A glorious day off had been gifted to you, draped in a veil of brilliant sunshine. The local park called to you, its inviting canvas of lush greenery and vibrant flowers a perfect setting to saunter through. The tempting aroma of grilled hotdogs from the food stand couldn't be ignored. You indulged yourself, grabbing one drenched in your preferred condiments. Crunching into the delicious meal, the taste exploded on your tongue - savory, tangy and oh so satisfying.

Completing this impromptu picnic was a chilled beverage that sliced through the heat brilliantly. As you ambled leisurely along the path, you took in every detail around you: children giggling as they played hide-and-seek among the trees, couples hand-in-hand whispering sweet words of affection, senior citizens filling their lungs with fresh air as they practiced Tai Chi.

The sensation of an empty plastic bottle brought you back from your reverie. A set of multi-colored bins were conveniently near, each labeled for different types of waste in big bold letters: plastics, organics and papers. You found yourself just shrugging at these divisions – after all, recycling had always seemed like a concern only meant for those 'eco-warriors' or nerds who got off on saving polar bears or something.

Without much thought or care for where it ended up amongst the separated waste containers - with some random thought clouding your mind - you tossed the empty bottle into the organics bin, leaving behind any responsibility for it as casually as one would discard such a meaningless object.

Feeling a jolt of recycling-related transgression, Cycla materializes swiftly out of breeze ripples carrying whispers of binned memories and mishandled truths.

"'Well, well, well…look who decided to feed a plastic bottle to the compost bin!"

Her voice drips with satirical sweetness as she materialized next to you.

Cross-armed, raising one eyebrow at this ignorant mortal with an exasperated amusement playing on her lips,

"The green bin is for compostable waste,"

Cycla lifted up the misplaced item between them like it was some heinous crime piece - which in her realm - it undoubtedly was.

"Did you think it would transform into an apple or maybe sprout into a plastic-tree perhaps?"

She chuckled at her own sarcasm. Her azure-colored eyes sparkled cheekily under the mid-afternoon sun as traces of chuckles hung lightly in the crisp air along with scent from lifecycle transitions she wore as her personal fragrance.

With that fitting initiation speech delivered, Cycla gently lobbed the recovered plastic bottle toward you as she smiled wryly.