alphloss

The swan-birthed smoke curls silently across the star-vaulted heavens. The sounds of lamentation from the ship-haven are a weak susseration floating over the cold waters of the bay, to wash against the icy shore.

Extract from a letter written in a flowing, archaic hand ...

'... this must be a jumble of letters for thee, for I am finally upon the road. A collection of charming vignettes, small pictures of what is ocurring here. Firstly, I swear thee to secrecy. Yea... thou must bear it for my sake! I will explain all to him when I return, but until then, thy sweet lips must be sealed - for he will be wroth, and it were better his anger came at me, rather than thine own dear self.

Extract of a longer letter written in a flowing, archaic hand ...