A leaf drifted from its branch, severed by the natural cycle of decay. It fell, spiraling through the air, caught in the unseen currents of an indifferent world.
And then, there I was.
Another leaf. Still attached. Watching the first one descend.
A part of me had already fallen. A part of me had already perished, again and again. But another part of me remained, reborn at the junction I had chosen. And like clockwork, I followed after, once more stepping into the same descent, embracing the same fall.
No one else saw it. No one else knew.
But I did.
I had died before. Many, many times. More than I cared to count. More than I ever admitted.
Each death was a lesson. Each failure is an opportunity to do it all over again—better, sharper, more decisive.
To steer her future in a direction where she would never have to suffer the way she once did.
Narcissus.
My radiant one.