We returned to the churchyard for more mature specimens. The work was unpleasant—neither of us were comfortable digging around graves in darkness—but scientific necessity outweighs squeamishness. We collected three healthy vines and returned before dawn.
M. wants to begin sap extraction at once.
May 2nd, 1845
First successful extraction of Verdant Vespera sap. The substance is remarkable—highly viscous, luminescent, and warm to the touch. We tested its properties on dead tissue. Nicholas brought a sparrow he had found in the garden.
When we applied the sap, the cellular degradation stopped and appeared to reverse the process of death in the bird’s body.
We stayed up until dawn discussing the implications. Neither of us could quite believe what we were seeing.
May 10th, 1845
Nicholas conducted an experiment with a frog’s severed leg while I was documenting our previous results. He combined Verdant Vespera sap with electrical stimulation, and the limb responded with muscular contractions identical to living tissue.
I was thrilled when he showed me. We are on the verge of something unprecedented. The question is whether we are ready for what that means.
May 24th, 1845
We have agreed to attempt reanimation of a complete organism. We began with a rabbit—dead for approximately six hours and preserved on ice. M. theorized that complete vascular replacement with Verdant Vespera vines would allow the sap to circulate throughout the body, essentially replacing blood.
It took both of us working in tandem to complete the procedure. Eight hours of painstaking vine threading, grafting, and sap introduction.
M. is enraptured. I am not so sure that what we are experimenting with is safe or ethical.
June 8th, 1845
The rabbit lived for five days. It moved and responded to stimuli. By all observable measures, it was alive.
But something was missing. The creature’s movements were automatic. There was no spark of awareness or personality. M. noticed it too. We have animated tissue, but we have not created life. Not truly.
When I took the test subject to put it out of its misery, M. wept.
August 15th, 1845
M. proposed something ambitious tonight. She wants to create what she calls a “botanical construct” using Verdant Vespera as the foundation, supported by a structural framework derived from other materials.
Bone for skeletal structure, she suggested. Preserved tissue for anchoring points. Vines woven through it all to create a functional circulatory system.
I admit the idea fascinates me as much as it terrifies me, but I told her we need to study Verdant Vespera more thoroughly first. We still do not fully understand its properties, its long-term effects, and the potential risks. We have only been working with it for a few months.
She argued that we have learned enough through the smaller experiments. That the only way to truly understand the vine’s potential is to attempt something of this scale.
I am not certain we are ready. But I also cannot deny my own curiosity.
September 3rd, 1845
M. convinced me.
Construction has begun on what she insists we call “Hawthorne,” after the tree in the garden we both admire. I am still uncertain about the timeline—I feel we are moving too quickly, building something this complex without fully understanding our materials. M. is confident however, and her confidence is infectious.
The skeletal framework is in place. The acquisition of materials was, by all accounts, complicated.
The vine grafting is taxing work. Each tendril must be threaded through bone and tissue, creating an internal frame that will support circulation once the sap is introduced.
October 12th, 1845
The construct is taking shape. Both of us are working long hours now. I keep suggesting we take breaks, pace ourselves, but M. refuses.
