Don’t let the story be your only home. Let it be a house you visit, one you light with emotion—but then step back into your own world, where you breathe as a person, not just a page.
Death sat on his chest, and in the stillness around, the nightingale sang. It sang of the quiet churchyard, where the white roses grow, where the elderflower blossoms, and the grass is green moistened by the tears of those who still live. - Christian Andersen
The draft of Whole Deceit Series was written 3 years ago, in my notebook. I never expected that boredom would lead to 5000 reads and counting...
Homies! My Silent readers! THANK YOU! ⊂(◉‿◉)つ