fog between the trees. silver light. a hush that protects more than it haunts.
"the shadows follow her like they're in love with her. maybe they are."
the floor creaks gently, like it's breathing. lavender hangs from the window frame. there's a faint glow from an old lamp that doesn't seem to have a bulb.
she never liked being loud. but she's always watching. always ready. the kind of quiet that stays with you.
a charm necklace rests on the desk. protective. old. it rolls when the wind picks up. if you leave something behind here, it won’t get lost. she’ll keep it safe.