oh, marea

how many stars were you to count until you could lie peacefully underneath your grave? could i have possibly saved your grace and watched over you from above, rather than carve myself onto your stone and stain it of my wail for as long as it holds me together? if i span my wings over you, rotting underneath the ground; i could have saved you from all meteors and strikes of lightning, but...

kayaras was the warmest shade of pink, welcoming tint of peony and dawn which so heartlessly spread itself across every feature.

dusk was not too far away, and it was winter.

night would reach the balcony rails on which he rested his head and though it did not have arms, it rooted and nestled between his pores until the sun was to rise again.

still for a long while, he leant his face back gently ...

particular notices, stamped and plastered all over the walls of satia like a hungry man’s den silently weeping for more. this one wasn’t alive anymore, however, despite all of the phantoms roaming it’s hollow roofing. they create wind- rotten, musky wind. it’s no wonder the archaeologists of this day don’t dare step foot near these tall ruins.

perhaps it’s just kayaras’ wondrous imagination, or ...