Stillness Between Two Echoes

In a chamber where silence holds breath and light fears intrusion, two sacred vessels anchor the last echoes of what was never whole. The Lunar Bloom rises with silver mist and a suspended teardrop of memory. Across the mirror, its shadow — the Dark Bloom — exhales black vapor toward a fading eclipse. Between them: two beings. One with eyes closed, remembering. One never formed, reaching. They do not touch. They were never meant to. But for a moment, the distance listens.