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The Angel's Keyblade~ Chapter 9
"Hikari," a voice said in my head, bringing out of the world of dreams.
I opened eyes slowly and yawned, stretching my arms.
"Hikari," the voice said again, and I realized it was Master Aqua's.
"Master Aqua?" I asked groggily, rubbing my eyes and sitting up. I shuddered when I felt an icy coldness against my chest and looked down to see blackness had taken over a large portion of the white wing half.
"We got company," Master Aqua stated, answering my un-asked question.
It was then that I began to hear footsteps coming from outside. They were faint but definitely there, giving me the impression that whoever they belonged to were quick and light on their feet. I looked to the window just in time to see a flash of black pass by it.
I jumped out of my bed and got ready, putting on my street clothes and brushing out my hair. Once that was done, I hurried out of my room and into the main part of the building where the computer room was. I must have been making a l
We Are All ConnectedWe are all connected.
We share one light,
But we all share one darkness.
Darkness is nothing to fear,
For without it,
There can be no light.
We would be lost,
With no place to call home.
You should not fear the darkness,
And instead accept it.
Even though it may scare us,
It is nature's way of rebirth.
But we must be aware of it,
For if left unchecked
Our light will vanish.
No matter how far apart we are,
Just remember this one thing,
As long as you have faith,
Our hearts will always find each other.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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