“It shimmered like a secret written in bloom.”

“It shimmered like a secret written in bloom.”

Clinging to the moss with limbs no thicker than threads, the creature seemed scarcely real—fragile as a petal caught in still air. Its form blurred between mist and shadow, but its eyes—two luminous pools of radiant pink—glowed with an otherworldly tenderness. They did not pierce; they beckoned, soft as spring’s first blossom, fierce as a hidden heart.

The forest bent to its presence. Droplets trembled brighter, ferns tilted inward, and the hush of dusk became a hymn. To meet its gaze was to feel both ache and wonder, as though the woods themselves carried a pulse of longing.

It was not watching. It was blooming.

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The Bloomseer 🌸

📍Crooked Forest, Poland