Traiden wrote:John goes about his preparations, to the letter, fallowing the voice in his head. The kissing, the fawning over of the life about to be reborn. All up until he reaches into his pocket cutting his fingers on the tiny glass shards and sending a jolt of pain down his arm.
(Bid For Control)
And I have no wp left
So close yet so far away. The thing about my luck when it matters stands tall