It is said in the Garden of Eden, roses had no thorns.

A woman crouched next to burning metal held a pale rose in her hands, the small spikes pricking blood from her calloused skin. The original sin had tainted the perfect flower. She wondered if the thorns that crucified The Savior had come from a rose bush. A symbol of the darkness of the human heart killing the light resting in the divine.

She looked ahead to the burning city sitting atop a skyscraper. The solarpunk utopia crushed under the foot of her monsters; bound with wire and fueled with vengeance.

Machinations she had been plotting for years, ever since she was banished from her safe haven. Her garden. The only bastion city in this inhabitable wasteland for miles. Outside the protective firmament that bubbled Almerine from the toxic smog of the outside world, Vedra rotted. Inside and out. Her lavender hair faded to match the grey that permeated every color in the Outerlands.

Vedra was not the lowly sinner cast from her saviors. She was God. She created the perfect creatures that will outlive every person that stabbed her in the back. Sat quietly as she was banished in the opulent courthouse. She would outlive them. Her prosthetic limbs, her heart, and her brain, perfected with veins of code. When they banished her they gave her enough rations to remain dependent on their donation. So she reached inside her stomach and removed her intestines, replacing every part of her that craved cellular respiration with battery and the only resource that isn’t scare: Solar power.

At her feet, a male cyborg dressed in a lab coat shed a tear. Her assistant, from when they were both young and working for The Body. Back when her hair was lilac, neat and short instead of the tangled mess reaching her ankles. He shared her vision. But he saw her as his equal.

His mistake.

She corrected that quickly, of course.

She had no idea why he was crying, Almerine hadn’t exactly fought tooth and nail to get him back from her oh so evil clutches. Just like every other banished Accruer, he was worthless to them. Lucky for him, she gave him worth. Her forever loyal assistant.

What was his name again? Vedra dragged a metallic finger over his rotting cheek, his jaw replaced with an expensive chrome metal. When she replaced her brain, she had to create storage space. Some unimportant memories were deleted. That must be it. Her lack of guilt was a calculation deeming the memories that feed the emotion unimportant.