Just another person who thinks their words are more important than they are
On a coast somewhere, there’s a rose garden and a spider admiring its beauty, the crimson colors he couldn’t dream of producing himself. His web rested beneath the metal arch entrance. It was there a prismatic butterfly flew into his net. The spider felt the tremblings in the web, approaching the new captive.
By CC Crebbsabout 9 hours ago in Fiction
