'i see a world of colours that mean everything to me when all you can hear are notes that mean nothing to you'
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A slow paced, aesthetic, dreamy book based on songs and emotions | A list of stories that I never got to write~
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Updates twice...
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'people like me break beautiful things'
The first thing she did when she had a chance to get away from her sister-deprived brothers was visit the place she knew better than the back of her hand.
When she had been five, she'd stumbled upon a garden more beautiful than those in the movies she'd watched with her best friend. They grew up escaping to the hidden garden to run away from their parents.
The garden was a secret that only they knew of.
Overlooking the garden was a beautiful pagoda with a creaky staircase, but nonetheless, it maintained her weight as she ascended to the top floor. Her feet knew where to go instinctively, and she closed her eyes, allowing them to lead her through her senses alone.
The view was as beautiful as she remembered it, if not more.
She could see the dandelions that sprouted taller than her waist, the flowers that never seemed to wilt, the cherry blossom trees that bloomed during the winter.
Nothing had changed.
She couldn't even blink, for fear of waking up to realize that the beautiful view in front of her was all a dream. "It's beautiful," she whispered to the air, and a gentle gust of wind swirled around her ankles.
"It is."
A voice she knew better than her own emerged from behind her. Turning around, cold blots of electricity that dissolved into warm tingles stole her breath.
Alastair Mercedes hadn't aged one day.
In the decade that she'd been gone, he'd only ever gotten more good-looking, if nothing else.
And the only thing that gave away the time that had escaped them was the emotion in his eyes. One of disbelief and a glitter of pain that only those who'd gone through hell and back seemed to have.
"Hello, Tomorrow," she hadn't realized it, but she was sporting a smile that illuminated her face under the most beautiful of lights.
"Nice to see you again, Yesterday." Old nicknames came flowing back, alongside about a good million memories. "How's life in the big city?" His tone was sarcastic, almost mocking, and she felt her mind reel at the sharpness in his voice.
"Ash," she began, taking a step toward him, her smile slipping. He shook his head. "Don't explain, I don't want an explanation," he said, sidestepping and leaning against the railing next to her.
