The sun of 7:49pm is a gracious visitor. A cast that appears from the caravan of a traveling circus. A magical and gentle creature, that paints the room and its inhabitants with a tantalizing, light orange. The light
flows into the room,
flooding it. Imagine not sharp spears of piercing rays but rather balls of photon
streaming down from the heaven in a wavy motion. Like feathers shed from wings of angels. They land where they shall, and merge out of existence, into another.
At 9:36pm the king abruptly raise from his throne and flick his red, royal robe. The motion blankets the sky. Everyone stops to look. The battle is to be ceased, the day is done. None have the power to oppose, fate is to be accepted. Tomorrow will begin again.
The sun of 7:49pm is a gracious visitor. A cast that appears from the caravan of a traveling circus. A magical and gentle creature, that paints the room and its inhabitants with a tantalizing, light orange. The light flows into the room, flooding it. Imagine not sharp spears of piercing rays but rather balls of photon streaming down from the heaven in a wavy motion. Like feathers shed from wings of angels. They land where they shall, and merge out of existence, into another.
At 9:36pm the king abruptly raise from his throne and flick his red, royal robe. The motion blankets the sky. Everyone stops to look. The battle is to be ceased, the day is done. None have the power to oppose, fate is to be accepted. Tomorrow will begin again.
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