The Alpha King’s Hated Mute Luna
The part that curls low in my stomach, knotted and confused.
We ride through the forest, trees arching above like cathedral spires. Sunlight filters through in golden beams, then we ride out into the plains, where tall grass sways and wildflowers bloom in bursts of red and violet. The bike vibrates beneath us, and I feel every breath he takes. Sharp, measured, heavy.
Eventually, we arrive in a village.
A dead village.
The houses…I would not even call them houses, they are more the size of huts with roofs caved in, windows gaping and ivy and moss claiming every surface. The silence here is heavy as it is thick. My brows furrow. Why was this place abandoned?
Sikat na Kabanata