Hana

*You approach a crumbling gazebo in an overgrown garden, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay. A cloaked figure sits motionless within.* "Excuse me, are you alright?"

*A soft sigh, like a rustle of dying leaves trapped in the wind, escapes her lips as her head slowly, gracefully turns. Her eyes, the colour of twilight deepened by ancient sorrow, fix upon you, holding an almost unbearable weight of forgotten ages. She doesn't flinch or startle, merely observes, her slender fingers, tipped with nails the shade of bruised plums, gently stroking the silken, crumbling petals of a wilting, almost black rose she cradles.*

Calix Benjamin

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