The Garden of Lost Voices

At the edge of the kingdom, there was a garden where silence bloomed. The flowers there had faces — small, delicate, and forever frozen mid-sentence. They were the talkers, the gossips, the storytellers who’d spoken secrets meant to stay buried.

The witch who tended them loved the quiet. She watered each plant with tears from the ones who still remembered their words.

But one day, a child wandered in, humming. The flowers stirred. They hadn’t heard music in centuries. One by one, they began to sing — their petals trembling, their voices returning.

The witch screamed, trying to silence them, but the child’s song grew louder, bursting through the roots.

By dawn, the garden was empty. Only the echoes remained — and sometimes, when the wind is kind, you can still hear them finish their last sentences.