fold after each fold the monk shapes a paper crane longing for deep peace #vssmagic #fold #haiku #writing #writingcommunity #micropoetry

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Tenderly, she picked up the broken crown from the cold floor. The cracking sound still lingered in the air, thick enough to be cut by a sword, suffocating the echoes of his yelling, and her scream.

She layed out the pieces in front of her. They looked sparse on the massive round table in the vast, empty hall, almost like a fragile abstraction of...

1/2

As she crammed her hat on, she realised that abstraction was about to turn into experience.

"If this spell works," she said, shaking, "I won't be who I was yesterday."

"That's the point," he replied.

When she stepped out, she wondered if Fortuna looked kindly upon this pilgrimage.

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When hope died, the world turned... silent.
Athena layed down her arms without delight. Her heavy heart sunk like the sun at dusk. In the darkness, a force older than the Gods remembered itself.
When love kissed awake a new dawn, the world stepped forward with curiosity.

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Frostbite her only companion, she leans against the icy rocks on the bottom of the precipice. Life won't wait as time longs for balance. Tiredness turns into fatigue, then into unconsciousness. Her last thought is no prayer, but a dream that shifts her into a new reality.

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The Last First Kiss

The last first kiss - an idea of mystery, and myth. She wondered if this was it, when the thought hit, that humans never really know if something will happen to them for the last time.

The last first kiss ... This could mean the happily ever after all fairytales end with. But what if their story ended, and there would never be any kiss, ever again?

She had read about this in humantales, where sad...

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2/2

...shy heart sharing with him genuine love for the sleeping Earth that needs to awaken. She'd become an excellent shaman.

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Lost And Found

I woke up in the dead of Winter with no memory of who I was, or how I got here. In the dusk of a stormy evening, I recognised footprints in the snow, and followed them. The cold carried a scent of metal, and pine. It stung through my cloak like a freshly forged sword of Winter steel. A flicker of green light shot through the auroran fabric, then it went dark. I never knew why it didn't like me....

1/3

The blackbox was snowed in.
We had to find it. Otherwise, there was no chance to reboot the timemachine. It would be dangerous.
The whiteout obscured where cobblestone ended, and bog began.

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