= Amara =
The first thing I noticed was the silence felt… different.
Not gone. Not heavy. Just altered in a way I couldn’t immediately name.
A few days ago, whenever I crossed the village square, the atmosphere would shift the moment my boots touched the packed earth. It wasn’t dramatic—no sudden hush, no outright hostility—but something subtle and unmistakable would ripple outward from me. Conversations would thin at the edges, words trailing off into half-finished sentences. Laughter would soften, as if joy needed to lower its voice in my presence. Eyes would follow me in careful, sidelong glances—curious, cautious, weighing me without wanting to be caught doing it.
I had felt it every time.
The recalibration.
As though the square had to adjust its balance to accommodate me.
Moth
