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“They say pale gilded flowers once blossomed here. They twinkled with excitement beneath the bright ardor of this sun. Each bearing a glint of hope that could heal the most broken of hearts. Yet, in disappointment . . . and regret—I found it to be a lie. For a long time, I lived in that lie. Hatefully ignorant of the person I had to become. If not for her wisdom, the only constant of my journey would be death. In her, we had found hope . . . . . . and it haunts me knowing she’s somewhere out there—alone. I will walk to the ends of the world, until the Gold from the sun dwindles away . . . if it means I can find you.” — H.S. Crow
They say pale gilded flowers once blossomed here. They twinkled with excitement beneath the bright ardor of this sun. Each bearing a glint of hope that could heal the most broken of hearts. Yet, in disappointment . . . and regret—I found it to be a lie.
For a long time, I lived in that lie. Hatefully ignorant of the person I had to become. If not for her wisdom, the only constant of my journey would be death. In her, we had found hope . . . . . . and it haunts me knowing she’s somewhere out there—alone.
I will walk to the ends of the world, until the Gold from the sun dwindles away . . . if it means I can find you.