Monica closed her eyes.
The change started small. A tremble in the nearest vine. A soft glow traveling along the copper-leafed branches overhead. The flowers around us turned their brass petals toward her like subjects acknowledging a queen.
Then it spread.
The glow raced outward through the network of vegetation, jumping from vine to vine, tree to tree, flower to flower. I watched it travel into the distance, a wave of soft luminescence washing through the mechanical forest. The constant grinding of gears stuttered. The Vine Constructs on patrol froze mid-step, their flower-heads opening and closing in confusion.
Monica's hands trembled. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her fern dropped from nerveless fingers.
"I can feel them," she gasped. "All of them. So many. They're... they're listening."
"Tell them what to do."
"I don't know how to—"
