Warmth on your shoulders down to your toes. A sip of delight abiding your prose. Cheery, cozy, relaxing the senses. Stress no longer relentless.
By Chelsea DeWolf2 years ago in Poets
Prologue Jack can’t believe he is having this dream, if it can even be called that. It taunts him annually, more like a wretched nightmare.
By Chelsea DeWolf2 years ago in Fiction