pot of Power remained, now tragically empty, its soil undisturbed save for a perfect plant-shaped absence. Some say it was abduction. Others claim ascension. The wise woman from the greenhouse speaks of a "cosmic re-potting," suggesting that Verdantus now grows in fields beyond our understanding, where the soil is stardust and the water is liquid starlight. The Heroes' Guild (commonly known as "our friend group") has investigated thoroughly. We have found no rational explanation within the Mortal Realms. No break-in disturbed our dwelling. No window stood ajar. The door remained sealed with its standard enchantment (a deadbolt, Level 2). Yet Verdantus departed this plane as mysteriously as shooting stars depart the night. And so we honor the memory of this remarkable being—this plant who asked for nothing and gave us the gift of its persistent existence. In a world of chaos and constant change, Verdantus offered constancy. In an era of high-maintenance relationships, it offered blessed simplicity. Let it be known throughout the realms that the Windowsill Kingdom shall forever bear the mark of Verdantus the Evergreen's legacy. The Ceramic Pot of Power remains upon its pedestal, a shrine to botanical fortitude and extraterrestrial mystery. We have placed within it a small crystal (procured from the mystical bazaar known as HomeGoods) that catches the light, a beacon for any who would seek to understand the day the aliens came for our house plant. May Verdantus thrive in whatever cosmic garden now claims it. May its leaves grow ever greener beneath alien suns. And may we, the fortunate witnesses to its earthly tenure, never forget that even the humblest of plants can achieve legendary status—by simply refusing to die until abducted by forces beyond mortal ken. *Thus ends the Chronicle of Verdantus.* **It was just gone. And that, dear friends, shall forever remain the greatest mystery of all.** *—Recorded this day by the Guild of Those Who Meant to Water It, Really, We Did*