The tyrannical heat of the summer wafted through Eden’s windows and seeped into her bed sheets. She felt the adherence of the silk on her legs and little trails of sweat raced across her neck, mingling the aromatic smell of her hair with a salty sharpness.
Slivers of Time in a glass full of Empty— sharp, jagged remnants of earlier daze. Wishing in earnest for noble Nepenthe to douse all the visions and set them ablaze. ((The rulebook has changed. We’re letting it fray.))