Tales of Paper & Pen

A spirit and a swordsman, one who gives life and one who takes it. An unexpected duo, yet a duo they still are.

A spirit dances upon a vacant meadow, occupied only by a swarm of budding flowers. In the distance a man watches, his expression still. A mysterious performance the spirit enacts, and the swordsman watches, his eyes gleaming with joy.

The burning star of daylight soon descends and a silver crescent rises to take its place. As night unravels, the spirit bids farewell with smiles and laughter. The swordsman, though, looks on, morose.

A spirit dances upon a vacant meadow, occupied only by a swarm of flowers in bloom. In the distance a man watches, the few strands of his gray hair fluttering about. A mysterious performance the spirit enacts, and the swordsman watches, his dulling eyes gleaming with joy.

The burning star of daylight soon descends and a silver crescent rises to take its place. As night unravels, the spirit bids farewell with smiles and laughter. The swordsman returns the gesture, though his smile is bitter.

A spirit dances upon a vacant meadow, occupied only by a swarm of vibrant flowers. In the distance a man watches, his smile revealing a set of creases in his skin. A mysterious performance the spirit enacts, and the swordsman watches, his tired eyes gleaming with defiance.

The burning star of daylight soon descends and a silver crescent rises to take its place. As night unravels, the spirit bids farewell with smiles and laughter. The swordsman returns a soulful chuckle, yet it is now weaker and suffused with melancholy.

A spirit dances upon a vacant meadow, occupied only by a swarm of withering flowers. In the distance a man watches, his gray hair withering as well. A mysterious performance the spirit enacts, and the swordsman watches, his eyes wiser yet clouded over.

The burning star of daylight soon descends and a silver crescent rises to take its place. As night unravels, the spirit bids farewell with smiles and laughter. The swordsman weakly smiles back, a delicate tear streaming down his cheek.

A spirit dances upon a vacant meadow, occupied only by a swarm of unadorned stems. A performance with meaning the spirit enacts, yet no one is around to watch. A wailing sound echoes throughout the meadow, but the gloom above muffles the cry.

The spirit keeps dancing with increasing fervor, its movements now ingrained with a message to him: “Your time was shorter and mine was longer. Thank you for giving me your time, even though it was all you had. Rest well, my one and only…friend.”