purestsunrise

After a while it gets so monotone. Bodies are carted in, cold from the mortician and the embalmer and the who-the-fuck-ever needs to see them before they come to see Axel. He’s the end of the line, he’s the last step before infinity because he’s the last person that sees you before you’re ash and whispers on the wind and after that, baby, you’re gone. You don’t have a tombstone to mark your place in the world; you don’t have a memorial fund set up, most times. You’re gone. It’s so very monotone until one day a body comes in with pale skin and cold dead eyes and faded blond hair and when he unzips

she swears she will not pledge herself to anyone else but to him only him only the man with blackbird eyes (pour toi, chérie) only him who she is a holy fool for only him who gave her the pretty plastique flower (merci, c’est très beau) that twirls in her fingers cold and synthetic he says that’s the way “love” lasts forever (j’ai besoin de quelque chose de toi en échange) places it in the white vase by her bed her bed which is her prison (petite sorcière, temps de couper vos ailes) and she dreams always of it, always of it the flower that won’t ever die (il blessera seulement)

She remembers being safe. She remembers being kept within certain limits and acting a certain way. She remembers learning how to curtsy and the names of the kings of England in her grand backyard. She remembers wondering what way she should go to find a marvelous escape, an adventure underground: over the hill? Or here, or there? Or just behind that tree? She remembers falling down, down, down the rabbit-hole and what she found there. She remembers dismissing Wonderland and her heart being stolen away as a dream-turned-nightmare, because nobody else remembered dark creatures that took her heart away. So of course, she must have dreamed the

Through Glass Sora is happy and bright and full of hope and wonder and love for the world. It's how he's always been, it's how people expect he always will be. But lately, he's getting the feeling that life's just passing him by. He's been sick for the stars, but he doesn't know why. He can't explain it, but lately he's been feeling alone in this little world. He has everything he needs to be happy, but it's getting harder and harder to smile. They call it an adjustment. They say that after everything he's done, he's just realizing how small he really is. So he's a hero, but that doesn't mean he's big. He's tiny, small for his age, just a