the flower did not arrive like a curse. it arrived like comfort. a small thing at first. a softness beneath her skin. a warmth in the places that hurt the most. when it began to grow, she welcomed it. after all, what danger could beauty possibly bring? the roots spread slowly. through old wounds. through forgotten grief. through the hollow places left behind by people who never stayed. and wherever the roots touched, flowers bloomed. others admired them. called them miraculous. called them divine. no one noticed how much of her disappeared with every blossom. no one noticed that the flowers fed on her silence. on her memories. on the pieces of herself she no longer knew were missing. by the time she understood, the roots had already reached her heart. yet she never tried to tear them out. because the flowers had become beautiful enough to love. and some parasites survive not because they are stronger than us, but because we mistake them for salvation.