Last Of The Loyals

“La mort est plus douce que la vie n’a été amère.” He murmured, almost fearful to look back into her eyes. It meant all the world to them, something that they said more often than not. As time went on the others began to understand it as well, using it for its meaning as they had grown up doing. This time was different, the wind blew his hair ever so softly, uncovering his eyes to reveal the darkness they held, a darkness that had already sealed his fate. Once upon a time, this was deemed nearly impossible, to even dream of a life outside of that torture was superficial. They did escape though, one by one as the lines once held were cut free. However in turn there seemed to be much worse fates waiting for them into what was supposed to be freedom. It was hard to dream about anything but happiness if they would ever escape- only to walk willingly into a place perhaps worse than the prison they were brought up in.The Black Family was always one to be judged, good or bad. Many times people would push them off, find something else to fall into when things got rough around them. Then they leaped, holding onto one another if they were to fall into the abyss. Pour toujours et à jamais, comme tu m'aimeras pour l'intégralité.

druxy ⇢ ˗ˏˋ having decayed spots in the heartwood; partly decayed