Even a drowned king dreams of peaks and clearest skies. Cleanest air and angels low enough to touch. As fingers trace an arcing wing. Those grey feathers are not fiction. I still remember them. Sometimes the simplest love-letters are the sweetest. I won't stop speaking the truth if you don't, wild star. Those special places that kept you when I couldn't. Those places that once kept us both. Those steep valleys of light. Such cliffs to scale and heights to measure. Home, remember me. Like her hands. A moth to your own flame. Butterfly-respiration. Laken hilt. I fight for you, always and forever. Crowns & Evening Gowns. Till you peak, my love. Come, the Light.
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