Wake Norway

Black-hearted eternity is kept alive through thorough kisses of dark, dark deeds and the dead things that let them live.

When I was born, infant, new and innocent, I knew this but with time and growth and lost love I couldn't remember. Specifics simply fade, comfortable and enshrined sidelong significance and faith. Not until I died and was born anew, bloody and symbolically baby again did I swallow down the red truth. A deformity of forever, the catch.

Birth in death is a revolution that should not stand up. The potential of the lips is always willing to kill for blood and love. But what did I care?

For in life I was just a girl, just any girl, one of many.
When in death, I was made one and made only.

This Gothic story is cold and loving enough to make you forever fear winter, all while willing to tear from you your living heart.