Striker of The Gods 99. The only sorrow of life

As she stayed at Chaos house, sothing was changing inside Chaos. In this man, we could actually the fla of Khaos getting warr day by day. To love is to suffer or perhaps it would be the way you see the stars in your eyesn every ti you love them despite the grief and the regret in life. Thinking logically about this, there was nothing like Caos and Leonor: they were made for each other. It was like a divivne god hd descended upon earth.

Leonor: Oh my love! My heart swings hard at your side. My love for you does not ask but takes you as a whole. You shall see how much I love you. There is no one like you. MY CHAOS! You are really mine. I dream of you becoming one. Without you, I could doubt my existence in happiness. Or whats more, my needs beco my inner trauma. For you are my everything. I do not really need to ask you for anything. Why? Because you are my everything I need in this plane of existence. No one could actually take down my love for you. In truth, there has never been any love like this.

For we have not even to risk the adventure alone, for the heros of all ti have gone before us.. Let us go on a date.

As they had many dates, Leonor would laugh at him and make fun of how handso he was. At least to the extent of making everything look natural. As a matter of fact, there was sothing between these two that made it magnetic. Not so failure, but the joy of sharing kisses, love and appreciation in a relationship that the very universe would actually doubt. I an, it is not like anyone could actually challenge us in this sharp intention of what this love may an to us. However, there is a catch: not everyone is ready for this love.

Caos: Heaven knows we need never be ashad of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before--more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle. I really dream of the day we get to be together again. After all, mother is no longer here. No one ever told that grief felt so like fear. She was a genius of sadness, imrsing herself in it, separating its nurous strands, appreciating its subtle nuances. She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum. To be honest, she looks like you.

Leonor did not actually change it that much in which they could actually do: her lips smirked like a damsel playing pimp pong. Her beautiful eyes would giggle like roses. But most importantly, she singlehandedly demonstrated her unique presence through a hug. Notwithstanding, there was a point of awareness for her. She was not trying hard : she was being herself more than ever like no one had ever made her feel.