Ours Poetica Ao3 Novels & Stories

Aíma, Órasi, Fos, Fotiá" "The blood of your guardian, Eyes of deception, Light of the moon, Fire of the sun. Craft me a key to undo the shackles. Craft me a key to unlock your locks. Craft me a key to release your hold. Blood, Sight, Light, Fire"

I turn to see Acre, Sky, my mother and father and grandma Beth all standing around us, the latter three had burn marks around their necks from where the silver collars were, "Ocean, hold tight to Desert, only you can channel her powers, the rest hold hands" We all do as Lanna has instructed us and Lanna starts whispering words that sound like a chant as we stood watching the battle before us, the noise starts to dim, a light above the battle starts to decend and eventually we can see or hear anything, until a sweet voice hums a tune, calming us, then it whispers, "You have done so well, the bond of family is strong, remember to be as one",

‘I believe the world is incomprehensibly beautiful. An endless prospect of magic and wonder’ –Ansel Adams ‘I can’t seem to have enough of this sight’, Aurora said. She was at her favorite spot in the whole of Bellona kingdom, at Biase Mountain, the highest point in the kingdom. Of all the magical sights within her universe, this struck her the most. The view was a magnetosphere decorating the sky with a blend of graceful colors, a glorious ray of interwoven colors of different shades stitched into the sky. From whence, her name ‘Aurora’ was coined, as the spot was known as Aurora Biase. She always wondered if her keen admiration of the view was as a result of their shared name. The magnifice

CHAPTER 158 •••••Third Person POV••••• {Slight Mature Content Ahead} Aurora moans feeling soft butterfly kisses on the base of their neck as she turned her head around giving more access to Ares and sighs in contentment still in her sleep.

I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said-"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal, these words appear: My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away." P.B Shelley