White Weewoos don't exist. *shifty eyes* |
Circulation: 188,752,736 |
Issue: 541 | 20th day of Eating, Y14 |
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Only Hardcore by fressed
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Great stories!
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The Painter: Part Two Mostly, other than maids stopping to give her food, she was left alone, which suited her just fine. Every morning, she would wake up from her peach toned bed with white rustling silken sheets, and she would watch the sunrise. It would inspire her, and then, she would stray to the paints that lined her wall.
by rrooaarrrr |
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Racing the Hurricane I lie awake in my bed at night, listening to the rain pounding on the roof. Hurricane Acara, first of the season, is coming in.
by navycoat |
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