#fromanne

'most' makes the question tricky, for his answer has no end.  he thinks of her when stars dot the sky, when the morning air is crisp and renewed, when the wind carries the scent of sunlit fields.   ❝    flowers, probably ... maybe jasmine? they've always seemed soft to the touch. delicate .. not because you need someone to take care of you but because love feels like it's in everything you do.  ❞

two days of silenced notifications and unanswered calls.  the dreadful silence of a stretched mind. anne seeks him and he turns away.  unintentional, yes, but arguably cowardly all the same.  days like this lead to greater reflection, and the thought that perhaps gentle flowers should be left to sway in the breeze and restorative sun. untouched by hands of grime. conrad hangs his head shamefully, his tired, half-smile hoping to soothe.   ❝    sorry ... i had to sort some things out. i didn't want to worry you. didn't want to make it your problem.  ❞

🫣 would you look at that.

are you king aegon's type ?

𝓣here  was  something  inherently  idyllic  about  Avonlea  …   the  small  peninsula  town  was  painted  perfection,  with  its  dusted  red  roads  and  shimmering  orchards  of  intricate  blossoms.  Where  the  grass  was  undoubtedly  greener  and  sprouted  with  a  rich  lushness,  the  air  always  tasting  of  a  salted  sea breeze.  It  was  the  type  of  place  where  nothing  ever  really  happened,  as  few  souls  ever  moved  to  it,  and  even  fewer  ever  left  for  long.  

That  is,  until  now.  It  seemed  to  have  happened  overnight,  with  no  warning  and  a  swiftness  unparalleled.  The  empty,  long-since  abandoned  home  that  sat  perched  near  the  entrance  of  the  woods  had,  in  an  instant,  completely  changed.  What  once  was  a  symbol  of  decay,  the  echoing  and  barren  origins  of  every  child’s  overactive  nightmarish  imaginations,  had  been  tailspun  into  a  home  filled  to  the  brim  with  antiquated  furnishings;  with  life.  Without  so  much  as  a  word,  the  ecosystem  of  the  town  had  shifted  entirely,  but  by  who?

Days  had  passed  before  anyone  heard  even  a  peep  from  the  house,  or  the  strange  homeowner.  Whispers  amongst  residents  spread,  with  some  saying  they  only  saw  shadows  moving  by  candlelight  in  the  dead  of  night,  and  others  perpetuating  dreaded  ghost  stories.  Nobody  dared  to  knock  on  the  door  that  first  week,  out  of  concern  for  what  sort  of  person  might  love  and  nourish  a  place  so  decrepit,  so  haunted.  

It  wasn’t  until  the  seventh  evening  that  she  emerged.  The  sun  had  only  barely  begun  to  set,  the  darker  shades  of  twilight  illuminating  the  timeless  beauty.  Without  a  care  in  the  world,  she  wandered  the  paths  carved  out  from  dirt  and  nothingness,  content  to  explore  where  civilization  lived  and  breathed.  ❛   Pardon  me  —  is  the  general  store  down  this  way?   ❜

a walk in the park is exactly what the man needed today, he needed to clear his head. there was a park he liked specifically, he takes two cabs to get there to ensure his privacy on a day like today where everyone needed something from him. advice, a project date, another meeting scheduled, another face another need from him. it was gloomy, he didn't bother in taking an umbrella, how could he possibly get in another thought? finally, with a paper in hand he finds peace. the birds chirp, the wind blowing, he tucks his ankle at his opposite knee. peace doesn't last long, water falls from the sky. nate looks to his left, a woman with lovely red hair is across the way, with an umbrella at hand. his savior. ❝ miss, would you mind? ❞