The house was sterile. Fury was not one for elaborate decorations or a great deal of color. White walls, dark blues and grey were the commanding colors in her house. It had mirrored her rigid personality. All the self-enforced rules had become such a way of life for her that she had simply known no other way.

At least until the day she?d just forgotten everything. It was all at once frightening and liberating. She worried, yes worried, that her house was supposed to be that way. But, on the other hand it bored her to tears. She resolved to fix this. She may not remember what she was, or who she was supposed to be but she wasn't going to be trapped by it which is how she ended up sitting on the front porch surrounded by ceramic pots.

They were all of varying shapes, sizes and most of all colors. There was not a single one that was white or blue. Mixed in with all the planters were numerous sorts of flowers, ivy and one strawberry plant. She sat there crossed legged, reading instructions for each.

?Quinnley, you?re not helping.? She swatted at the tabby cat with a rolled up piece of paper. The feline flicked his tail and went to lay down in one of the discarded cardboard boxes. He wore a cattish smirk and relaxed in the sun while Amitiel continued to go through the plants.

When she had initially planned to plant some flowers she found it oddly disconcerting that most of the cabinets were filled with nothing more than a lot of cleaning supplies, rubber gloves and scouring pads. She couldn't find a single thing that would help with gardening outside of a shovel that was buried in the shed. So, she left the house that morning and went to the Marketplace and bought up anything and everything that was related to gardening. (She didn?t buy a garden gnome. The little things creeped her out.) Everything from a little trowel to a bottle of plant nutrients were bought on this shopping spree. The next day she went out and bought the actual plants, which is where she was at now. She was surrounded by greenery and not a clue what to do to with it. So, she sat on the porch and continued to read.

?I guess I need to start with filling these with dirt.? That was the most logical step.

?Duh.? She stretched over and pulled the bag of potting soil over to her. It isn't natural to have a bag of dirt there?s plenty of dirt everywhere why buy it, she thought. But here she was sitting with a bag of dirt on her lap. She snagged a pair of scissors from and the bag was opened. She stared into it for a while. Something about dirt and the fact that the whole house was obsessively clean had her thinking.

?I must have not liked dirt.?

She rolled her shoulders and stuck her hand into the bag, then grabbed a handful of dirt and dropped it into one of the planters. The potting soil stuck to her skin and ended up under her nails. She took a moment to examine her hand, turning it left and right. Her expression was one of curiosity. She was completely comfortable with having a hand covered with dirt. Not a shudder or look of disgust happened.

?It?s not horrible. Feels kind of interesting honestly.? She remarked as she grabbed another handful of dirt and deposited that in the planter as well. This continued for a few more minutes before she switched over to the trowel. It just made the job a whole lot easier and faster. The planting of flowers lasted long into the afternoon.

By the time she had finished there was dirt everywhere, even smudged across her nose and cheek.

But, even more out of place was the smile. It was the self-satisfied smile of a job well done.