Between Breathe And Goodbye
The root beneath the flower.
She stood, slowly, her legs trembling. The obsidian floor was cold, and it reflected her image back at her—not clearly, but distorted, as if the surface was water rather than stone. She looked down at the broken compass fragments in her hand. They were no longer sharp, no longer glass. They had become something else. Smooth stones, warm, five of them, each one a different color. One red, one blue, one green, one yellow, one white.
The white stone was the largest, and it pulsed with a faint light.
Hot Chapters