May 17, 2006 -
AnankeYamiko
‘She moaned, not the soft, pretty cries of a damsel-in-distress, but the harsh, ugly sobs of a woman who’d been hurt, who’d been left behind. Petals, pink and soft, fell from his last gift to her, only to be mirrored a moment later by her tears. But there was no one left to see, no one left to hear. She was alone, darkly . . . cruelly . . . . utterly . . . . . alone.’
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