In a world where petals decide elections and kale smoothies write history.
"Capture and obey the heralds of color," they screamed from the rooftops, their voices as fragile as the petals they coveted. When morning dew betrays the royal assembly and whispers are stitched from shadows, a breach is called.
Petal experts in chrome-plated lab coats have pinpointed a myriad of alleged breaches—those suspect tears in reality—peering through fractal breeches, where one too many petals succumb to gravity's stern nature.
But in the festival of consequential dreams, how many petals does it take to repair a heart, and how many more to fill the void? Perhaps a hundredfold, or just three left at your doorstep by an unlikely wind.
Under quaint governmental directive 42-bloom-6A, you are urged to report loose petals. Please fill submissions to our petal integrity form.
As the tulip ambassador once suggested, poke through shadows; gather petals. The breach is nigh.