The White Rose

They say the white rose is a symbol of innocence. It's clear how that works. The absence of color supposedly equates innocence...then does that mean colors -- the elements so endearing in my heart, the only things that framed and shaped my world -- is a symbol of contamination? I say, the white rose is a … Continue reading The White Rose

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XXXI.

The town stuck like a stark contrast to Athlem at first: hearty red bricks, bustling vendors, lanterns leftover from a festival too fond in memory to be taken down...yet as Lyra joined the ebb and flow of visitors she saw its resounding resemblance to the physician: a mix of genuity with civility, and a quaint … Continue reading XXXI.

XXX.

“You didn’t change,” The old man scratched his spotted head, the migration of hair from his head to his chin so successful that all of the migrants had abandoned their home. “Perhaps a little refined by the city airs, but you didn’t change.” “Oh? Is that...bad?” Athlem ran a finger down the shelves, found dusts … Continue reading XXX.

XXIX.

The silence unnerved him. He called her again and again, yet the only thing that met him was nothing. The trees were too knotted and tangled for him to see much from above: even the bright blue, snaking stream were mostly veiled by thickets. He reached out to Jiube instead, only to find it making … Continue reading XXIX.