The Rupture

There came a moment, when the old order could no longer hold itself. The old skin - worn, flaking, clinging to corrupted truths - began to crack. Not in violence, but in surrender. A fissure opened where the pressure was too much, where silence has lived too long. What once stood unshaken now whispered of its own undoing. This is no ruin. This is a breath between death a becoming. Decay versus rebirth. The breaking is sacred. This wound, a doorway. The rebirth never comes gently. It tears through what was. And in its wake, a new silence waits.