1 w o n , o n e
The halls were painted gold, but unrivaled opinion made them rot.
July was out of reach, just around the corner, but still managed to make the air stifling hot.
In a way, there was no manner of change that could allow one's ear to unhear what they once knew for sure they heard, but July tried its
hardest.
It pulled and twisted. She wasn't supposed to be in this place, not by her own will.
In her gut, however, she knew that it was the only place to be, what legends and nightmares were made of.
The wishing well was not real.
The wishing well was not real.
But it whispered in her ear what she knew was not the truth. What she heard, what she forgot.
Why she was at the wishing well.
The golden hall curved into a fortress of unrest, walls of brick and crumbling mortar.
The wishing well was not real.
Yet here it was.
Breath was stolen from her, but it entered the well as a matter of payment.
The unheard words were born, but not unto her ears any longer.
The wishing well now held them, as it would for eternity.
July could sigh out its hot relief forevermore.
