queenofswords
On the rock, the coil of ammonites printed. Little creatures from ages gone, leaving their ghosts behind. We were here. We lived. Remember us.
The emperor surveying his lands and peoples. All these possessions, ring hollow in his heart.
The thorns are like the cactus fingers, Deadly fingers that pierce your skin and infect it.
The desert looks tempting from outside. All the maroons and golds and orange and red. You step into it and it is all hot sand and dispair.
It's a desert all around us. People are around but we don't see them. In the desert we are alone.