I still remember the green grass which was gathering the bride’s tears.
Her groom’s blood upon her shoulders. White and red, the wind was whipping her cheeks as he wanted to
send her his fear. Mischief and mushroom, grey men and Ms. Pitiful, was it fate ? Reason, cries were
fading, running out of time till the tallest treason.
And for all, the thing that missed the most was reason.
Gwendoline Gerberon
