The Dark Below
A pale streak of moonlight illuminates a withering tree. It’s said that the Wildland’s beauty is sublime, but now the uncaring hands of darkness linger through these woods. Even with the lively leaves on the trees and beautiful shades of brown that make up the trunks, something is off. Bracts descend from the trees, but before the cotyledons hit the forest grounds, the pads turn into nothing, molding away out of existence. Some of the bark from the tree trunks wavier from the cold winds. A piece blows off, and the husk falls on the bright teal grass. The woodchip wilts away, and the dirty brown plank remnants flow in the air like smoke from burning bodies. This haunting land smells like rott
Bab Populer