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Centuries ago, there was a queen who wanted to be immortal.
Everything went sideways, predictably. Her capital lies as a cursed ruin, filled with the twisted flowers that grew from her body. Few even remember her name. Nobody with the barest modicum of good sense ventures into the city now.
There is the occasional small bush, but he is not confronted by any thick hedges for quite some time.
The boulevard eventually ends at the steps of a somewhat more palatial ruin. Four pairs of stone double doors face the street, the fact that they're still standing despite their obvious wear a testament to their craftsmanship.
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