chromatober

5- flower

Daisy: What kind of a garden do you come from? Alice: Oh, I don't come from any garden. Daisy: Do you suppose she's a wildflower?
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Ghostbre AU
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It was raining, but the rain was not rain. Grey "rain" fell from the sky. The remains of what happened, the paranoia, the fight, the war...

What caused the darkness? The anguished paranoia that persisted? But for how long?

The grey ash has piled so high that nearly everyone has been trapped indoors. Only those whom now have grey staining the inside their homes have the freedom to leave.

Yet a greyed out wanderer has their own freedom. Nothing worldly can constrain him anymore. Yet, he is now only an echo on the wind. A far away figure in the raging storm.

Never nearby, always far away. Just like how he was when he passed for the [REDACTED] time.

He sometimes follows a hooded livid skinned ghost. The cloak a lighter grey than the dull skin. Their eyes open freely like the follower, yet always covered with pale tears flowing down them. Their follower's eyes as closed as they were when he passed.

Both bound by burnt tears and what was rapidly declining hope. Ash has coated the leaves and roots. Nature has withered, like both beings trust.

Who is to blame for this occurrence? Us with our voices? Them with their actions? The combined hope and trust that we made them carry? Everyone on of us?

The ash storm began clearing two long minutes ago. The clouds that carried that harmful material are lighter than our own, physical, blockades.

Hopefully, the bright light will shine down onto our earth -our soil- and from that, we can grow out crops for sustenance, flora for its beauty, and flowers to lay by unmarked graves.

The graves of the first hero and the thirds helper...

The two figures who are now forced to wander our own plane with no destination available.

Seer and Sabre.