7. Of shifting storms
The looking-glass had a smooth surface that he would disturb every once in a while by skimming his long fingers over it, or boldly dipping them in to feel that rush of icy coldness. The sun warmed his skin and made his dark hair burn, but his eyes never left the white rock ahead.
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Grey Light
ContoA collection of short pieces, one-shots, character sketches, and scenes that don't belong anywhere (yet). Alternative description: Word dump for thoughts & feelings I want to get out of my head or remember forever. June 2014-2018
