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but its pull is undeniable
Their mark was not one of petals and fragrance
She moves with purpose — tracing the edges of the sleeping forest
and the deepest brown
caught between staying and vanishing
The Glass Wraith gift but its pull is undeniableThey say she lingers where the light grows thin not out of malice, but out of memory. The Glass Wraith is no howling spectre, no vengeful shade. She is quieter than that. A presence caught between breaths, glimpsed in the shimmer of a curtain or the glint of a near invisible crystal. Once, perhaps, she waited by candlelight for a promise unkept, her hands folded, her resolve turning to mist. Now she waits still, bound not by chains but by the fragile
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