Song of the Chapter: Amsterdam - Coldplay You spent too long running, air cutting slits into your cheeks But there's nothing coming, and there's no one else going turn around and run back to me, my love, my grace.
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*a small warning for non-con. ----
August, Summer Entry fifty four
'My dearest Lillian,
The unforgiving winter storm has finally blown its last glass shards of ice, and the sun begins to rise once again; thawing the pond you adored, the one by the Hanging Tree.
I do recall, the time you demanded we swim in that body of water. And how I encouraged us to return back in the castle. But alas, you always won our disputes, no matter how difficult I was, you surely knew you could outshine my stubbornness.
As you took of your laced cloak, and I demanded you take my coat so you do not feel the residue of the bitter weather that had struck us that once before. But instead, I somehow became lost in your sky locked blues, joining your side involuntarily in the water.
I cherish that day the most.
The way the droplets of water lined up on your chest, the sun glistening down and causing them to shine like pure diamonds. The way your laugh made the water ripple, as though even it was laughing along with you. The way you looked at me, as though I wasn't flawed. Even though I am king, your loving stare makes me feel like I am a god.
And I thought to myself that day, as you looked out on the horizon:
That maybe the sun wasn't the one who blew away the winter storm. It was you.
I send this letter to you, my love. But they tell me you won't be receiving the parchment.
They tell me you will not be awakening from your slumber either.
They tell me that you had rope burns buried deep in your neck, and a note that claims you wish to longer see me again.
They tell me you did this to yourself.
It's been years since we carved our names on the Hanging Tree. It's been years since we whispered soft sweet nothings with the torch light on. We were tired lovers, with hearts that could never sleep. And we'd fall asleep to the wind of the cool air that blew by.
You never gave up when trying to count all the stars.
Who knew that now, the torch light thins, And the Hanging Tree's stump is only there, and that you'd have lines on your skin.
