They call it aurora borealis. I see a glass pillar of sky cracking beneath the writhing glow of green-white flames that forged today. Flames that fade like ghosts grasping what was once a home. Never again will I stand unconscious in a universe that melts into magic.
The First Morning
They call it aurora borealis. I see a glass pillar of sky cracking beneath the writhing glow of green-white flames that forged today. Flames that fade like ghosts grasping what was once a home. Never again will I stand unconscious in a universe that melts into magic.