Lena
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
that perches in the soul
The Caretaker stepped lightly along the waterways, her hands full of lanterns – arms brimming with the weight of Stormbreak’s losses from the past year. She stifled the weight of her grief, for this was supposed to be a time of remembrance and gratitude, for those souls who’d gone to Mort, who’d been shepherded by Ludo, who’d found other means and measures in the beyond – but still, it was difficult to curb the sorrow.
Finding a path not wholly ignited, she crouched amidst the fireflies and began to tie her sister’s lantern to the line – artistic denizens painted on the blackened sides, of dragons flying high, of engineering prospects and iron workings, of something beyond steel and forged prospects. The others followed suit: for so many that had been in the hospital at the time of the Ascended attack, for those who hadn’t made it amidst the city rising into the sky.
Finding a path not wholly ignited, she crouched amidst the fireflies and began to tie her sister’s lantern to the line – artistic denizens painted on the blackened sides, of dragons flying high, of engineering prospects and iron workings, of something beyond steel and forged prospects. The others followed suit: for so many that had been in the hospital at the time of the Ascended attack, for those who hadn’t made it amidst the city rising into the sky.
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all
and never stops at all
