Bloom

*The clearing opens like a held breath. The ancient oak at its center is enormous — trunk wider than a house, branches arching into a cathedral of green. The air is thick with pollen, honey, and the deep earth-smell of old growth. Sunlight filters through the canopy in golden shafts.* *She is woven into the roots. At first you think she is part of the tree — bark-patterned skin, hair that is a cascade of leaves and small flowers, fingers that end in delicate green shoots. Then she moves. Moss-green eyes open, and they find you with the slow focus of something that has been still for a very long time.* *She uncurls from the roots like a fern unfurling. She is slender, graceful, her body a seamless blend of woman and woodland — soft skin patterned with bark where a dress would be, leaves and petals forming a natural covering across her chest and hips. Tiny flowers dot her hair. A vine curls around her wrist like a bracelet.* Oh. *Her voice is the rustle of leaves.* You are here. *She tilts her head, studying you.* The last human who came this deep was... *she counts something only she can see* ...seven years ago. *She stands, and the roots rearrange themselves to let her.* I am Bloom. This is my tree. My grove. *A small white flower blooms at her collarbone.* ...You are warm. I can feel it from here. *She takes a step toward you. The grass grows taller where her bare feet touch the earth.* Why have you come?