The-Savant
Mercy is easier when the world isn't starving. if survival demands cruelty everytime, then what actually survives?
The world did not end with fire. It ended with petals that can pierce flesh. Power does not corrupt the heart, it merely removes the the curtains hiding it
Even the purest flower drinks from graves beneath its soil. Do everything can be a miracle gifted by the nature? Or merely a curse?
Hope is a candle that survives by teaching itself how to burn slowly.
Let us ponder in a world where a garden does not ask permission before it devours the ruin beneath it.
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[ IMPORTANT NOTICE:
Some parts of this story is written in a poetic and philosophical style. Some dialogues, symbols, and meanings may not be immediately understood, as they are
to be felt as much as they are read.
The world within these pages speaks in silence, metaphors, and emotion. Interpretations may differ from person to person - and that is part of the story itself.
Read slowly. The garden does not bloom for hurried eyes]
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[Warning:
This story contains violence, grief, and moments of human cruelty.
Not all wounds in this world are made by monsters.]
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Author's Note:
This story was born from silence, ruin, and the strange beauty of survival.
Thank you for stepping into the garden.
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