Choas and change
The letter from Eliora, now kept folded in his journal, remained warm to the touch.
He didn’t know if he was going mad.
Or waking up.
James sat by the lagoon the next morning, watching birds skim across the water’s surface. He needed stillness. A compass. A voice that wasn’t his own.
In his journal, he wrote:
“Lord, what do I do with this fire?”
The breeze moved lightly, ruffling the pages.
His eyes caught on the verse written faintly at the bottom of the page a verse he didn’t remember writing:
Hot Chapters