PyuVan_tales_
She doesn't smile.
She doesn't run.
She walks like a funeral- quiet, cold, and inevitable.
Sidra was born with shadows braided into her hair and silence stitched beneath her tongue. She loves the scent of graveyards more than roses, and she finds comfort in what others flee from: death.
But something older than death is watching her now.
Something buried beneath fields of ghost-white dandelions...
Something that whispers when no one listens.
"The dandelions bloom, even in snow.
What grows in death, should never grow."
One evening, beneath a split sky- half dusk, half moonless night- she sees it:
A crack in time.
A figure from a forgotten empire.
A warning wrapped in petals and pain.
As the veil between the past and the present thins, Sidra must walk a path laced with riddles, haunted by visions, and followed by the echo of a curse that chose her before she was even born.
"They thought she was strange.
They didn't know... she was chosen."