Maea
And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die
It heals them when you die
Dark cloth, thick and rank from too much time spent in moisture, came away under the ministrations of the landshark and exposed a hand. The skin was pale and puckered, like wax that had half melted and then solidified again, and the fingertips seemed rather brittle. Pale too was the face that appeared from under the tangles of matted hair, too white for the youthful semblance of the features.
It was a girl.
White lashes rested unmoving against cheeks streaked with dirt and dust - it was clear that this person had never been on good terms with the sun, even at the best of times.
She did not move. She did not breathe. Maea appeared in every way dead to the world.
It was a girl.
White lashes rested unmoving against cheeks streaked with dirt and dust - it was clear that this person had never been on good terms with the sun, even at the best of times.
She did not move. She did not breathe. Maea appeared in every way dead to the world.
And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh
A whisper within a sigh
