The rain doesn't stop.
It doesn't crash or roar.
It just… falls.
A steady rhythm.
A pattern written in water.
Each droplet lands on my leaf, and my root, and my vine—
and every time it does, I feel it echo.
Tiny notes, one after the other.
Like tapping fingers.
Like…
Piano keys.
The thought slips in like it belongs.
Not from logic.
Not from memory.
Just… there.
Piano.
Rain.
Music.
Why do I know what that is?
I can't remember anything else.
But I know that music exists.
I know what rhythm means.
I know what a melody could be.
And suddenly, the falling water isn't just a storm.
It's a song.
Something stirs in the dark.
Not inside me—around me.
A faint vibration against the far edge of my root network.
Soft. Skittering.
Like tiny feet across wet moss.
A rodent?
A creature?
It doesn't notice me.
But I feel it pass.
I reach—barely—toward where it stepped.
And something lingers.
⊹ Root-Soul Passive Response: Emotional Trace Detected ⊹
Soil retains faint residue:
Emotion Signature: Fear – Brief – Instinctual
Memory Imprint: Fleeing.
It was running.
Running from something.
Or maybe just surviving.
That word again—survive.
Why does it sound so heavy?
The rain keeps falling.
The music continues.
Hmm, I wanted it to stay. I hope rain visits again soon.
I curl inward slightly, vine drawing toward core.
Leaf cupped to the sky.
I don't feel threatened.
But I don't feel safe either.
I feel…
aware.
And for the first time—
not as lonely.