glindasgallery
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It felt eerily familiar, kneeling ghost-like beneath a vermillion sky. Doom crept though Antichat's chest, as thick as the acrid smoke scorching his lungs. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. There was a weight in his arms—an inexplicable solace. And yet…
Suddenly it didn’t weigh as much as it should.
No.
His eyes flicked downwards.
No, no, no, no—
All he held was a pile of ashes, moulded into the shape of a girl.
Some nightmares refuse to fade.
Bookmarked by glindasgallery
22 Mar 2026