Dream Journal 19-06-16
Blood-red were the leaves of that holy flower. The petals slowly swayed side to side to the hymn that the brothers and sisters of the Chantry were singing. White and accentuated with gold were their robes emblazoned with the blood-red rose. White and forest brown were the covers on the chairs that stood empty on the cold marble floor.
I awoke to their song feeling as if someone had just rinsed my soul with a damp sponge, taking every care to remove the stains in my heart. I should have realised sooner that it was all an illusion.