The air in the garden grew dense, suffocating, as if an unseen hand pressed down from the heavens. Each breath carried the taste of decay, thick and bitter on the tongue.
The great tree groaned softly, its once proud branches sagging under a weight no eye could see. Leaves curled and blackened at the edges, crumbling to dust before they even touched the ground.
Flowers shriveled in unison, their colors bleeding into dull grays and bruised purples, as though life itself recoiled. Even the soil seemed to sour, exhaling a damp, fetid chill.
Shadows lengthened unnaturally, creeping across root and stone, until the garden felt less a sanctuary and more a tomb, an omen heavy with despair, as though the world itself was holding its breath for what was to come.
