your dreams are all full of war
you are from another time
The fields swept underneath her and it tasted like freedom. A semblance of liberation that only the wind in her face and power in her hands could provide. Her control, her might, a forging of expanse and disarray and chaos down the wooden steering frames and the rush of speed galvanizing her onward. you are from another time
The Firecracker loomed with its sails taking on the air and maniacal grin spread across her face. She could have done this for hours, loitering and lingering across the skies with naught in her way save for destinations and calamity. And it’d be enough, someday, to have conquered everything below with all her mayhem and expanse.
But Mourn lingered instead, with rushes of meadows and flowers and that quiet way that everyone lamented within its sphere; whether it be through legend or the hulking Barrows in the distance. Fangorn rumbled by her knee, vines encircling the rim of the boat, and she glanced out over, seeing shadows and moving figures below.
salvation doesn't look like light
So what remains?
So what remains?
Melita
