The television flickers with images of explosions, but the sound is long gone. The room is silent, save for the gentle ripple of water that surrounds her body. Flowers drift past her, just like the days she has lost, time ticking away towards a future that never arrived.

She no longer remembers how long she has been here, or how long the water has been creeping in. Once, this was her home, her sanctuary, but now it’s a prison, slowly drowned by the failures of the world outside. Everyone had seen the news, heard the warnings, but no one truly listened. They turned away, just as she does now, away from the television, away from the truth that has been sweeping over them in waves.

The explosions on the screen are a distant echo of what happened outside, far away yet inescapable. The earth had fought back—slowly but with precision. Everything that was once taken for granted—solid ground, steady air—now seemed like a distant memory, much like the scent of the flowers before they touched the water.

She looks down at the flowers floating around her, silent witnesses to a world that no longer recognizes itself.