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Rated: E · Other · Other · #1997970
This piece was suddenly in my head, as-is, and I wrote it to the best of my ability.
A grandmother often led her sister's eldest orphan daughter along the brook, and with her crooked hand she led the youngest down ruck and row through the forest and isles of Eastwind.

Hastily was their pace some days, more burly the others. Alas as the day was set to seize dormant, alone, the widow of Eastwind roamed when she became overwhelmed by a foreboding deep within her heart and she began to tremble.

The white-glow and pillow high upon her return seized her heart cold. Trapped, hands locked between the ire-cast flame and freedom under the pyre-framed wooden doorway lay the sisters burning

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