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Summary
The cornflowers stood upright, vibrant blues, just like every other flower, with one purpose, aesthetics. Yet they…, they were different, because every time he saw one, he thought of a rose instead. A majestic one, singular, still bloomed, not rotting, but simply gone. Even as years passed, seasons non-existent with a static, ever same world without a player’s destructive hand. That’s how death worked in such worlds, after all.
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Or, Spoke muses to himself whilst picking flowers!- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 643
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 8
- Hits:
- 57