Favourite 3 Writers:
10:51, 22 May 2016
Lost motes of glass dancing upon an invisible cascade of the winds. The spirits of the wastes screaming their lamentation, their entombment in a frozen prison of ice and snow. A wanderer fortifying herself against the endless onslaught, her mind fraught, her body wearied, but her will cast in iron.
Through forests of oak, their arms thrown up in a fruitless attempt to appease the anger of nature. Through lakes, retreated beyond a surface of fear, through villages, devoid of humanity, through cities, no longer bustling beacons of hope, through the world, enshrouded in a perpetual storm of snow. She still wanders to this day; I only hope one day I will find her.