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⏳ Long ago, when people still believed
that forests could remember their footsteps,
there was a
story no one dared to tell after dark. Two children lost their way beneath the
trees and followed a trail of breadcrumbs deep
into the forest. There, under the pale moon, stood
a gingerbread house, its sweet walls shining like a
beautiful lie. They came closer, hungry and tired. But the
forest had gone quiet. The birds were gone, the
path had disappeared, and something seemed
to be watching them from between the trees.
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..then the door slowly opened. 𓆪
A fire burned inside,
yet gave no warmth. And
from the darkness came a
voice that knew their names. ۫ ཀ
that night, they learned an old lesson: “not every sweet thing is safe, and
not every house is a home.” 📜🗝 ྅
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