For Thy Peace, My Soul

44.

What sort of creature leaves the heart of disaster behind to such a delicate wisp of a girl? I did just such a thing. Poor Jesse left alone to filter through the stench of rotting death and foul, sticky, clinging souls too wicked for even Fredrick to handle.

And I, breathing in the sweet breath of heated fields; forgotten and left to the wilds, seduced me to lie in her brambles. The tiniest of flowers floated in the blue sky above my head cradled in the clean dirt. Not even the constant din of a million souls could take away my sliver of momentary happiness.

If only I could’ve stayed there forever.