(no subject)
Sep. 15th, 2026 10:15 pmThere is no one at the end of this road. She had remembered wrong. There was no one waiting for her this time - not even a telephone. The wind rustled endlessly through the spiny trees, and it left her with one conclusion: she should have turned back when she had the chance. She reached into the pocket of her wool skirt, and retrieved her last feather. It almost appeared to glow around the edges in the light of the setting winter sun. It was still as frost-kissed as the day her father had given it to her, which honestly made her stomach turn a little. She remembered its provenance, it was like her, in the wrong place at the wrong time. She gripped it in her gloved hand like a quill, and the it started to turn black, incomprehensible whispers emanating from the nib. The wind picked up into a howl as the wisps of feather grew into an inky embrace, ready to take her to the next world.
She closed her eyes, and thought to herself:
He was right.
It would never have been enough.
She closed her eyes, and thought to herself:
He was right.
It would never have been enough.