THE CARD FACTORY » 𝑘𝑎𝑧 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑘𝑘𝑒𝑟 ✓

── 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

𝐛 𝐞 𝐟 𝐨 𝐫 𝐞  𝐤 𝐞 𝐭 𝐭 𝐞 𝐫 𝐝 𝐚 𝐦

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 since mother had left were colder. The unpredictable climate of The Wandering Isle seemed more frigid than ever before, despite the summer season. The gales blew harder and more bitter, the rain beat louder and in larger volumes, and the sun never seemed to reappear behind the great thick clouds that wallowed beneath it. Perhaps it was the death of Honour Byrnes that brought this unforeseen change in elements, or Bonnie and her leftover family's depression playing tricks on them - worsening their state. The days had turned by an extraordinarily slow rate, pulling and pushing through the eclipse of time like slugs; each of them.

Totally, it had been around two months. Two months. Two months of nothing but pain; two arduous and dim turns of the moon where nothing had changed and every part of every day had remained the same. Even in the land of the fairies - as the foreigners so favoured to call them - the experience of grief and mourning was felt universally, the entire island appearing to fall to the ailment that plagued the Byrnes family. A broken heart.

It was truly as though the country had lost its heart and its soul, and everything that had made it bright and happy before all this chaos and loss. Wildflowers had once bloomed on the rolling hills and cliffed peaks, soft bladed grass had reached tall, blanketing the spans of these ranges and encasing the pretty shrubbery between them. The famous mural that was the Kaelish landscape was a sight to behold. But now, it felt as though the wildflowers had wilted early, the cotton had flung, the heather had shrivelled up and succumbed to the bogs of peat lying in brackets across the rural area she had once touched.

It wasn't fair. What they had suffered. What she had suffered to live on without her mother to drag her through it all. She was all her father and brother had, as they were all she did. Despite how little they actually gave her now. The impact of grief and loss affects one person different to another. No two cases are the same, making the happening impossible to describe or prepare for. In books, people buried, mourned dramatically, and then forgot. In fairy tales, the protagonist would travel vast stretches, climb various obstacles, and fight many a foul beast to rescue those they loved before any harm could befall them. Myths were cruel and unrealistic and not worth dwelling on for the sake of sanity. But the reality behind it all, was far less simple than the written descriptions, Bonnie had concluded.