The fires in the valleys below cast a dull glow over the stone walls that towered into the black clouds. Narrowed eyes watched the smoke rising, slender fingers moving slowly as black mist curled between them. The screams were faint as they echoed towards the ledge that the woman stood on, but one could just hear them over the hot wind that blew over the cliffs edge. Blood dripped from the deep cut on her lip, injury going ignored as she observed the carnage below. “How utterly unsurprising that I would find you here, gloating over your handiwork.” She wheeled, watching as a black cloaked man stepped out from the shadows of the cave leading to her post, his words laced with disgust. “Come to observe what success looks like Lord Jeshau? It has been a while since you’ve had the privilege to see it up close.” Her words were honeyed, mouth curving into the slightest of smirks. Silver hair glinted in the dull red light as he pulled his hood back, glancing down over the fires below.
There is beauty in the broken
Like decorative cracks in glass
The visual of pain and strength
Our writing the escape and confession
Weaving pain into carved out words
Our stories like the glass, told with fractured ink