Scraps of cloth from generations are wound tight — strangers in life, bound in death, stitched into one body. Time collapses; those who never touched now press against each other, their shared thread pulling through centuries to this moment.

A blade parts them. Old bonds are severed; wounds open to let something new grow. Every lineage carries its ghosts, every root hides its own sap.

A shell of concrete holds the tender core — protective, unyielding, and yet brittle. Beneath, the pulse remains.