Sometimes we choose the path we follow. And sometimes our choices are made for us.
In a small tiled room, deep within his tomb, the Warminister sat in utter silence. His wrists hung off his knees, his hands broken and shattered with splintered bits of bone piercing his knuckles. Small rivers of blood trickled down his hands and arms, intertwining
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Comments 7
Be expecting an IC call sometime this week :)
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I also loved your drawing of Ryan's character.
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absolutely favorite line. well done.
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Now...
*ponders*
Is "And in surviving the meantime, I can only hope that the star-crossed lovers realize the freedom they’ve been granted." what i think it is?
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