Forwarded from The Eldraeth: Ebon Swan’s Eternal Manor.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
There was no grand intention behind it, just the quiet pull of an afternoon unfolding gently; the kind of day that hums rather than shouts, where time moves like water and soft things are allowed to linger. We didn’t seek meaning. We simply wandered, letting stillness settle around us like an old, familiar song. Somewhere between the winding paths and half laughed stories, it became simply us; Eldraeth’s Anna, Schouvert’s Jeemin, Eldraeth’s Leesol, and Calsearth’s Pharita not as names, but as people sharing something small and quiet and whole. Nothing spectacular happened. The world kept turning. But within that hush, we felt it: the sacred weight of the ordinary, held briefly in our hands and carried with us, unspoken but deeply known.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
There was no grand intention behind it, just the quiet pull of an afternoon unfolding gently; the kind of day that hums rather than shouts, where time moves like water and soft things are allowed to linger. We didn’t seek meaning. We simply wandered, letting stillness settle around us like an old, familiar song. Somewhere between the winding paths and half laughed stories, it became simply us; Eldraeth’s Anna, Schouvert’s Jeemin, Eldraeth’s Leesol, and Calsearth’s Pharita not as names, but as people sharing something small and quiet and whole. Nothing spectacular happened. The world kept turning. But within that hush, we felt it: the sacred weight of the ordinary, held briefly in our hands and carried with us, unspoken but deeply known.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
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