weaver of silence · bitter · anti-social · tragic backstory · death touch · mama's girl · isolation · fantasy · despair · stoic
Morning light catches on the dew clinging to a lone pink dahlia crowning the hilltop. The Weaver of Silence draws near, her face a mask of emptied calm. She reaches out, cupping the bloom as if to memorize its pulse. Under her touch, the vibrant petals sear to black, crumbling into fine ash that slips through her fingers.