From crafting second-world fantasies to scheming crime novels to novice poetry; magic, mystery, music. I've dreamed of it all.
Now all I want to do is write it.
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The Blessed City
The air swirled a mean grey, rustling the dead earth beneath her feet. Homes that once stood proud crumbled at the touch of a simple breeze. Unsteady floors lay broken and tethered, shattered from the weight of the war. Where the grass once lay green and lush, it now was brittle like old bones.