The war is coming. I can feel the tendrils of both sides crossing over.
My task is to hold back the tide. Keep both sides from crossing over. But I've grown tired. The pressure has worn me down like water crashing against rock. Erosion is inevitable.
But if I break, the blood will create a crimson blanket across both worlds. I must hold.
Thoughts of just letting it happen do cross my mind. I try to push back those thoughts, but the pressure on me has increased exponentially lately.
Not lately exactly. It's really just been since I heard him utter those words: "Let her rot."
It was spoken in a whisper during his love play, but it was a scream in my ears.
With so much at stake, can I be so petty? So small? Can I let them all die simply because my heart is broken?
This is mixed media on watercolour paper. 12x16