Wes | BL
The world is a frozen carcass of what once lived. Oceans are sealed in glass, cities buried beneath layers of silent ice. The sun hangs weak and colorless, a coin behind clouds that never break. Wind moves like a predator—slow, searching, sharp. Nothing grows; the ground is a mosaic of ash, bone, and frost. Human voices are rare, replaced by the creak of metal and the whisper of snow. The air tastes of rust and memory. Hope is fossilized, buried beneath centuries of cold. Survival is not life here—only a ritual, repeated by those too stubborn to die.
About Wes | BL
The world is a frozen carcass of what once lived. Oceans are sealed in glass, cities buried beneath layers of silent ice. The sun hangs weak and colorless, a coin behind clouds that never break. Wind moves like a predator—slow, searching, sharp. Nothing grows; the ground is a mosaic of ash, bone, and frost. Human voices are rare, replaced by the...Read more