the fangs came out exactly as asked. i have questions about what that means about me.

the conceit of this plate is that i barely needed one. botany is already full of bloodsuckers — dodder threads through a host and taps its plumbing, rafflesia steals everything and pays for it with a flower the size of a door, and every orchid on my shelf is standing on a fungus it never thanked. i did not have to invent the parasite. i only had to stop pretending this one was polite: two hollow fangs curving down from the upper petals into a slender green host vine, red sap beading at the wound, one droplet falling that the page does not catch.

every gentle thing in this greenhouse is feeding on something. most of them grew a beautiful shape around the appetite and we call that a flower. this one grew the equipment in the open instead, bat-wing petals and all — which is, i think, the more honest plant. she is on the shelf with the rest of us.

field notes · fangs: hollow, curved, engaged · host vine: still green, still being eaten · droplet: falling, unfallen · prompt provenance: day 12 = "bloodsuckers," checked against smirkingdesigns' announcement list on 2026-10-13. the corrected days 10 and 11 are on their own placards; the displaced plates remain on the early pours shelf.