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sangfleur

L. M. L.
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Literature

Comes to Dust

Night rises over the water, dulling Silver City’s reflection.Tomorrow they will take the streets to the city square, will sift through the ash of memory, pack their wounds with dead dust.She brushes hair from her eyes, looks out over water, the glitter of jagged glass and bent, broken steel, the yawning earth between palace and causeway.  The city in the water wavers, shakes, steadies, like the stone had during the day. The light, hanging behind the tallest structure still standing, blinks suddenly into darkness.“Look,” she points to the lake, “I think the moon has drowned.”

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4 deviations
Literature

Comes to Dust

Night rises over the water, dulling Silver City’s reflection.Tomorrow they will take the streets to the city square, will sift through the ash of memory, pack their wounds with dead dust.She brushes hair from her eyes, looks out over water, the glitter of jagged glass and bent, broken steel, the yawning earth between palace and causeway.  The city in the water wavers, shakes, steadies, like the stone had during the day. The light, hanging behind the tallest structure still standing, blinks suddenly into darkness.“Look,” she points to the lake, “I think the moon has drowned.”

Featured

4 deviations
Literature

Touching the Muse: Celerian

Somewhere silver and dark and light has awakened.There is a soft footfall, a brush of night air.His hair is warm, and smooth as silk or satin falling over my shoulder. The silver smells of the green wood, a thousand endless summers.His touch could burn those who are unprepared, but on my skin it is pleasant warmth, the heat of beach sand warmed by spring's sun.When he speaks his voice is as water, clear, flowing into change, deep as the ocean and at times twice as turbulent. It carries within it the surety of ages, the many years of water wearing down stone.The arms around me are not as stone, they are warm as human arms, soft and malleabl...

Misc Original Fic

4 deviations
Literature

Scrap -- WAFD

Until she'd woken up a few months ago with a man in her bedroom, staring down at her through shadow.At least, she'd thought she was awake.But when she realized she couldn't see his face--no matter which way she turned, and no light came on when she touched the base of the lamp next to her bed--only his eyes, gleaming and wild, reflected in the sickly yellow light filtering through her curtains from the street lamp outside, she'd known it was another of those waking dreams.

Scraps

5 deviations