there's always a glimmer in those
Suddenly ensconced, comforted, and not smothered, suffocated, or bristling in her mourning, the youth could only nod her head at the Korofian words, understanding, comprehending, immersed in the language of her father (even if he remained a piece of filth). But the youth had nothing else to give, to grant, swallowing down the lengths of everything pulsing between the lanterns, the lights, the repose, the unknown, drawing away when they were ready. There she would stand, a little sigh filtering through her lungs, fervent for the picking of souls, to see who would be chosen, to see which was anointed another chance, another opportunity, to look upon their own ghosts, wraiths, phantoms, and loved ones again.
who have been through the dark
MELITA
