Wheeling Gull Isle sacrament

they came upon a sea of plum, each petal painted upon the earth's canvas with delicate brush strokes of tranquility. the view was breathtaking, the aroma of sea salt and lavender pleasantly intoxicating.

oh how she adored flowers for their sublime appearance and bewitching perfumes. bathing in a meadow of fresh blossoms was perhaps her favorite way to scrub clean the inescapable filth that clung to near every surface.

this field, though withering and on borrowed time, was still lovely to walk amongst. but why walk when one could dance? where he knelt she frolicked, like a fawn upon a spring pasture.

she brushed past bundles of floral, some wisps of fur tangling as giggles erupted.

she looked to him, soft blue brimming with spirit.

come, let us play!