The Land of Broken Things
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And in the last few years it seems as if everything had changed and nothing would ever be as it was. The silent nights have grown longer, darker, emptier.
And the darkness. The same darkness that once sang them lullabies, is now a stranger. Its heavy layers of hostility resting on the roofs of the sleeping houses, subduing them, ever so slowly, in their stubborn, thorough demeanor, separating the skies above from the dreams below, which suddenly seem so small, so neglected.