Story:

In the hush between dusk and dream, one fruit remains. Not loud. Not lush. But present. Still. It stands in the velvet hush, watching all that moves and passes - the growth, the ruin, the quiet rebirth. Its deep violet skin absorbs secrets, its curved form shaped by light and shadow alike. Though alone, it is not lonely. It listens. It knows. It remembers what others forget. This is not witness of tragedy - but of transformation. The one who sees what blooms in silence.

Spell:

I do not speak, yet I am heard. I carry truth in every word. I never say. I hold the thread, between what’s lived and what’s unsaid. Through shadowed halls and roaring light, I watch. I wait. I burn so bright. No mask can veil, no lie erase - I see it all, and still give grace.