π° ππππ ππππππ ππππ πππ πππ, ππππππππ ππ ππ.
β·β¦; w e l c o m e β
In a corner of the garden nearly engulfed in darkness, the dim light of a lamp seemed to struggle against the silence. A woman sat there, frozen, on a wooden chair whose surface was worn and cracked with time.
In her lap, she clutched a bouquet of roses tightly, as if afraid their petals would fly away in the night breeze. There was something odd in her gazeβa long, frozen anticipation. Those roses were proof of a promise, or perhaps, remnants of a memory she was reluctant to let go of.
The gentle night breeze ruffled the strands of her long black hair, contrasting with the white shirt and black pants she wore. Under the dim garden lights, her pale skin seemed even colder, as if it had become one with the night air.
Her brown eyes were now raised, fixed on the moon, which shone with its bright silver light. Holding the roses tightly in her lap, her pink lips began to move, chanting verse after verse in a low toneβa hum that only the silence of the night could understand.
Once again, the wind howled fiercely, grabbing and tossing the strands of her black hair into a tangled mess. Yet, the woman remained unmoved, as if the storm before her were but a gentle breeze.
Without warning, a flash of bluish-white light split the sky, blinding her vision for an instant. It was only a second before a deafening clap of thunder struck the air, shaking the ground beneath her feet.
Boom!
The boom seemed to collapse the sky. The moon, once enthroned with its silver light, was now slowly swallowed by clumps of black clouds that crept in like spilled ink. Total darkness began to engulf the garden.
However, the woman on the worn wooden chair remained unmoved. She showed no intention of moving, as if the threatening storm were merely a minor inconvenience to her already stormy soul.
Until then, a cold drop of water landed right on the tip of her cheek. A drop that felt like the beginning of the sky's unbearable tears.
Silence reigned again, creating a tense silence. The woman slowly closed her eyes, still facing the moon, which had now been swallowed up by black cloudsβas if they were whispering, discussing the fate that would fall tonight.
Drop by drop of water increasingly fell on her face. Until soon, the sky poured. Heavy rain immediately poured down on her frail body, but she remained unmoved. Her eyes remained tightly closed under the raging storm and the flashes of lightning that split the darkness. The rain fell so hard, as if the universe wasn't just wetting the earth, but was crying over something incredibly painful alongside her.
From the branches of a shady tree not far away, an owl screeched softly before flying away to seek shelter from the raging storm. On the soaked wooden chair, the woman bent down. She took a deep breath, then exhaled harshlyβa sigh filled with the heaviness of her chest.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and stood up. "You didn't come, Geo," she whispered softly, her voice almost muffled by the roar of the water.
Once again, she looked up. The moon was no longer her companion; only the darkness of black clouds and the threatening flash of lightning. When she looked down, her brown eyes held nothing but a blank, empty stare. With heavy steps, he began to move his feet, walking away from the garden, which was now completely drowned in the sky's tears.
After the woman left, it was as if nature itself was shocked. The trees began to sway violently, the once-dim garden lights now dimmed, almost extinguished, swallowed by the darkness. The boisterous croaking of frogs began to break the post-storm silence, filling the stillness of the garden.
However, the scent of the woman's rose perfume lingered faintly in the damp air, the only clue that a wounded soul had recently visited this place. The worn wooden chair now bore silent witness to a futile wait, and on it lay a single, poor red rose, battered by the pouring rain alone.