by Charlotte B., 14
The restless wood can be found just paces away,
behind hidden passages.
Doors disguised as bound ink and parchment,
and script that flows like pitch-black rivers.
One step,
one stride,
and the world fades into the background,
a mere buzz in comparison to a symphony that promises irresistible adventures.
Corpses are found behind shut curtains,
thickets beyond trapdoors,
and forests past open windows.
They lie there,
waiting patiently for you to arrive.
Bridge Ink 