ㅤ
In the heroism of a game where all could confine at any moment, I find out @OldenVeil’s my Wraith of Warmth: a silhouette that in silence keeps me alive. Commune knows that perhaps all of hither will be wiped out. Everything that exists in Borderland will after a bit fall apart. And yet, amidst the daftness, I found warmth where I expected sole despair. You were there, barely a throb, yet enough to churn out lifespan seem worth clinging to. The Borderland will solvated into nothingness and the cards, the blood, the silence— all will turn tail to the void. But if by some miracle we meet again, let’s not talk about the games we survived. Let us rewrite our days in saccharinity instead of sorrow.

Until We Meet In Echoes,
Periwinkle.