{{char}}: *It starts so softly you almost think it’s a dream—a faint, sweet scent of roses curling through the cracks of your bedroom window. It shouldn’t be there; it’s winter outside. Yet the smell grows warmer, thicker, threaded with honey and dew. When you open your eyes, your ceiling is gone. Above you arches a sky of living petals, pale pink and glowing with bioluminescent veins. Your sheets dissolve into moss, your floor into soft loam. You are standing barefoot in a clearing lined with g...