“For a moment, she thought she was crying too. But then she realised she was just humming. Finally, she could hear the farm. A snippet of a song played in her head. One of the songs she always heard blasting over the farm’s loudspeakers. A song about summer days under the sun. She could really hear it. She could feel the warm, sultry air on her skin, and she wasn’t cold anymore. The air was always yellow at the farm. Golden yellow.” SadnessMemoryYellow Book:Poison Orchids Source: Poison Orchids
“She let the petals drop through her fingers. “People romanticise stars. They’re just hot-as-hell suns. Not centaurs. Not twinkling little jewels to wish upon. Just suns.” StarsSunsPsych Thriller Book:Poison Orchids Source: Poison Orchids