(Nov) Prompt 1 - Blue
Spoiler: Clicky clicky ------->
This is a test run of a character I'd like to use in my book series. So I'm testing him and his ability out here. I might have to make a few changes to make the character feel more real, but this was just an intro. Beware it's rated M.
Spoiler: Rica Rota - blue
The seals have been broken...
The Purgament has begun...
The Piper's out of the basement...
The Dead have started to boogie...
Decay is Coming
Spoiler: The winner is...
She was the embodiment of grace and beauty. Alastaar could still remember his first thoughts of her the first time she walked by him on the beach. She'd been wearing a long white shawl draped across her delicate shoulders, her feet bare and lightly crusted with wet sand from where she walked along the edge of the tidal line. Her passage leaving a trail of foot prints for him to follow straight to the treasure that was her company and as if that wasn't enough she paused to look over her shoulder at him. Capturing his soul with her eyes a brilliant gleam beneath her delicately arched brows and then she turned, wandering away like a nymph over the sand her motions as casual as the wind that danced with the ends of her hair. The tendrils maneuvered in a fantastic play against the soft curve of her neck. He couldn't resist her allure and so he followed.
The map of foot prints led him beyond the sand and to a worn dirt path. Still he followed. When he crested the hill she was standing with her hands on the black metal railing at the top of a sea side cliff that faced a dim grey horizon. That white shawl was blowing delicately in the wind under her fluttering hair, the sight of her was so mesmerizing that Alastaar felt frozen to the spot. His feet cemented in quicksand while he fought to make a sound or movement so that he might interact with the ethereal creature in front of him.
Something was on his side that day. The wind kicked up for just enough of a moment that her shawl came flying off her shoulders. The flutter of motion was enough to break his stupor allowing him to jog a the few steps forward to capture the soft fabric before it could so much as brush the ground. When she turned to see where it had gone she instead captured him with her gaze and moved forward. He reached out his work roughed hand, offering to her the fabric that was too delicate for a hardened man like him to posses and as she took it away she took also his hope of speaking with her again. Those were his thoughts when her delicate fingers brushed over his as she took one of his larger hands in both of hers and turned her face up towards his.
And she captured him with her eyes gleaming Blue.
That was just the beginning though. He could remember their first true date just a month later. He'd taken her out to one of the most swingin' clubs on the town. Two of her friends and their dates came along all dressed up in their long gowns and their faces painted for their men who wore tuxes and brought flowers to begin the dance of courtship. Alastaar himself had dressed up in his nicest tux, even learned to iron for just this momentous occasion. The dark grey suit was crisp and straight, not a wrinkle to be found on the expensive material. He'd stopped at a shop to buy her some flowers, pausing to ponder over the many shades of roses before he spotted the pale white lilies in another corner of the store.
Lilies are my favorite. He could hear her voice as clearly as if she was in the room with him, as if it was not a memory from several weeks ago. Especially the white ones. So pure and bright. So full of hope. So he picked them up instead and he was still holding them in his hand while he waited for her to come down the stairs just as her friends had. He was starting to wonder if she'd decided against coming when the door opened and she appeared before him, stealing his breath away as she descended the stairs.
Her hair was done up in a high bun with perfect ringlets of her brunette locks framing the soft curves of her face. Make up brought out her high cheek bones and accentuated the shape of her eyes. Brilliant red stained her perfectly shaped lips but none of that is what caught his attention. No it was the floor length, flare bottomed, boat necked gown made of fabric painted with the Caribbean Sea that tanned her pale skin.
The sight of her had him drowning in glorious Blue.
His fondest memory of her yet was the day he proposed. They'd been dating for several years and Alastaar had finally saved up enough money to buy her the kind of engagement ring that she deserved. A brilliant gold band with six small sapphires swirling off the sides of a large diamond. It had caught his eye months ago but at the time he'd not had enough money saved up to buy it. Tonight he'd dressed up in another fine suit of sleek black with a long tie all ironed to crisp perfection. This time he'd brought a bouquet of mixed white lilies and red roses.
They were at the classiest restaurant in town, he'd been planning it for weeks now and already had paid the waiters and musicians a little extra to make sure that this night was truly special and perfect. She'd showed up in a glorious black satin gown and a pair of heels with long straps that wrapped around the ankle as far up as the long dress would let him see. She was more beautiful than ever before and it was all he could to that night to show her how much he absolutely adored her with every fiber of his being. Buying everything she wanted to prove that he could and would take complete care of her whatever she needed or desired.
So when she finally found the ring looped over the sorbet spoon and she glanced up at him with a stunned look on her delicate features his breath froze in his chest. Her expression melded from shock to a look of total love and adoration when he carefully took the ring off the handle and slipped it onto her slender finger. Then he gazed deep into those glorious eyes glimmering with a sheen of happy tears. And six months later they were married under a white wedding arch with the tables set in a winder wonderland theme with pale ice and midnight sky.
And he discovered his heart was trapped in a lovely world of Blue.
He could still remember how the birth of their first child was simultaneously the proudest and most frightening day of his entire life. She's been heavy with child for months, her hand always fluttering over her swollen belly as she read stories to their unborn baby. The cramps had come on in the middle of the night so while he rushed to get a shirt and pants on in the midst of his panic she was calmly walking herself to the car, not caring that she was still wearing her long fuzzy pajama bottoms and one of his old t-shirts. He rushed to open the door for her and fought to stay calm while he drove her to the hospital where they wheeled her into a room of nurses to wait for the doctor.
When the real time came and she was clenching his hand so hard he thought he could feel his bones grinding together he worried that something was going wrong. She began screaming when they told her to push. When the baby came covered in mess and appeared to be colors that he'd not been aware were supposedly normal for a newborn child he thought he might pass out. And despite the infantile screaming Alastaar was sure that when they took the baby away the child was going to die.
But when they brought back the little bundle of pacified life, clean and healthy telling them that they could go home the next day pride and joy poured forth in his chest filling him up in a way he'd never experienced before. He looked into the eyes of his lovely wife her smile all bright and teary despite the exhaustion she must have been feeling and they looked down to the gender colored bundle in her arms.
He watched his world turn beautiful Baby Blue.
Now as he looked down at her peaceful face he could almost believe that she was asleep. What truly gave it away was her carefully positioned body cradled by soft fabric in a hard wooden box made out of the most expensive oak that money could buy. At the sight of her tears began to slip from his eyes and his world melted away with their sons by his side.
"Goodbye my sweet Ellanore." He whispered feeling loss more keenly than he ever had before.
Because he knew that his world would never again be Blue.
Last edited by ArcerianLover; 11-09-2015 at 09:18 PM.
"Briarwood is the pretty poison. There is no cure for Briarwood." - Jaenelle Angelline, Black Jewels Trilogy, Anne Bishop
Blue dresses, Socks and Notes
~ Chapter One ~
The grand throne room of …………… Kingdom was, on a good day, uninspiring. On a bad day, it was plain awful. It seemed as though all color had been stripped away from the room, leaving behind only a sad shadow of its former glory from the …….. century. The grey stone walls, thick and made originally for protection, were once decorated by the most elaborate tapestries, created by the finest masters of the time, covering the heavy grey slabs with mythical depictions in colors rare and unimaginable. Now, most of those tapestries were gone, sold at one point or another to pay for a certain war that had been raging for ages. The two that were left were tattered and bleak, burned out by the sunlight as they had been repositioned. The floor was worn and slightly uneven in places, a real obstacle course for dancers when a ball was held – however, that hadn’t happened in many years. The walls of this hall had not heard music in as many years as the current king had ruled. This added to the overall somber look of the hall.
“Music is pointless,” the king complained to his advisors every time someone brought it up, sitting in his favorite pair of thick, indigo socks, slippers on his feet and the crown tilted on his balding head. “No music shall be heard in my kingdom! I will not take it!”
The advisors all would agree and bow, secretly disappointed but unable to do anything about it. It had been nearly thirty years since the kingdom was graced with music. Actually that is not entirely true. The year before this one, in ……………, a band of wandering musicians ended up in the kingdom’s tavern, a young man playing the piano royal there in a way which made it impossible not to listen. Many fell into the temptation that his songs of love and freedom brought and among the sinful was no other than the king’s only daughter, Lana.
Lana always had a rebellious strike to her – from an early age, she caused the castle to echo her name as her ladies in waiting searched for the young girl with dark brown hair and a constant mischievous gleam in her eyes. Growing up, little changed as she discovered that walls couldn’t hold her for long. Thus, the whole city within the gates of the capitol began to echo with her name, the guards looking for the young woman. On that meaningful day, by fate or luck or mere circumstance, the guards were a bit slow to find her and Lana a bit too curious. Whatever the case, the second her dark eyes met with Ariel’s blue ones, everything changed.
Music became more than a hobby – it became a guilty pleasure, a passion, the burning fire within. In vain did the King, her father, eradicate the musicians from the kingdom. Lana kept locking herself up in the attic with sheets of paper and write nothing but notes. It was a disaster in the making, the King slowly losing control on his own daughter and the girl becoming more and more uncontrollable. Soon, the only hope the King had to eliminate the unholiness from her mind was through marriage.
“She is turning twenty one soon,” he told his wife, the Queen, one night as the couple got ready for bed. “An uncontrollable woman who will soon be past her beauty. I intend to marry her off.”
“But your majesty,” the queen responded in a soft voice, sitting before the mirror in her favorite blue robe as she removed bobby pins from her hair. “What about her highnesses wishes?”
“What about them?” The king huffed, sitting in bed and crossing his arms on his chest. “What about her wishes?”
“Shouldn’t you ask her?” the queen was a soft hearted woman though, in the king’s opinion, a bit dumb. He never married her for her wits and had always acknowledged his superiority before her. At the time he was marrying her, beauty and a healthy body to bear children were more important.
“Why would I do that? You know how your daughter is! Unreasonable, spending every free minute writing music! If you ask me, she should be purifying her mind and playing chess – that is the only reasonable way to spend one’s time!” he shook his head. “I have decided that she will be married on her birthday and not a moment later.”
“That’s in two weeks!” the queen exclaimed as she stood up, coming to the bed.
“Yes and that is why I have sent invitations to all eligible princes in the neighbouring kingdoms today to arrive within a week for the celebration and for a wedding. That ought to do the trick.”
“Will you let her choose?”
“Of course, allow her to choose the best,” the king chuckled. “A future king on this kingdom must have proficient knowledge in horseback riding, fencing, dancing, culinary refinement, distinguishing between different poisons and a perfect knowledge of etiquette.”
“And singing,” the queen added seriously. “Every young man must know how to sing. At least all my brothers did and that was a requirement my father had.”
“My dear, poor Alaida,” the king threw her a pitiful gaze, choosing his words slowly and carefully. “Your father, as you know, was greatly misled by the musicians he harboured and cared for. Music is not a skill that a young men must have – it’s a crime if he is so burdened. Chess, on the other hand, chess is a very important skill.”
“But doesn’t dance require music?” the queen asked, frowning.
“You’re right – it will be removed and will be replaced by mathematics,” the king jumped up, running to his small table with parchments and ink. “I don’t want to forget this important detail tomorrow! Now, while I choose the husband for our girl, I expect that you will take over the preparations for the wedding. That won’t be too hard, will it?”
“Your majesty, you doubt me?” the queen exclaimed, pouting.
“Of course not, my dear,” the king shook his head. “I just want everything to be perfect.”
Blue
Blue, blue, blue.
The ocean is a deep shade of blue. It washes away the sand, and takes it into the sea. Who knows if the sand will return? Maybe, after years of rolling around in the sea, washed up on many islands and then returning to the water, it will return to this same beach. Or, perhaps, it will give up, and fall to the bottom of the ocean, covered up with its brothers, and squashed, drowned in layers of misery. And when, someday, if the sea ever recedes, it will find it changed, now a piece of hard stone.
And what even if it does return to this beach? What will it find here? True, there will still be sand, but will it be the same sand that was there when it left? No, for that sand was long ago dragged into the sea, and who knows where this one grain's companions lie now. There is nothing familiar left to this little grain of sand, and so, it lets itself once again be drawn in by the never ceasing waves.
And who can stand against this blue sea? Nothing. Not one thing. Even the tall cliffs, which bravely cast their shadows on some small part of it, are slowly worn away. Soon, they will be gone, too.
Blue, blue, blue.
The bluebonnets in the spring are blue, as well as some of the morning glories. I have always loved the little blue flowers, growing wild and swaying in the crisp breeze. But what happens to them? Perhaps they are plucked, and placed on the center of a table, to be admired by all. Or, perhaps, they are given to a loved one. And its beautiful splendor is praised by all.
But, is this really its splendor? Can we really say something dead is really in its most beautiful form? It can no longer live, and only pulls up water now for a while, as if it has an idea of what it once was. But soon, the flower will whither. The already dead thing will look dead, and, once it does, it will be discarded. And the empty corpse of what once was will be forgotten, and its unburied, unmourned form will silently return to the earth.
And even if the flower is not picked, what then? Do not the petals drop when the harsh winds of fall swing the plant from left to right? Watch, and the colors fall to the dirt, leaving just a poor, green stem. But even that cannot last. For soon the winter will come, and with all its bitterness, it will kill the already withered plant. And when the spring comes, with its mild weather and life giving rains, it will smile upon a lovely world. But that bluebonnet of last year? That particular morning glory of the previous spring? They are gone forever. What good is this spring for them?
Blue, blue, blue.
The sky is blue. During the daylight hours, it spends its days a bright blue, illuminated by the sun. No, illuminated is the wrong word. This blue is completely caused by the sun. Without it, it has no real color. See, as it goes away, the sun changes the colors of the sky. See as the sky has no properties of it own, as random colors are splayed all over by the sun, throwing red and pink in a disorganized pattern as it comes and goes.
And even when the sun seems to disappear, and the sky darkens to almost a complete black, the sun's influence does not leave completely. Is it not the sun which lights up the moon, which rests in an otherwise black sky? Some may say this is hopeful, but not I. No, it just shows how fickle the sun is: one moment it favors the sky, and the next it only taunts it, illuminating the one object distinct from its black.
And the thousands of other stars twinkling in the background? They mock the sky, too, reminding it that it will never have a light of its own, and must always do what the sun wishes. Even the nothingness of the sky does not escape from the torments of somethings.
Blue, blue, blue.
What else is blue? The cracked bowl forgotten on the top shelf is blue. The eggshells in the robin's nest- long forgotten and empty after the fledgling grew up- are blue. The tear that falls from my eye-
I am blue, too.
Blue, blue, blue.
I sit here alone, in a blue dress, looking out the window. There are the morning glories, climbing up the trellis surrounding my window. There I hear the sound of the crashing waves. There is the blue sky, above it all.
And here am I.
I am blue. Blue, blue, blue. Blue courses through each part of me, through every vein, and yes, even through the arteries. Nothing seems to have color anymore, yet I am not left in a world of black and white- those colors are gone to me, too.
I live in a world of blue. Blue, blue, blue. I remember how things uused to be, when I my life-I really- was filled with other colors- green, white, even red- but now I am just blue. The loss itself is a deep shade of blue. And when I look towards the future, it is blue, too. It is all blue, for as long as the forever I care to think about, at least. And after that, what matters if it is blue or not? By that point, it will not matter, at least not to me, for I will be be no longer. I will be black, and have no facilities to care.
Yet, until then, I shall remain blue.
Blue, blue, blue.
A blue tear falls down into the grass below. Sooner or later, it will end up in the unrelenting sea. And no one who sees the ocean will even know my sorrows, not now, not when it gets to the sea, nor even when I am long dead.
But perhaps...
...
Perhaps it will not go to the ocean right away.
Perhaps...
Perhaps it will first water some poor plant, and give it a bit of life in this blue world...
Green, green, green.
Green is the color of the first springtime sprout, when it breaks it way out of the hard frozen icy-blue snow...
If the gold does not stay in this world,
then I will chase it till I find my home
Call an optimist, she's turning blue...
Pregnancy. What a wonderful, terrible event. For all you ladies out there who have yet to experience motherhood firsthand in the most direct, biological way (for I grant you, there are many kinds of motherhood), try to imagine for a moment... close your eyes, and just imagine...
It varies between the size of an average cantaloupe to the size of an average watermelon.
The baby does.
Ahem. Now that I've got your attention.
It's a life-changing experience, emotionally, psychologically, physically... It's fairly safe to say that nothing will be the same afterwards. But really, let's not rush ahead. There's still the nine months that lead up to it, where you will progressively experience the joys of feeling something alien growing inside of you, feeding off of you, and generally making sleep an increasingly uncomfortable and rare experience.
You will endure bouts of waking up with an intense craving for food you've never desired before, in quantities that no human being would ever call "healthy," at times of day when nothing but grocery stores are open.
You will wish, by the end of those nine months, to be rid of this lifeform once and for all, a thought for which you will receive at least a kick or a punch that you are helpless to defend against.
And then, the magical day will come, when the contractions hit, and you're losing what's left of your mind because you need someone to take you to the hospital right now.
That's when the fun really begins. There's no standard timetable, no standard method, no assurance that your little unborn offspring will be right side up, upside down, or some other way. Perhaps you'll want to go "all natural" and avoid the pharmaceutical agents they will be ready to give you--to help ease you into the passage of complete psychological and emotional unreality beyond the veil of this world. Good luck with that.
There will be pain. Lots. of. pain. And after the first dozen or so hours, trooper though you may be, with a will of iron and heart of steel, you will, in languages no one today can recognize as anything that ever sprang from the mouths of human beings, demand those drugs to get you through this living hell that everyone else swears is a breathless moment full of beauty, passion, and ecstatic joy.
And you thought needles were bad. You'll be begging for needles before this is all said and done.
When, finally, after the sweet sound of a seemingly unending litany of curses leaves your lips during the passage of countless hours, the head emerges, there will be a moment of obligatory exclamation. But the miracle of childbirth is hardly a lovely process, as you've no doubt witnessed on Animal Planet--and yours will be just as messy, if not moreso.
You see, animals make it look easy. Most of them even have it easier.
No, human beings come out amid screams and smells you're not prepared for, no matter how many classes and books and videos you've partaken of. The ever helpful doctors and nurses, immune and callous to the fact that this experience is the first time you've ever known anything like this will do their very best to pretend to get into it with you, advising, so wonderfully, to "PUSH!" "HARDER!" "BREATHE!"
When it's probably more like the sixth wriggling little bundle of filthy joy that they've had to deliver today.
Remember: Cantaloupe if you're lucky; watermelon if you're really lucky. "PUSH!" There will be unavoidable ripping and tearing. Yeah, I bet your legs are together now. "DEEP BREATHS!"
And that's if nothing goes awry! History is full of lovely people who needed a little assistance getting into this world--Caesar, Macduff, and several emperors and other sorts of important personalities. By "assistance" I mean slitting open your belly with a blade to get the baby out. Fun times!
Of course, then there are the babies born with their birth cords around their neck, all blue and purplish, strangling to death in their first moments. (I was one of those.) But not to worry, we can slice right through those too, and hopefully get the little tyke out and spank it back into right breathing. And screaming.
And screaming. And screaming. Nights and nights and nights of endless, unabated howling, wailing, and bawling, accompanied with smells that rival the worst sort of chemical warfare scientists have ever concocted within a vat of bacterial goodness. Learn to love diapers. Learn to love changing them. Learn to love getting maybe two hours sleep a night for the next two years.
All of this and so much more awaits you in the boundless joys of parenthood!
And that's if you only stop at one. But I bet you simply cannot help yourself, can you. No sooner will the pain be a slightly faded, throbbing memory pounding at the base of your skull than you'll be back under the sheets, hard at work making sure you get another chance to go through this glorious process all over again.
No recovery time for you. Not only will you not be getting any sleep this time, you'll have twice the screaming, writhing, smelly little bundles of limitless joy to feed, clothe, and change than before! Who would ever forego and pass up the opportunity to spend the next (roughly) two decades of their lives devoted to the procession of endless squeals, messes, expenditures, stresses, tribulations, sicknesses, embarrassment, day-care, babysitting, backtalk, tantrums, fights, screaming, furniture-breaking, toy-clamoring, bed-wetting, food-spewing, sex-interrupting goodness of child-rearing?! And I've only just touched the most likely generalities you'll be sure to endure in the long years of bliss awaiting you.
We haven't even touched on all the wonderful events that arise with the onset of puberty.
You're sure you still want to do this? Maybe you just need a little more time to think it over before taking the plunge. I understand. Go back to enjoying all the stuff that comes before that. Just a little while longer anyway.
With protection, of course.
If you'd awaken for one moment...
Her voice linger in some sweet long forgotten melody. I knew it. Somehow. My handle fiddled the air as if I could invoke the sounds from the nothingness.
Maybe I actually could. In some other life or another time.
The voice still echoed, as if bringing me back from my thoughts. Maybe it just tried to grab my attention from going far away from her.
I raise my head, and looked up. Hands reached out from the bottom. Just hands, nothing else. They were welcoming, and shone in delicate aura.
Once gaze and then I bowed my head.
The melody was getting weaker, as if accepting the fact I was not so eager to follow, yet at the same time not completely disappearing, giving me the chance to change my mind.
Did I want to? Maybe. Probably even, but my position felt too comfortable to sway. As it was getting colder I found myself hugging my knees closer to my body in some petty attempt to get myself warmed. I think it helped. I am not sure. I think I stopped to care or notice.
The hands reached further, now accompany by legs that took small steps for me.
I looked slight, noticing a small frame of body glittering by the light, yet not as obvious as the limbs. I shrugged and looked away. Maybe that thing felt like I was giving it a chance to draw closer. Maybe in truth it was what I wanted. At some point I felt that thing's breathing at my nape. Harsh and heavy... and warm.
I closed my eyes, growing weaker by the sensation of something which was slowly embracing me into a caring hug. Somewhat maternal like, somewhat friendly like... somewhat even...
"Just tuck me under your wings...", I said. Or was I whispering? "Let your light be the nest of my forgotten sorrow, for my head to sink, for my thoughts to carry on into a dream".
It has lasted like this for very long time. Since I hardly grasped time in this place, I didn't find it odd to be lasted that long. Maybe it did lasted long. It was hard to tell in this time and place.
"Should I go back?", I asked. Half decided, half unsure and truly asking for guidance. Her voice carried the same tune that was with the surrounding. Heavenly. Forgotten. Familiar.
Maybe she tried to tell me it was up to me to decide, and that I could not ask her for guidance aside of a small comfort. But it was not a minor gesture. It was everything.
I looked back at that thing's body, or at least tried, for it was holding me tightly. The sky reflected in lines of on her frame and clouds playful swayed like fish in a puddle. Something out of this world, a blue crystal of lovely weather.
She was my connection to this world and by so, seemed to be almost assimilated by this neverending space. Almost. There was still an ounce of desire in her to be a sole, a unity. Otherwise she would not have mastered everything she had to have some kind of a frame. Was that passion awaken at my sight in her world. Me an outsider to hers?
Everything else, the others, whatever that was around us have accepted me as something else, maybe even waited for me to lose myself too. Not her. She gave me the option to decide. Maybe her embrace woke me to life. Maybe it was her way to trick me to stay with a calm mind. It says that one cannot depart from our world while bearing conscious or longings.
Did I long for something... Did I had some kind of will...
The moment I thought of this, I found myself having trouble breathing. She has also trembled under me. I think her melody was shaken too. Did I invoke something? They say a thought creates reality.
I tried to understand how did I come here. What was my purpose of being here. Did I had one to begin with? How was I so sure I was not part of this world?
I felt heavy. I felt like something was squeezing me. I looked at her. She wasn't the reason, her hold on me wasn't as tightly as I thought.
No.
For certain it was something else.
Suddenly... I felt... I think I felt cold... She hugged me but it was not enough. It was damn freezing. Her melody was starting to be different, mixed. I notice the lines of music, I noticed the layers. They were combined of many voices and echoes.
Shouts... cries...
Voices I recognized and Voices I did not.
And they were all calling me.... I am sure of that... They were calling me...
Yes.
I had a name and I had to follow down... My chest was crushed by the sudden realization, everything was so tight...
I was falling.
She let go... slowly... her image drawing further away, no lines were to make her body, and again she was only pair of hands, drawing further and further away from me as I was sinking deeper and deeper...
At that moment I woke.
I was in the hospital. A small child. I looked at my hands and noticed some kind of strings popped into my veins. A breathing machine was held tightly to my lips.
A woman... a nurse was looking at me. She cried with joy, calling my name again and again, but my eyes just wandered back and forth to realize I was in a big room.
Hospital. I was in the hospital.
She kept calling me, and to stop her annoying yelling I looked at her. She asked me if I understood. If I'm okay, if... dunno... questions... so many questions. I nodded my head, as I felt the whole experience shocking.
The doctors rounded up around me and I heard bits and bits of info. Something about car accident and another people being treated in another room.
Mom... Mom picked me up today... didn't she?
I looked around... I didn't see her.
All they did was whisper. Trying to get my father...
... Mom...
I let few tears fell on my cheeks, realizing... just who that angelic person that tried to pick me up, in my own dream... was....
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Originally Posted by Evelyn <3
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