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Not the fullest bloom
strung with the hush of water and the promise of magic
caught in the impossible: the rose waits
Under flickering flame
His father nods once
Shadowed Spriglets beaded Not the fullest bloomIn a small crucible of copper and shadow, the tiniest conifers were laid, their needles curling as if breathing. The alchemist worked with precision, each spriglet an echo of forest memory, distilled and hardened, yet still alive with unseen currents. The ritual was of preservation of essence, of growth suspended, of the pulse of hidden groves captured in miniature. Under flickering flame, the copper glimmered like molten sap, and the spriglets
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