She'd only ever believed herself alive, but awaking consciousness broke her prison, allowed her to burn as the sun. No more cold sorrow melting her fire. No more wreathing torment's shadow. No more fading. She'd only ever cared too much, though her heart said not enough to warm her cold, to allow her gentle heart to extinguish pain. She'd allow time to breath. She'd allow love its desperate breaths. She'd allow living. ©October 2014, October 2022 Christina Anne Hawthorne
Christina Anne Hawthorne
Alive and well in the Rocky Mountains. I'm a fantasy writer who also dabbles in poetry, short stories, and map making. My Ontyre tales are an alternative fantasy experience, the stories rich in mystery, adventure, and romance. Alternative fantasy? Not quite steampunk. Not quite gothic. In truth, the real magic is in those who discover what's within.
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