Act VI: The Hedge Beyond the Light
Where innocence brushes the edges of longing, and something unnamed begins to ache in silence.
There is a hush in the garden, deeper than silence. Beneath the laughter and sunlight, something lingers—soft as breath, sharp as longing. A glance held too long. A shadow behind the roses. The air carries a name, but no one dares speak it aloud.
What begins as a whisper in spring may become something else entirely.
And not every bloom invites you closer to admire it. Some open only to ensnare.