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lullaby
The night will call and the night will sing, Waiting for you to arrive Fill me a pool with memories and dreams Just so I can dive. . Throw your head back and howl to the moon, under the star-lit sky lock me away in the branches of the willow until the moon becomes my eyesLiteratureI Am The WInter
I am winter. My fingers are the bare branches that claw into the cold sky. My eyes are freezing pools of ice, snowflakes, rimmed with the frost that make up my lashes. My lips are cracking curves of biting wind, hiding a tongue made of bitter earth that had been frozen. My hair is the wicked hail, pelting across my pale, porcelain face, making red cheeks bruised. My brain is the tundra, is the rough mountains where snow resides in thick blankets, thinking nothing but cold thoughts. Yes, I am winter.
Literaturethe dragon of Donnovan
with her thick claws of silver and fangs of sharp pearly white. wings of ash and a crown of the moon sitting high atop her head. Alalli guards the cave with her glittering gems and shiny golden coins and suits of armorand iron weapons and great bronze thrones and robes of the nobles and the stained glass windows of the church in the small town of Donnovan, the same town her cave looms over and the same town tales of the black dragon soar from the lips of it's people like dragons themselves
Literaturefrosted feelings
Gracie's got a cold heart to go with her cold toes and cold fingers and cold lips, all purple and blue and as chilled as ice And Gracie doesn't like to talk to people Because they're always trying to warm up her frozen bones But maybe she doesn't want to be thawed Maybe Gracie likes being cold and not feeling anything Because maybe Gracie was once too warm and felt too much and her warm heart got turned cold by another cold-hearted person So to Gracie, it's better being icy than to be heated, and wait for the right someone to melt her snowy walls instead of build them up Like he did with his cold heart that was once too warm for another to ha
LiteratureWitch Hunt (2/6)
Dear Mahla, The date is the eleventh of October. The High Priest Hagen decided that Juna was to be burned yesterday, after she failed to die under the current of the Yancy. I watched from the fringes of the crowd as they dropped her off the railing of Edgar, a thick rope around her neck and wrists, and stones heavy in her pockets and slippers weighted with iron. Juna screamed the whole way down, and sank within seconds under the quick rush of the Yancy, and I fought the urge to cry for the woman I hadn't even spoken two words to, but Mahla - if I had been alone, I would've sobbed, because she wasn't just a woman, she was a fell 
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