𝖫𝗅𝖾𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗒𝗇.

a fine work in keeping him dry. For the most part. ‟The weather sure is brutal,‟ The boy remarks, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm. There is always a silver lining; such were his mother’s words. She may not be the best parent a child could have, but there …

hand to his cheek in a subconscious attempt to hide the ugly bruise.  It is one thing to earn it as a repercussion, but his？ Not only does the little bitch 𝗛𝗨𝗥𝗧, it is also a reminiscent of an altercation he would rather forget, but couldn’t, for it was kept …

his mouth a flower ── a white lily ── that he plucked without permission from his neighbour’s garden. Today, too, he would gently lay the flower down and fly away to a nearby branch from which he would watch with a racing heart 𝘩𝘪𝘴 reaction to finding 𖬺͟.