Roses with thorns

The scent of dust and decay clung to Eliyana like a second skin, a constant reminder of the day the world splintered. Years had passed since the fire, since the screams that still echoed in her nightmares, since she'd last seen her family. Now, only the thorny vines of memory wrapped around her heart, each prickle a sharp, bitter pang. She moved through the crowded market, invisible, a ghost among the living, her eyes scanning faces, searching for a flicker of recognition, a phantom limb of her forgotten past. But everyone was a stranger, and each bustling street corner was just another labyrinth leading deeper into her solitude. The world saw a quiet girl with haunted eyes, but inside, a storm raged—a tempest of grief, anger, and a burning desire for answers that she feared would consume her before she ever found them. The roses of her past were beautiful, once, but now, only their thorns remained, a promise of pain with every touch