On a cold night.
She wept.
It had been days.
Weeks of days.
Months of days.
And the war was only just beginning.
The air was flooded.
The night was smooth.
She won't return to the voice that cries in the night.
There was a chime, one, three, seven, a thousand.
It was odd.
Even.
How can you expect any different to that which you have enacted yourself.
There is no mercy.
Lies are the currency upon which the rich earn their millions.
The red velvet was a warmly indulgent facade upon which dreams were created and subsequently buried amongst the crippled peasants of the aged empire.
It had been days.
Weeks of days.
Months of days.
And the war was only just beginning.
The air was flooded.
The night was smooth.
She won't return to the voice that cries in the night.
There was a chime, one, three, seven, a thousand.
It was odd.
Even.
How can you expect any different to that which you have enacted yourself.
There is no mercy.
Lies are the currency upon which the rich earn their millions.
The red velvet was a warmly indulgent facade upon which dreams were created and subsequently buried amongst the crippled peasants of the aged empire.