## Bloom The humid air tasted of petrichor and something vaguely metallic, a constant background note within the Meridian. My boots sunk slightly into the manufactured loam as I walked, each step a dull thud against the biodome’s artificial quiet.…
## The Echo Bloom The rain tasted like pennies on Leo’s tongue. He hunched deeper into the doorway of Mrs. Petrov’s antique shop, the neon sign buzzing a frantic lullaby above him. It was late October in Portland—that particular damp,…
## The Resonance Bloom The rain tasted of iron. Elara wiped her face, the droplets tracing paths through the dust clinging to her skin. The sky bled grey above Oakhaven, a relentless drizzle mirroring the damp chill that settled deep…