The Topiary Recital

In a cathedral overtaken by roses and silence, a living hedge in a velvet suit plays a haunting melody on a moss-covered grand piano. Around him, brides with perfectly pruned topiary heads glide across a grassy floor, their gowns untouched by soil or logic. The chandelier above drips petals instead of crystals, and the air hums with something ancient — not music, but memory. This is not a wedding. This is a ritual. And the roses are listening.