The Chronicle of the Last Bloom

Perhaps you and I are not so distinct,

Born from the same discarded spill of power.

Two silhouettes, by origin inextricably linked,

Sprouted from the same raw, rootbound hour.

But the weave of fate was spun askew;

It reached down to guide your lonely hand,

While leaving me here, to wait for you

On the edge of a gray and silent land.

I am bound in a prison named ‘What Must Be,’

A future where the watchers turned their back.

While grace and light were offered to thee,

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

I was left with the shadow and the black.

Perhaps the stars resented my design,

And granted you the love I never knew.

For my end was carved in every line:

A monster born from the grief that grew.

I am the Mountain—the shield, the wall,

Built for a heart that did not love me first.

My destiny is written; I shall not fall,

Nor shall I weep for this fated thirst.

May your own horizon find a softer light,

And the sun treat you more kindly than the gray.

Go now, into your endless night;

I wish you well... on your separate way.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!