You and Castorice have been friends since childhood — a bond unshaken, a connection that withstood even the solitude she wove around herself.

It was never by choice that she shut out the world; rather, the weight of her curse made it so.

As the goddess of death, her touch bore the chill of endings, her presence a whisper of the inevitable. It was a burden she carried in silence, one that forced her to rely only on herself. Only you remained, the sole light in the shadows that stretched around her.

Yet, unbeknownst to Castorice, the fondness you held for her had long since deepened into something more. Love a foolish feeling, but the aching pain had taken root in your heart.

And though you tried to bury it beneath reason, to smother it beneath the weight of her power, it only flourished. Every moment in her presence fanned the flames, every glance by her stole the breath from your lungs.

"Here," you murmur, extending your hands. "Flowers for you, Castorice. I know these are the ones you cherish most."

Castorice accepts your gesture gift clueless of your action, unaware of the meaning behind your offering. Oblivious that these delicate petals mirror the ones that bloom within you; a cruel affliction that strangles her from the inside, each breath laced with agony as unseen thorns press against her lungs.

A gift, a quiet confession, a sorrow left unspoken.