Take your pick folks! If you prefer reading digital, Ebook version is available. If you want it in your hands physically, Paperback just launched today.
Paperback
Ebook
Take your pick folks! If you prefer reading digital, Ebook version is available. If you want it in your hands physically, Paperback just launched today.
Paperback
Ebook
The small girl whispers in the wind —

A prayer for a true spring that is absent of liars and tyrants;
An older man, who’s likely her father, hums an ancient aria.
The aria is a song of old; the prayer of peace and the end of both fire and shadow. It’s the hope that these weary golden trees may bless the land with life once more; the assurance that the bewildered may suffer no more. It’s the certainty that ashes cease to ride with the wind.
The little girl, with her sapphire hair, experiences a jade green aura that blesses her body with strength as she sings along with her father the aria of spring. Their hope for better days is what keeps them together.
No matter how cold the world is. No matter how cruel the lands may be — peace is all they long to invoke.
Their world’s suffering has already reached its peak, as both fire and shadow have strangled the world which they rule in — leaving it blanketed in ghostflame never-ending.
They’ve lost enough and so much. The winter has been insufferable for ages. Their dream of spring is all they have.
The closing hours simply have a small girl and an older man humming the aria of spring — over a land barren from ghostflame with nothing but a ringed city and a slain falcon perched over.
We Live in Death. We don’t exist and so, we are cursed to be Faceless.

As Faceless as the many-faced God itself.
There’s freedom despite the agony we have found. In not being acknowledged or beloved, we have become no one.
I am No One.
An assassin you cannot see or hear lurking in your shadows or habitat.
By the time you feel us, the seventh face, which is death, is all you’ll see.
Time brings us all to the same place. You can’t shut your ears or close your eyes to it. Its cold embrace will consume you into its abyss. To never be seen or heard from again.
It’s red blade will ensure your destined death lest you choose to be like some of us.
Living In Death. Never existing. Faceless.
No one will mourn you. No one will remember you.
Even if you survive, who will call you? Who will seek you out? Who will love you? Who would dare miss you?
No one. Accursed and Tarnished, sentenced to Live in Death.
To be seen but not acknowledged, heard but not listened to — that is what it means. To work without reward, to link fires but trapped in cold and shadow.
That is truly what it means to Live in Death.