(Closed per this thread)

Petals fly while fragrant winds blow. Noonsun peer through canopy of grove
to scatter golden in the air, cloy and thick with pollen and spore.
Isylle, her red dress fluttering, strolled between the olibanum.
Wherever she passed, flowers bloomed, straining to please the queen before,
to show all their colors and hues and then falling dead to the floor.
The Fairy of Flowers smiled.

Her thought bent upon a wager about her private arcanum,
a wager best resolved right here, where they welded shut Death's black door.
It was surely cheating to see if she could punish and not kill.
The wager's terms were vague enough; it specified neither place nor
others' help. Did the monks here count? Then again, who was keeping score?
The Fairy of Flowers smiled.

Sooner or later those monks must submit some soul to foot the bill:
a boy, a girl, any will do - as long as it was not a bore.
If it were a bore, Isylle thought, then she will have to make the fun.
Perhaps study in animal functional anatomy or
give this Citadel room a new, thorough, crimson decor.
The Fairy of Flowers smiled.

Isylle twirled her white parasol, her eyes glittering in the sun.
She heard the distant click of lock; at long last, she must wait no more.
The Fairy of Flowers smiled.