Deepwood Weald i cannot feel the fire

short crappy post bc exams :'D

In the dead of the night did he slink, a serpent in the caliginous hold of darkness - two glittering shards of ice danced in an ominous skull, swathed in a seething coat of ink; plunged was his mind, gripped in a solemn palm of enclosing thought. It was ironic, truly, that the mindless killer would be the one to think most of all - not of philosophical subjects, that many concerned themselves with, for that was nothing but a waste of time. No, the Silencer's head was tipped full of rushing thoughts, constant observations... and yet, a miniscule slice of his thought process lingered on memories of the girl from the woods: Tundra, as she had since named herself.

How curious. He buried the images of fireflies, the picture of two cold eyes, shrouded in a mirage of warmth, and once more chained himself to the duties of a border patrol.