There once was a grove thought pure, now dreary and grey. The drab floors and withered, spindly branches that separated it from the outside world turned it into a place of mourning for the lost souls that ended up there. It was awash with muted colors, dull brown and lusterless, foggish white.
In the center of such a place stood a small, pretty little thing. It was a flower. A flower in full bloom, cascading its colors to shine onto the walls it called home. A tiny lily, all alone in this wasted space. Singularly, it was alive. Alone it was, yet that did not dampen the spirits of this lovely little flower.
It was a seed lain dormant for many years in this decrepit abode. Seasons passed as it warmed itself in the inactive soil beneath the once beautiful miniature forest. When others came and went, it alone sat humble, undisturbed and asleep.
One day, when the dim sun shined its meek light upon the earth, the seed rustled. Now was the time! It grew and cracked apart the seams of the seed holding down the sprout. The sprout pushed and strained to break through the lifeless dirt. It poked its knobby head out into the surface unknown and felt the bitter chill that swept away all its brothers and sisters.
And yet, the little lily never gave way to the barren lands. Solitary it might be, but it was still full of vigor. There was nothing to witness its rise out of the desolate wastes. Alone it would flourish, alone it would decay.
But the lily knew that in time, those other hidden ones shall appear, just as it had. To make their journeys a bit easier and carefree, the lily chose to spend its energy, not in propagation, for there were no other flowers to unite with, but the acclimation of its life unto death.
The cold pall would take it as it had with all the rest. But there was a secret little place where spirited things could take refuge. And when the time came, they would follow and seek out the motley sun.