DRIP. DRIP. DRIP

WOOSH

The howling sorrow of wind echoing through the deep forest. The remorseful sink in the log cabin. Crackling dead trees bursting with light, trying to warm those hearts frozen in the iceberg of emotion. Then with vengeful might, the book closes as so no more horrors could escape.

Published by msgetoutofmyface

I live in a world of my own imagination

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