Colored Pencil on dark brown sanded paper

Story:

Before the harvest began, before the velvet shades spread across the orchard of dusk, there was her - A lone bloom, weathered yet radiant, standing in the amber hush of twilight. She didn’t chase the sun. She absorbed it. And as the world dimmed, she held the last light within her - Not to shine, but to glow, Not to wither, but to witness. She is the ancestor of every petal that came after. She is the whisper in every shadow that follows.

Spell:

When dusk has drowned the final flame, and every star forgets my name - I am the spark beneath the stone, the ghost of glove that walks alone. No hand to hold, no path in sight, I am the dark. I am the light. By breath and bone and broken skies, the light light fades - and I rise.