Illyria
is watching the apple tree grow
She has been not quite dead for
such a very long
time
To
just observe entropy get defeated, even if it is purely a local
phenomenon, it is
nice?
It
feels right to just sit, and remember the time that there were are
and will
be.
She
stands up and the small mistletoe that had grown around her body
breaks, so fragile
life
She
pets absent-minded the dragon on its head
Takes a bite of an apple
bitter
She wonders what Wesley would want to do
now
Maybe,
will she ask him?
Time
