There are puppets on the walls, Shattered dolls on the ramparts. What they guard is taken, No more now than a memory. Ghosts of a dream long dreamt, In a world without sunrises.

Broken Daffodil

The walk across the dusty library felt a little longer today, just as it had the day before. Her feet shuffling on the thick carpet, stirring up yet more dust. The way it settled each night was of more concern to her housekeeper than it was to her. She liked the way it danced in … More Broken Daffodil