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and a faint gleam catches the eye
their petals soft as whispers
Original structure remains readable beneath the change
He ruled once — not from a throne of marble
The Last Lantern small and a faint gleam catchesShe slips past the last lantern before it can claim her. The path is still behind her neat, expected, watched. Ahead, the trees close in, leaves catching what little light the moon is willing to give. It doesnt matter. She knows this way. Or maybe the way knows her. Branches tug lightly at her as she moves, not enough to stop her, just enough to notice. The air smells sharp and green, alive in a way the open paths never are. Somewhere deeper in the
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