The candle flickers, dancing brightly, and she watches the divine intervention of magic. They listened, it seemed, but never did come. Not to her. Despite the fact they shared magic. Despite the fact it was always better to keep your supposed enemies closer than your friends. Not that she was an enemy to the Gods. No, she was just hurt, really. And hurt has a funny way of masquerading as anger.
The candle stills, the little toy train gone. ”Hope you like it, Ludo.” she says to the wind, standing up and brushing off the dirt from her knees. She’d be back for some variation of this same song and dance again. She may be bitter, they may ignore her, and yet their lives were intertwined all the same.
(finished)
The candle stills, the little toy train gone. ”Hope you like it, Ludo.” she says to the wind, standing up and brushing off the dirt from her knees. She’d be back for some variation of this same song and dance again. She may be bitter, they may ignore her, and yet their lives were intertwined all the same.
(finished)
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
