d.tatejr26
Vines of Amethyst
A majestic tree rises from shadowed soil, its bark stained in deep violet hues—part living wood, part shimmering crystal. From its heart pulses a single radiant vein of amethyst light, glowing steadily like a lantern in darkness. The center of the trunk bears the faint imprint of a child’s hand—delicately embedded into the glass-like bark, as though memory itself once reached out and left a trace.
At its base, tangled roots grasp the earth with quiet determination, cradling a cluster of brilliant amethyst crystals—raw, fractured, and beautiful. Above, the tree’s canopy blooms with lush, purple leaves that breathe in the moonlight, their edges kissed by a soft luminescent sheen. The forest around it is hushed, bathed in cool twilight, as if the world itself has paused to witness this sacred, glowing monument.
It is not broken. It is not silent.
It is living proof that something fragile can still shine.
Vines of Amethyst
A majestic tree rises from shadowed soil, its bark stained in deep violet hues—part living wood, part shimmering crystal. From its heart pulses a single radiant vein of amethyst light, glowing steadily like a lantern in darkness. The center of the trunk bears the faint imprint of a child’s hand—delicately embedded into the glass-like bark, as though memory itself once reached out and left a trace.
At its base, tangled roots grasp the earth with quiet determination, cradling a cluster of brilliant amethyst crystals—raw, fractured, and beautiful. Above, the tree’s canopy blooms with lush, purple leaves that breathe in the moonlight, their edges kissed by a soft luminescent sheen. The forest around it is hushed, bathed in cool twilight, as if the world itself has paused to witness this sacred, glowing monument.
It is not broken. It is not silent.
It is living proof that something fragile can still shine.