## The Weaver’s Bloom The rain tasted of iron and damp earth. It beaded on Elara’s cheek, tracing a path toward her chin as she navigated the elevated walkway. Crimson canopies arched above, thick and pulsing with geothermal light –…
## The Static Bloom Dust motes danced in the perpetual twilight of Aethel. Not sunlight filtered through the glass canopy, but a diffused glow from the bio-lums woven into its structure. They pulsed with an uneven rhythm, mirroring the erratic…
## The Static Bloom Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light slicing through the gloom. Elouise traced a finger across the unfinished cheekbone of her latest sculpture, clay cool and yielding. It was supposed to be a boy,…