One Baby Step at a Time_Flawed_Does Anyone Even Know Anymore?_Succession
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One Baby Step at a Time
The fire burned steadily, the teapot was in its cozy, Alexa was playing Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, and the novel Chloe had been wading her way through lay open on the table behind her. She stood in front of the French doors leading out to the terrace and watched the rain – the steadily falling rain. It formed a grey curtain that muted everything else in sight. The droning sound the rain made was peaceful, except for interruptions when a big wind blew down from the hills with a fierceness that was, at the very least, unsettling. Twenty-four hours of relative peace, she thought, intersperse...
Flawed
Sometimes, the canvas stays blank. Even when the ideas are there. But, if the idea isn’t a winning idea, why bother? Naomi exhaled. She spun her brush around her fingers. The drops of paint on her palette board, seven different colours, had already begun to dry. It wouldn’t be long until the candle melted to nothing, too. Better get to it. Are we starting today or tomorrow? She ignored the thought. A www.onedoor.cclight breeze passed by, fluttering the curtains, warm air in Tien’s summer. The nation of art and forestry. Conquered once, freed, now twice as proud. Naomi stopped spinning her paintbrush. People...
Does Anyone Even Know Anymore?
Ame"It's hard to tell who has your back, from who has it long enough just to stab you in it."― Nicole Richie⪧⪧⪧⪧⪧⪧⪧⪧⪧⪧⪧⪧⪧⪧⪧⪧⪧⪧Ame paced back and forth, tossing the powerful ring that she had confiscated from her irresponsible companion into the air. Tension filled the empty space, adding extra awkwardness to the silence that had materialized after the recent argument. Finally, Joss took a breath and broke it."I never specifically said that this was a good idea!""Then why did you help her do it?""It was her plan, not mine! I just happened to be a vital component." Ame sighed. There was no way, ...
Succession
The Heartsmith’s chest ached. She had not slept well the night before. Now her tired limbs dragged her down, and her skin felt dry like old parchment. She was ancient now, and she could say that it was the void in her chest that dragged her back to her swamp, to her heart. She could say that the parched dirt of this underground city was to blame. She could say that her faraway home- her abandoned post- was the source of all her unease. But the Heartsmith never lied to herself. As a matter of principle. Though this city was too crowded, too loud, too fast- though it itched under her skin- it w...