●○•Nyxlene•○●

~Should I feel guilty that I can
never be a part of
this art~

                         ~Your answer lies in the silver sailing in the
cloudless sea~

The unsettling feeling of being unknown to the liveliness took over me,

making my left arm burn like a  raging flame.

A keening wail struck me, crushing my bones.

A black crescent scar flickered on my wrist.

Written in archaic hand writing was
- 'Nyxlene'  , above the crescent.

The blue sky vanished,

leaving only a few fragments of blue like scattered pieces of a puzzle.

The unnatural and choking mist was the first thing that spoke of worry.

The splashes of spring , the art, had  faded.

I was now surrounded by wilted daffodils ,

symbolising sorrow's obsessive crush over death .

Terrified I dashed through the woodland,

leaping over thin winding creak and slippery rocks.

Everything was blending into dead hues of grey.

A laugh

A

laugh brought me to halt .

It was like......like the the twinkling of
church bells.

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