DeaNyx

Love is sacrifice. Mary gasped for breath. Those who know no sacrifice cannot love. Her own silent sobs seemed to echo the screams in her mind. Sacrifice, she told herself under her breath, sacrifice. Her temples throbbed as veins pulsed at her heart's galloping rhythm. He had never known any. Her arm ached. Love was a force to be feared and revered. Tears, now dry, had left her with burning eyes. She had been ready to give him all the love she had. A bitter taste lingered in her mouth. She had loved. Her face was distorted from hate, sadness, fulfillment. And love. Love, all of it, forever. Her hand still felt the bite. To love is to give it

 If you could chose to live in the land of dreams ruled only by limitless imagination, would you do so? You should never. The outside world, the one I now know for real was finally linked to ours, as if it had reached out and touched us. It had grabbed us into itself, and there was nothing we could do about it. A dulled shriek sounded from the outside. We hardly noticed. The outside was like a dream to us: sometimes scary, sometimes appealing, but never true enough to attract our curiosity for more than a few seconds. I had glanced through the windows several times, but never long enough to really realize what it was. That was a long ti

Ŝa'ahn is hard to reach, and of the few travelers who go there, few come back. The rare accounts that outsiders have of this city are from merchants, who travel the eastern roads in the search for infinite riches. It is the city of splendor, they all tell us, a city where all are rich, and even the slaves, that call themselves "high servants", can wear gold bracelets and pearl necklaces. No one is allowed to work for more than an hour a day, and those who try are mocked by the others. "What are you trying to hide from" they ask "your own conscience or something deeper still?" Despite these contemptuous insults, nobody stops them from wo

 The sky was blue, dotted only by a few cottony clouds here and there. The atmosphere felt light, floating somewhere between cool and warm. * * * Softly, the breeze rustles through the small plant's leaves and caresses the man planting it. It slides trough the window, gently raises the curtain with a whisper and kindly touches the girl sitting on the living-room carpet. It feels her skin, and smoothly plays with her hair. The eight year-old silently keeps on playing with a doll under her mother's gracious gaze. Inside the house, calm reigns like it only can on a Sunday evening. "Normally, at this time of day, I would have been playing in