Sitting there on that porch with the wind stealing my tears and carrying away the sound of magic. ![]() “Here.”Įven after so many years, that is how I think of home. Somehow she knew the exact place where her spell took root. ![]() We will always have our home with us…” Her fingers would press against my chest just above my heart. “This is our song, dear,” she would say as she smiled down at me. A sunset, a fire, the sky on fire and the streets ablaze with torchlight. A place of worn streets and thatched roofs wrapped in the smell of woodsmoke and fresh ale. Evaluation of the NucliSens EasyQ v2.0 Assay in Comparison with the Roche. As the beginning strands of music twined together, I would be transported to a place that let me forget the ache in my chest, a city of an entirely different skin than our Lenniel. Magic lay in that song, the notes so delicate you could tell a story about each one. ![]() I would lean against my grandmother on our rickety porch and breathe in her scent as she sang to the street. It was a tune friendly and old as the roads that crossed Mazael: the sort you shared while you watched the land roll away on horseback, or sitting at a moonlit fireside among familiar faces. On days when I came home crying, my grandmother was always there with her song.
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