The light of the Aethelgard System was not yellow, nor was it the warm, nurturing orange of the primitive hearths described in the Old Archives. It was white—a clinical, bleaching white that scrubbed the shadows from every corner of the habitat ring...
Ominous shroud descends as snow and dust embrace the wind howls, making the trees naked...
Adorned by waning lunar sight droplets dance, weaving light stirring ceaseless eerie charm...
Whispers linger as sparks ignite allure takes flight in a hushed night. Flames kindled as uncertainty lies...
When I feel breath as labour quenching the angst in drops spectre creeps in as always...
Sucking the last drop of nectar negating its taste, colour or smell with a slap and kick...
QGIS