The Silence That Reminds

She said she would not rule again.

And yet, when the world forgot why she left,

She returned—not as flame, not as fury,

But in a silence that made stars blink awake.

It began not with thunder, but with a hush that swept the land clean of expectation.

The silence spread from the meadows—where sheep and cattle froze mid-graze, ears cocked, muscles trembling—to the gilded towers of distant cities, where scribes paused over open scrolls and the ink slowly gathered into trembling beads. Market squares grew hushed; the swirl of commerce and gossip faded as if a great hand had drawn a curtain across the day.

Across rivers, the flow dulled to a lazy trickle. The wind, so often a wild child in spring, now drifted like the breath of a mourner. In the deepest woods, even the crows, creatures who reveled in omen and unrest, tucked their wings and fell silent among the branches.

It was a waiting that felt alive, thick as honey, dense as unwept grief.

And beneath it all, an old question twisted thr