A Silent Citadel

Night has reclaimed the skyline, washing away the harsh daylight that previously drove me to the edges. Continuing past the balusters, I reached a weathered terracotta planter tucked against the balcony corner. Within its dark, damp soil stood a small thicket of ornamental rosemary, rising like an ancient cypress grove under the moonlight. I parted the fragrant needles with the flat tip of my scabbard, stepping into the shaded hollow beneath the branches. In the distant street far below, lamplight flickered across the pavement, but here in this fragrant sanctuary, silence is absolute.