morning sun shines through a healing canopy.
doves,
mockingbirds,
robins,
they sing.
otherwise, the grove is quiet.
peaceful.
the air is warm,
carries a scent of blooming flowers.
all is well.
all is healing.
.
.
.
dappled light stretches across a stone platform.
it is broken.
it is fractured.
but still,
it stands.
the pedestals,
of which corrupted statues once perched,
are gone now;
lost to the elements.
flora has claimed that old, broken place of worship.
it is not theirs anymore.
.
.
.
and yet,
two statues still remain.
fractured,
one broken in half,
burned,
from the death of their rotting King,
but alive,
eternally praying.
.
.
.
wind sweeps the arena.
leaves rustle,
flowers fall,
decorating the crown of the faceless statue.
traces of magic linger still, on the outskirts,
where faded prayers lie,
no longer uttered.
.
.
.
tap.
tap.
.
.
tap.
YOU ARE READING
⑄ 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠'𝚜 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 ⑄
Fantasy[ ᴀᴄᴛ ɪ ] 『 ᴏᴘᴇɴ, ᴏᴘᴇɴ, ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴍᴇ, ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ? ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ʙᴏᴏᴋ, ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏᴏᴋ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴏꜰ ᄃΉΛӨƧ - ᴀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴏꜰ DΣMӨПƧ, ᴏꜰ ΛПGΣᄂƧ, ᴏꜰ ƧΉΛPΣƧΉIFƬΣЯƧ ᴀʟɪᴋᴇ - ᴀɴᴅ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴍꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ, ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ɴ...
