Silent storms rage through the still air. Burning, slicing and ravaging silently through the once unusually narrow space between fact and fiction. The smell of slowly smouldering flesh mounts itself on the the stormy breeze, permeating through the valleys where beautiful dreams spin their magic upon innicent souls. The dreams cease, freeze in time, decaying slowly, to eventually crumble and annihilate back to nothingness. Dreams they are, they were, once upon a time.
From innocent hues of black to the blazing darkness of clean white.
Everything barren, seemingly clean, hiding oceans of ferociously tamed expressions.