The jade plant sat on the windowsill, its leaves glistening unnaturally in the dim light. At first, the whispers were barely there—a rustling, a sigh. But soon, the words became clear. "Water at midnight," it urged. "Trim only the cursed leaves." The gardener obeyed, and the plant flourished. Yet, with every snip, their energy waned. Desperate, they sought help, even considering ghostwriting services to document their unraveling mind. But the jade had one final whisper: "No one must know." By the time they realized the cost, the plant stood taller, thriving, while they withered away.