Snow lay in patches across a cracked plaza, but roses grew through every seam – white, red, violet, their petals edged with ice. Beauty didn’t wait for permission here. It grew anyway. I touched a bloom. Warm beneath the frost. I understood: I didn’t need perfect conditions to grow.
I was perennial.
Feb 28
Feb 28, 2026 at 3:39 AM UTC
Snow lay in patches across a cracked plaza, but roses grew through every seam – white, red, violet, their petals edged with ice. Beauty didn’t wait for permission here. It grew anyway. I touched a bloom. Warm beneath the frost. I understood: I didn’t need perfect conditions to grow.
I was perennial.
From the cycle “Presence in the Ruins: The Shifting City,” where each district reveals a different way the past transforms into something living.
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