The Winterchild was murdered with sunrise today. Heart breaking beauty buried his shivering corpse under the still waters of time. Summer was glowing with full strength in the air. Nymphs of all sorts danced away their sorrows, as the sweet Summer air healed their shattered hearts. Three Graces sat by his side as the sea swallowed his feverish heart. One blessed with eyes blue as the sky, other with eyes brown of fertile soil, and one with eyes green as the Elysian fields. And with kisses three, and perhaps the sweetest of all hugs, they all sent his heart into a viking funeral, to be devoured by the flames of his own love for them. Giving closure to the longing to feel their caress, to know their smiles, to make them smile.
Just like a Phoenix from the ashes, the Winterchild was reborn from the flames of his feverish heart. As a redemption process, he flew agais into the silver shores, beyond the vail of vanity and fears. The Three Graces sat on their thrones of love, each of them looking into the heart and soul of whatever the Graces chose to behold. The Phoenix flew right above them, and flew into the sunset. With a loving heart and kisses three, the Phoenix sheltered the Graces with Winterfire and in fragant blood and oath did he make to the sun. To seek every smile of them, to shelter all freezing hearts from the pouring rain. To love in freedom, and being free to love. To love them, only as a Phoenix can.
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