[closed to Gwen] i may be listening when they call, but i won't answer
It starts with a road. Faintly overgrown, flowers on either side, and behind is nothing at all, an edge, and a bridge that leads into that nothingness. Beside the path, there is a house - a cottage, really, small and modest, but pleasant, surrounded by a rich, lush garden, more unkempt than maintained with a kind of wild beauty.
Beside her, a moment later, is a young man, slightly curling sleek black hair and smooth, pale skin, his eyes brilliant green. He reaches for and tries to take her hand, his fingers warm and light.
"Hello," he says, softly.
(It's a dream, of course, but lovingly crafted, complete with smells, and sounds, and texture. This is a special dream.
Beside her, a moment later, is a young man, slightly curling sleek black hair and smooth, pale skin, his eyes brilliant green. He reaches for and tries to take her hand, his fingers warm and light.
"Hello," he says, softly.
(It's a dream, of course, but lovingly crafted, complete with smells, and sounds, and texture. This is a special dream.