Eternal Night Society

The Botanist - sherpa fleece blanket

$120.00 USD

~~$0.00 USD~~ $120.00 USD

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Title 60" x 80"

Some spend their whole lives chasing the next milestone, the next achievement, the next proof that they matter. Others, like The Botanist, have learned the secret: that the richest moments are the ones you almost missed. This sherpa fleece blanket is for everyone still running—and a reminder that the magic you're searching for is already blooming right where you are.

Eternal Night Society - Where Outcasts Become Legends

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Product Information

Product features:

Cozy Comfort with soft flat fleece with a cloud-like sherpa back (comfort beyond this world)
Edge Hemmed perfectly to prevent unraveling, just like our eternal bonds
Vibrant Colors: Crisp, rich colors that breathe life into the shadows

Product specs:

Queen size (60" x 80") - Big enough to snuggle with your sweetie

Product care:

Machine wash cold (like our hearts)
Tumble dry low (we don't do high drama with heat)
Easy Care no dry cleaning or harsh cleaners

Luxury Meets Your Dark Side

Sherpa fleece so plush, even your darkest thoughts feel safe

Spooky Soft

This sherpa fleece blanket is a hug you can wrap yourself in. Don't say we didn't warn you about becoming a permanent couch potato.

Room for One or Two Monsters

Solo comfort or double the coziness. Grab the whole queen sized blanket for yourself or share it with someone who gets your darkness.

Easy Blanket TLC

Gentle wash, low heat or hang dry, no harsh cleaners. Keep it cozy, and it'll keep you cozy right back—forever (okay, well maybe not forever, but a long time).

Among the Flowers

The tea has gone cold in his hands, but Arthur doesn't mind. He's been watching the Diphylleia grayi turn transparent in the heavy morning fog that felt like drizzles for the past hour—or has it been two? Time moves differently now. Moves the way it should have all along.

He'd spent twenty-three years studying plants. Cataloging them. Presenting papers on their growth patterns and ecological significance. He'd loved every specimen that passed through his lab, in the hurried, distracted way you love something when you're always thinking three steps ahead. Next grant. Next publication. Next conference where he'd stand under fluorescent lights and reduce the things he loved most into data points that killed the magic.

His garden at home had been his pride, though he'd barely seen it. Always rushing past on his way to somewhere more important, promising himself he'd sit out here "this weekend" or "once this deadline passes." There was always another deadline waiting. Until the final one—the only deadline you can't write your way out of.

Now here he sits, no proposals due, no committees to appease, watching his skeleton flower turn to glass in the rain. All his favorites are blooming—the ones that opened at dawn, the ones that closed at dusk, the ones that only showed their best colors in certain light. They'd all been doing this the entire time. He just never stopped long enough to notice.

The irony isn't lost on him. It took dying to finally learn how to live. The flowers don't care that he's dead. They don't care about his publication record or the grant he never got. They just keep blooming, the way they always have—and for the first time in decades, Arthur is here to see it. Really see it. Every petal. Every color shift in the fading light. Every perfect, ordinary miracle he spent a lifetime too busy to notice. He's part of the cycle now, in ways his research papers never quite captured.

This, he thinks, taking another sip of cold tea. This is what I was running toward the whole time.