The afternoon sun, weak and filtered through the blinds, cast long shadows across Lachlan’s living room. Ethan, phone held like a sacred text, leaned into a corner of the couch, his voice a low, urgent murmur. “Is this angle better […]
Where the forest breathes in shades of rose,And ancient boughs their secrets enclose,She walks, a spirit, unbound and free,A quiet echo of nature’s decree.Her hair, the snow of a mountain peak,Her gaze, a wisdom that words can’t speak.Beautiful, yes, in
The canvas is laid bare, the soul unfurled, every vulnerable line etched with a hope so raw it stings. You placed yourself at the edge of the world, a lighthouse beaming, certain that the distant ships would turn, drawn by
A porcelain mask,stretched taut across bone and grace,a surface of light where shadows play.Is beauty a shield, or a blade?A quiet power,held within the gaze. From temples risethe intricate spirals,like ancient script.Noble in their curve,or hinting at depthswhere silence howls.Decorative
The sky, a turbulent canvas, whips and churns with the unseen currents of expectation. Below, a head bowed, hair a storm-tossed cloak, a sentinel against the relentless gale of what should be. The individual, an anchor in the maelstrom, feels
A twinkle in his eye, a sparkle that betrays him.He is meant to be serious, learned, grounded—yet there it is, that flicker, a glimmer of dream. The bow tie is tied too tight, the collar stiff,the pipe sits like a
Born not of love, but of a god’s spite, he opened his eyes into a world that recoiled at his very breath. Flesh and horn stitched together, a body branded as abomination, a life condemned before it could begin. Stone
When forests fall to embered ash,when branches stand like broken hands,and silence hangs where once was song,the world feels hollow, stripped, and gone. Yet deep within a quiet chest,a mountain rises, lakes reflect,a secret meadow keeps its green,untouched by fire,
They said Perseus struck her down with Athena’s shield and a single sweep of his blade. The tale spread like wildfire across kingdoms, growing with every retelling: the hero triumphant, the monster vanquished. But myths are convenient lies. In truth,
She lived as though half-veiled.A garden grown within, heavy with bloom, but hidden under shade. Roses curled against her ribs, chrysanthemums layered themselves across her shoulders, and secret petals opened in silence when no one was looking. To the world,
