“Daughter of mine, will you ever marry?” Her father asks her one day beneath the weeping willow tree; a dried-up creek-bed ran beside their feet, the current still alive with crickets and toads and the stagnant rainwater of a world that had not yet washed the sins of the first away with its rushing flood.
Notice: With the Laurelin server shutting down, our website will soon reflect the Meriadoc name. You can still use the usual URL, or visit us at https://meriadocarchives.org/
southern gothic vibes?
