She raised her left arm across her body towards the blinds and opened the window wide. The leaves of the maple tree before her, golden mixed with bright green veins, the edges withering away hung in mid air while others had already taken their final flight towards earth. The old witch crow stepped through the window naked at her feet she skimmed the grounds and all the airs. She moved to the right and there she dove deep into the pool where the water grows. The coral to left was ever moving slowly, adjustments in time she swam on by to the place where the screams had stopped from the fire that had reigned once there.
The old witch crow moved smoothly under the water to the place of old where the fire had reigned. The entry was alway where it was into the place where the walking dead talk. Above her a solid roof of stone she could see up and through the water, ahead the old place of chains and docks, she wondered if it would be old stale air that greeted her. It had been long in time and space since she had traveled to this place.
There it was the place of old where the fire had reigned, the old witch crow moved from the water to the air with a glide then a strike she placed her self amidst their plight. There they were, all these dead, wondering why they wander in their stead. On the walls reaching high to the ground were colourful once shiny stone depictions of the stars they once could see in the night sky.
A plea they hummed in unison the time of naught was about near.
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