The Last Vestige of Hope
Ball gowns are overrated for this kind of event, as I have known.
“Come on, let me escort you to our destination.”
The man, who wore a suit with a nightly shade of blue and a silver mask that somehow highlighted his well-sculpted cheekbones, pulled me into him, embracing my shoulders, and proceeded to walk across.
I looked up above and saw the clouds began to gather in the sky. I remembered leaving the house with such warm weather that even this fully covered face of makeup could melt in just seconds. Yet now, as I look above, the beautiful shade of cocktail-blue began to darken into a Reaper’s shade of gravel-grey. There I saw large billows of clouds that looked somewhat of airy anvils drif
Bab Populer