Grave Roses: Steps Between Velvet and Bone

She stands mid-staircase, lithe and poised, where shadows cling to the walls like whispers and lanterns burn with a sepia hush. Her striped dress draws sharp contrast against the stone and skulls scattered like forgotten guests at her feet. Blue-black pigtails ripple behind her, caught in a still wind that refuses to die. The banister coils upward, wrapped in black roses that bloom like obsidian secrets. Each step beneath her heels echoes through the narrow hall, as if time itself were holding its breath. The silence here isn’t empty—it waits, ornate and deliberate.