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🔥 The Demon Knight Who Picks Flowers

They say she was forged, not born.

A child of war and ritual, raised in armor that never cooled. Her horns grew in crooked — one curved like a question, the other like a blade. She never spoke until her first kill, and even then, it was only to ask what the corpse had dreamed.

She was a knight of the Cracked Bloom — a forgotten order that sealed screams beneath stone and carved sigils into their own bones. But she broke rank. She wandered. She began picking wildflowers from cursed soil, whispering to them like old friends.

Now she walks alone.

Her armor is rusted with memory. Her sword hums with regret. And wherever she goes, petals fall — even in places where nothing should bloom.