Broken

What if it was Clarke and Lexa speaking? Not the rational mind, not the heart beating frantically, but that deep voice that rises when the world stops, suspended.

I wrote what I felt, not with my hands but with my breath, like a whisper the forest keeps safe. A chance meeting-or perhaps not. Perhaps fate enjoys drawing paths that intertwine, like roots beneath our feet. Clarke and Lexa, figures carved from light and shadow, find themselves there, among the still trunks and the wind telling stories never heard.

I imagined pain as a thin flame, one that doesn't burn but warms, and feelings as a stream that can't hold back, breaking through the banks without asking permission. Maybe there's nothing new here, and yet every word I wrote feels new to me, born from the moment the image exploded in my mind. It's like a dream that doesn't want to fade, that stays with you even when you open your eyes.

Happy reading. And be gentle...