What hand holds mine, And does it's owner know me? Do eyes look into my heart, And love what they see in the darkness? Light comes in, And things sizzle and burn That could only live in the night. Who makes a home in my heart, And who dares to want to? Who holds a …

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Ember’s Heart #88

The funeral procession wound through the city like a sea of black cloth flowing between the broken and scorched towers, some of which still trickled smoke after two whole weeks. At its head the flood bore a green and gold coffin on a pure white bier and it followed behind a King wearing pure black armor …

Continue reading Ember’s Heart #88