Cracks.

Crimson blossoms erupt from the cracks, a defiant splash of color against the city’s monochrome canvas. They bloom once a year, a fleeting reminder of a world lost to steel and shadow. Their petals, delicate as whispers, tremble in the artificial breeze, their crimson hue deepening as the sun dips below the horizon. They are a symbol of hope, a testament to nature’s resilience, a fleeting moment of beauty in the heart of the machine. Their scent, sweet and melancholic, hangs heavy in the air, a poignant reminder of a forgotten world.