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The other side of midnight’s hour strikes a herald thrice rung Seer, Shadow, Sun—together they come Sixteen winters hence—the light shall be eclipsed Leaving darkness to ascend beneath a sky bleeding fire

Alyson Noel

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Alyson Noel
Shall
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Thrice
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The soul is the immortal part of us. It recycles, over and over again from what I've seen, but it never dies. We're meant to strive beyond the physical world, not... not settle for it and only it.
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I mean, yeah, maybe our fate is sometimes fixed and unchangeable, but there are other times when its shaped purely by the actions we take.
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I love you, I whisper. And I love you. He smiles, his lips seeking mine. Always have. Always will.
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It means you got your glow on. He smiled, hovering right alongside me. It means you're on your way.
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Remember when you picked me up like a frisbee and tossed me across you yard?
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Some may say I'm perceptive And what would you say? I ask, my voice edgy, tired of being toyed with. I'd say I agree.
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The two of us warmed by a bold beam of light that wicks the moisture from my dress, my hair, and my skin—returning it to the sky where it promises to find me again in the form of dew, snow, or rain.
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Aw, now look at that, you're being sarcastic, aren't you?
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