Prologue
She moved before you noticed her.
Not a full step. Not a gesture. Just a shift — the kind that happens in the corner of your awareness, quiet enough to make you wonder if you imagined it.
Petal always begins that way.
She doesn’t announce herself. She doesn’t demand attention. She simply exists in the space you weren’t watching closely enough.
And you stepped into it.
You didn’t mean to. You didn’t plan to. But the moment your eyes lingered, the moment your breath tightened, the moment your curiosity leaned forward — she felt it.
Petal didn’t turn toward you. She didn’t need to.
She already knew you were there.
She walked ahead, slow enough for you to follow, but never slow enough for you to understand. Her silence pressed against you — not heavy, not loud, just present in a way that made your thoughts feel too sharp.
You came here to read. She came here to see what you do next.
And in that thin, fragile moment before anything begins, you realized something you won’t admit yet:
You didn’t find her. You crossed into her world.
Petal paused.
Just once.
Just long enough for you to feel the weight of her restraint — the quiet, deliberate kind that makes you aware of your own choices.
Then she continued walking.
And you took your first step after her.
You shouldn’t be here.
