Sat, 08/19/2017 - 21:17 -- Angra

The crunch delicate, the smell tantalizing.The crack and pop of wood heavy in her ear.Heavy metal and oak logs,Heat.A recipe for disaster. She longed for a taste.Forbidden, but welcoming,Sweet, but painful.A taste satisfying, but fleeting. Gingerbread.Her mother’s only passion, Her mother’s livelihoodThe forbidden pleasure, the torturous taste,Sure to end in pain. Now her youth was gone,Her beauty faded, But the yearning lingers,Vying for her attention. Once a dream, now a reality.Her home, her life,A house made of dreams,And she will protect it at all costs.

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