“Raw anguish slithers through my brittle bones as the deathly call rots the air. Who murdered you old friend? The forest has no words to identify the hand, only erratic echo.” — H.S. Crow Copy Share Image
“I forbid you to go." "I am not yours to forbid. Comfort your pride with your conquest!" "Felicia!" The raw anguish of it stopped me. Tears were threatening to spill from my eyes so that I had to bend my… — Teresa Denys Copy Share Image
