Teresa Azalea, the famed botanist, had spent the last ten years in seclusion. So when her esteemed colleagues received the gilded invitation to her garden party, they rejoiced.

It’d been rumored Teresa was battling some kind of illness, but when the guests arrived, she looked cheerful and healthy. In fact, she didn’t look much different than the last time they’d seen her.

True to its name, the garden party was held in Teresa’s private conservatory, where exotic flowers from all over the globe bloomed side-by-side.

When all had settled, Teresa poured the champagne and raised her glass in a toast. “To new life,” she said in her familiar, serene voice. “To old friends.”

Everyone drank, the champagne sweet on their tongues.

One by one, they fell from their seats. Strewn across the lawn, only their eyes moving, each searched their fellow guests for an answer.

Instead, the many flowers turned, their petals unfurling to reveal white, needle-like teeth. Their stems bent as their fiber jaws widened.

Teresa watched with a knowing grin as blood soaked the soil. Hidden under the long hem of her dress, her legs sunk into the earth, separating into a dozen roots that spread the entirety of the garden, nourishing the blossoming plants that sprouted in their wake.