「 🖤 」 *ᴬᴾ

[itaperl]

[guild-of-calamity]

[kukiaji-blog]

[ a mystery. ]

What an interesting situation he has found himself in. It is without saying that it would have been fascinating to observe the art club as well, but his feet, restless, ready to go, brought him here. Fate… is rather peculiar in her choices. But that is what makes life so outstanding. How will she let him leave his mark? Will it stay? Will it blow away?

Still, first a cute caterpillar, and now a lovely girl, how kind today has been. 

So close the flower decides to rest, Shikishima notices, her choice, regardless of how conscious it moved her, quite the sweet one. When she admits that she cannot tell what his initial drawing is meant to be of, he nods, smile not dropping, “And that is all right. When there is a field, differing visions spot things unique to themselves. It is how these views of seeds are cultivated that may hint at how they bloom.” But these words are mostly musings. “In the end, they all are of their own variety. It’s what makes the world wonderful.”

Pencils ready, an image, committing itself to memory, painting itself within his mind. Even if his hands cannot help him get across all his feelings, he would be hard-pressed to lose what his own mind sees. 

“Yes, just like that. Thank you. It should only be a few moments, mere to what we already have in provision.”

He sets to work, quietly, unpausing, for he mustn’t allow this wisp to escape him. All these expressions he sees, cross her face just so, in the brief moments he’s come to know her – how gentle they see to be, fitting of what he sees around her. Will he be able to get down all he observes, all he feels?

“Like… them?” He repeats the question, as it the interest itself is foreign. “Yes, I think… they are beautiful. Turning their heads toward a light they crave, only to never reach it. How tragic…

“and sad… but beautiful. No matter what occurs to them, the cycle will always begin anew, resilient in their motions, ready to attempt it again, blooming evermore. Each one is special and I, I like them all the same.”

They allow us to remember that, perhaps, we do belong, after all.

Sunflowers, his “favorite” if there had to be terms like that. Yes, he is attached. His uncle, that eye-opening day, forgiven for the trouble he’s caused, the care he’s need, the words he couldn’t say.

Complex lines morph into fields, plains, etching and forming into complexions of colors, a prism with a pure center, untouched but longing.

“My name is Shikishima. Natsuhisa Shikshima,” his words are soft, as if they have been surrendered to a breeze that is beyond them, as if they just might shatter, as if they are glass planes - smooth, delicate. “It’s good to meet you, Rinka.”

A few more moments, and then he lays his pencils to rest, smiling at Rinka as he tilts the sketchbook so she can look at it better, then deciding to simply allow her to hold it to examine it, if she wishes to, at least. “Finished,” he confirms to her, just in case. Displayed, his feelings, his observations, every stroke given meaning, even if it amounts to something that is rather… profound. “Just as day and night switch places, and as we continue to root ourselves to this nearly abandoned pavement,” he pauses, deciding to stand up, awhile looking at the sky, arm extended to her still, “I will keep to my art. I greatly appreciate you giving me those moments of yours.”

her eyes only narrowed briefly, head tilt at confusion with his musings --- he... said it was okay that she didn't understand and people perceived things differently, right? he was... difficult to understand, and if he frequently spoke like... this, she figured many others might share similar sentiments as she was currently.

not that she found it... bad. something about it was refreshing, earnest. it was odd that she felt such things stemming from an stranger, but the longer she was in his presence the more... comfortable she felt with him. as comfortable as someone like rinka could be with someone like him, anyway.

she stayed in place when he showed approval, yet she couldn't help herself by taking a sneak peak at his sketch. not that it did much to sate her curiosity --- she was met with... strokes and sketches she couldn't begin to decipher. instead, she redirected her attention to shikishima, watching the way he answered her question, about to answer, but --- wait, are those tears?!

rinka's eyes widened as she scrambled her hands, digging in her skirt pockets for anything to help him --- handkerchief, handkerchief... in her haste she momentarily forgot she was practically being a model, and with that realization she stilled her actions, hesitant, slowly peeking up to see if he was annoyed from her movement. the lack of a reaction on his face, seeing the tears gathered up in his eyes faded --- that... was quick--- gave her ease as she let out a deep breath she wasn't aware she was holding in the first place as her posture relaxed, not as stiff as her initial position.  

"i... see," she responded, her original answer forgotten from the haywire of emotions her just experienced. she willed her heart to stop beating so fast --- pointless, it was pointless to overreact over something so small, so why did she? --- but, she has learned his name.

shikishima. natsuhisa shikishima.

rinka smiled at his sentiment, small, awkward, unsure if it was an appropriate response, "i... likewise, shikishima." her voice had a nervous edge to it, but the words she spoke were genuine.

when he announced he was finished, she found her back standing straighter, head leaning in unconsciously towards his sketchbook, grabbing the object in general since he offered, fingers tracing over the parchment. she... still couldn't tell what it was, couldn't tell what he wanted to convey from the artwork --- but, from the detail the artwork displayed, she could tell it meant a lot to him. this... was her, wasn't it? it was vibrant, filled with variant of shades that she... couldn't understand. she felt empty, she was empty, so seeing this...

her grip on the sketchbook tightened, and she didn't even notice the ways her eyes began to water the longer she stared at the artwork. she didn't understand it. she didn't, but deep down, genuinely, in the bottom of her heart she yearned to. if she... became acquaintances with him, would she be able to see more of his artwork? the thought lingered on her mind as from her perceptual vision she noticed his hand extended, offered.

hesitantly, with a hand still trembling, she elapsed her hand with his own, sketchbook clutched to her chest with her free arm, allowing him to assist her in standing up. she remained quiet, staring up at the sky, unsure how to voice her thoughts --- the brief tears dying on her cheeks gone unnoticed, rinka consumed with... plenty of thoughts from this encounter.

"... no, thank you," she voiced after a while, voice quiet, slightly muffled, "i am glad i saw you today."

he showed her a different perspective, one that she would have never noticed herself, never have noticed if she stayed in her daily routine, spending time within her text books and---

...

text books.

"ah!!" her voice was slightly raised, realization dawning on her features as she returned his sketchbook back to him, feet hastily directing her towards her fallen textbooks she discarded when she initially saw them.

she knelt on the pavement to retrieve each book, checking the contents and the covers to ensure there wasn't any notable damage. relieved to find that they were all in check, she let out a long sigh as she flopped, back against the sidewalk as she went back to gazing at the sky, heart still beating fast from the excursion and... everything else she just witnessed.

today was... different. rinka was unsure how to begin to voice an apology from her abrupt actions, so instead she just learned her head further against the ground, watching shikishima upside down,

"i'm... not usually like this," she says, instead, "um..." what else was there to say? 'i'd like to see you again'? 'i'm sorry i didn't understand your artwork fully, and probably got it smudged with my finger prints'? 'i just made a complete fool out of myself, but i'd like if you could just erase that from your memories, thank you very much'?

"... i'm tired." she finishes, lamely, closing her lavender eyes as she just feels the brief breeze playing with her baby hairs, swaying against her skin,

"do you live near by here?" she inquires, after a moment of recollecting her thoughts, "i... could walk with you part of the way, if you'd like. i don't live too far off myself, and..."

was she pushing her boundaries? perhaps he wanted nothing to do with her after all, especially after the grand display of various of emotions she wasn't even aware she was capable of performing. she was empty, a broken doll, such emotions were... unbecoming of her. awkward, out of place, unsure of how to handle them; however, there was just something about him that she wanted to learn more about.

"... only if you want to, though."

[kukiaji-blog]

[ @fatedthread​ ] 

continuing from this

it became routine for her to visit the rooftops the longer she's stayed at nevaeh --- she wasn't sure why. she had no ambitions, no dreams, no ideals, no goals. she truly didn't think she was capable of feeling attachment to anything, but whenever she gazed up at the rooftop from the ground, passing by casually when she was left alone with her thoughts, the sight made her heart speed up a bit faster. why? was it because she remembered the day, back at the welcoming ceremony when alma swung his arm around her waist and jumped off the ceiling with her, feeling the air dance upon her face, feeling as if she was free, flying for a second?

was it because she could see the vast red-hued skies nevaeh had to offer, trying to see if there was a different pattern amongt the clouds that gathered, yet it was never changing, never ending, a dream that she wondered if she'd ever wake up from yet, at the same time, knowing the reality that she was... dead?

she didn't know, but she dared not linger on the thoughts for too long; no, instead she found herself standing alongside alma, staring curiously down at the red string patterns he was performing. the sight... gave her deja vu, although rinka couldn't begin to fathom why. she has never seen such tricks in her mediocre life --- from how bland and empty she felt inside, she was positive she'd recall something unique like this.

however; it didn't stem away from her curiosity, from her desire to try and learn the techniques herself, if only to give her something to strive for and understand alma a bit better. she found it odd how determined she was to try and learn the technique, as simple as redirecting red string to form patterns, to form symbols. it served no purpose, yet she found herself enraptured by the dexterity of alma's fingers, the way he gracefully forms the figures.

one second she was admiring his ability, and the next she was seated in front of him, allowing him to wrap the string in between her fingers, lavender eyes widened with wonder at seeing the red strands. slowly, when he pulls away, she tries her hand at forming the simple shape he briefly instructed --- a diamond --- but, no matter how much she weaved her fingers, when she got to one specific part she was met with knotted thread.

her eyebrows furrowed with mid disappointment, but aside from that she didn't will herself to voice her negativity aloud --- it was meaningless to feel as such, not when she could... try again. he and the other bad apples have began to teach her that, to allow herself to feel more confidence.

"i... think i missed a step somewhere," she decides to confess, instead, not showing any signs or intentions of giving up, but she has successfully returned the threads to the original position she recalled alma having her start with,

"i... put this string over this one... then this one..." at this point rinka was talking more to herself than him, tongue tucked out with narrowed eyes concentrating on the sight before her, "another string over here... then over this one..." she was slowly performing her actions, lacking the grace that she saw alma execute mere moments before, fingers slightly wobbly as she tried her best not to jumble the strings together like she did previously,

"then..." her voice trailed off, briefly, rinka blinking owlishly at her display --- it was half finished, but her mind came in a blank at remembering the next step. she directed her eyes to meet his own stotic eyes, the signs of a small, sheepish smile -- such a gesture she'd never be able to perform before 'dying' -- on her face as she raised the strands for him to see better,

"i... think this is the part where i messed up on," she elaborates briefly, eyes glancing back down at her unfinished shape, confusion prominent on her features, "this... definitely takes some time to get used to, doesn't it?"

[wnq-writers]

It didn’t matter that I couldn’t hold you or that I couldn’t see you. I could feel you everywhere and somehow that became enough.

Kristie Betts (via wnq-writers)

[shoujo-dreamland]

[zyglavis]

Bad Apple Wars wallpapers (640 x 960) ★ Feel free to use!

[becoming-a-satellite]

a red thread?

[kukiaji-blog]

[ a mystery. ]

What a gentle breeze the air harbors. He, so tuckered out by a day of schooling, chooses wayward wandering as his call call for inspiration. Had there been a club meeting? Likely, but those sprouts can reach up and up without him. He is far more interested in elsewhere and otherwise. 

Where will his feet carry him today? Oh, how he wonders, toes tapping lightly against the pavement. His sketchbook is well adored, though it is, by far, not the first. No, this little adventure of his is not a new feat either. 

But he is getting a little fatigued. Not a spot of surprise there, as his lungs constrict. An ample time for a rest, so he hums, he can continue at his best. He must… wants to once again catch something beautiful on his pages. They needn’t stay blank, but willfully blend lines with colors. Will he match the secrets that his uncle had riveted in his works, his communication lost? Will he be able to get his feelings across? 

He ponders on this, briefly, but no matter. He will enjoy what time he has. 

So long as he does as he likes, experiences a world - the world of beauty that he already sees - the he’ll be doing something to make someone proud. Himself? Who? 

Whatever is this little creature? 

Well, he moves on from that quickly, choosing to sit, leaning over and over, so much there’s a clear hunch in his posture. This break would be good, but he’s much more occupied in sketching out the bug, this caterpillar that so happened to be passing by. His focus on such a thing, moving his pencils quickly. 

So surely he doesn’t notice the shuffle of feet, such a scramble accompanied by a halt by his side. It’s not until she speaks that he tears his attention from his work, lifting his head up to face her, a girl with concern ever-so present, though hesitation seems to lace her voice. Interesting. 

With a smile lighting his face with ease, he looks at her, carefully holding his pencil in a soft grip, trying to really take in all her features. 

“Yes, I’m all right,” Shikishima gives a light laugh, “I was just a bit tired, so I decided to rest while sketching out this cute caterpillar… oh~?”

Mr. Caterpillar wormed away… A pity… 

Perhaps, he looks delicate, and maybe he might have shattered should she have touched his back, or at least fell over. But this girl… how curious. Her uniform, not the same as his - a different school? Her aura, a pure white, a blank slate, with so much potential, repelling other energies, will she take them in? Does she know where she can go?

“Well… since you are here, you get to see where I have been carried this time.”

Shikishima holds up his drawing, the one meant to be of the caterpillar, the one that skittered away. He made quick work, it seems, using what he had with him to create an image that tried to reflect his feelings, his views. This is all before he decides to resume working, flipping it back over, immediately going back to scratching away on the pad before him, but only after turning the page.

…And he’s still sitting on the sidewalk. 

It’s a split decision, but now that he’s met someone new, he must remember it. Especially someone like this, who tossed her books to the ground, he notices. She harbors no ill-will… is she shaking? Rattled with concern? What sort of flower is she? Or… is she a bud, just like him?

What a lovely day. 

“Thank you for worrying about me.

“Could you stand still? Just a moment, I want to… ‘capture’ this as well.”

Perhaps it is just his imagination, but the sun’s rays seems to dancing around her so splendidly. Curious. Wondrous. It stands out to him, so well, the boy who spent so much time surrounded by white, alone, clean and closed away from a dirty, cruel, mysterious, and beautiful world.

What will he do? What picture will he create? Will she understand it? Well… it really wouldn’t bother him if she didn’t. He’s used to that. He’s accepted it. So long as he’s trying, as he’s allowing himself to see and hear, then… everything works fine. And he, he’s excited, these moments piquing his interest. What else will today bring? How far can he follow this stroke and experience it? 

“Everyone appears to have their own roots, and their own ability to blossom. Please, do not worry. I must apologize for worrying you and distracting you from your blooming path. But, flowers are quite strong, still reaching for the sun, right~?”

"cute... catepillar?"

her voice was quiet; although, the confused expression on her face was prominent as she stared blankly at him, then at the now-vacant ground. was hunching over the middle of the pavement just to sketch a bug... normal?  she wanted to voice this opinion aloud, but refrained from doing so --- it wasn't as if she knew what was considered normal, after all.

rinka couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped her lips regardless at finding out he was okay. good... good. she wasn't she what she'd do if he was... not. but, now she was left with this awkward conversation. how does one normally say their farewells and leave without a second thought? thankfully for her, he seemed to take an interest in having her company, even if that brought an array of new problems --- she really should get going home and finish homework, eat dinner, study, take a shower, sleep to wake up the next day with efficiency.

her thoughts was telling her this, but her body moved subconsciously with a mind of its own, angling her body to sit next to his own as she glanced curiously over her shoulder at the drawing he was referring to,

"i... can't tell what that is," she confesses without a second thought, although she did sound apologetic. he was merely a stranger, but it was obvious he must be very... into his artwork from how carefree he appeared to be. she's envious in that regard. would she ever learn the passion that he conveyed through his drawings for herself?

the question was unanswered in her mind, rinka's thoughts being interrupted by his inquiry. "um," she answered, once again intelligently, as she tried her best to not move a muscle, "like this?" her back was straightened, hands placed on her lap as she met brief eye contact with him, quickly glancing away to the side, riddled with hesitation. was she doing this right? what did he need her for, anyway?

he seemed to be like a... mystery was perhaps the best word. she didn't understand him, especially his latter words. a riddle? poetry? she was relatively decent with literature, but the meaning behind the words flew over her head, and she found her brows furrowing with mid agitation at her failure to perceive them correctly the longer she tried to decipher him.

she opened her mouth, a unspoken question on her lips. closed it, instead relaxing her facial expression and finding herself staring down at his sketchbook, watching the way his fingers moved nimbly, more strange lines and patterns she couldn't begin to understand the meaning behind. she glanced back up at the man before her, finally observing him closely for the first time, the sun’s rays only illuminating his features. he looked older than her, but perhaps not by much. a uniform... another high school, perhaps? it looked more distinguished than hers, so it was possible he was either from a rich family, was very intelligent, or perhaps a mixture of both.

now rinka really felt as if she didn't belong here. but, there was something about the boy that, regardless of her nerves, regardless of the smallest tremble of her posture simply from doing something out of the ordinary, she felt at calm with. it was a weird, contradicting emotion to experience.

"do you... like flowers?" she asks after a time, the only words she was able to grasp from his analogy, "you... have a sunflower on the cover of your sketchbook. it’s very pretty." she finishes her sentence, her voice getting softer the longer she speaks. she wasn't entirely sure why she was trying to have a conversation with him, but considering she was sitting down next to him, her scattered books forgotten, getting drawn by a guy she met less than five minutes ago, she might as well pass the time with.... chatter, right?

is this how her classmates felt when they were at school?

"my name is... rinka, by the way," she continues, trying to remember the way her classmates tried to strike conversation with her, even if it was vague, "may i ask for yours?"

[shoujoromancelove]

“Even if it’s not fated I will still fall in love with him.”

[wnq-writers]

Then it hits you suddenly; you’re 20 years old and you didn’t think you’d make it to 18. Those days have passed and now you appreciate life and you love a boy who loves you and you’re not thinking about the past but instead about the future you’d like with him.

unwrittenphrases (via wnq-writers)

[kokoro-rocker]

[kukiaji-blog]

[ @kimyounakaze ]

wake up. brush teeth. comb hair. eat breakfast. walk to school. attend classes. eat lunch. attend classes. walk home. do homework. eat dinner. study. take a small break. shower. sleep. wake up. brush teeth. comb hair. eat breakfast. walk to school. attend classes. eat lunch. attend classes.

the mundane tasks occurred every day, no end, no change. occasionally she did speak to classmates, watched tv after studying a sufficient time period to acquaint herself with what said classmates referred to when talking among themselves, but she felt no personal desire to do so --- no passion, no excitement, no anticipation as she was left by a cliff hanger at the end of each week. her classmates always spoke in the circle sobbing to each other, retorting angrily about anything that occurred, friendly arguments trying to speculate about the characters motives...

she didn't join these conversations. she did not possess the same amount of excitement, of commitment as they have. she was... empty. at first, she didn't think anything of it while growing up. her teachers assured the class that each individual grows up differently, acts a different way, that there's no 'expected norm'. but, after a few years, the way she simply holed herself within her own thoughts and state of mind instead of branching out like the others...

was there, indeed, something wrong with her?

this doubt grew in her heart as she started her first year of high school. her parents were excited for her to attend a new school, the potential of meeting new friends. she didn't share their sentiments, but didn't convey her own thoughts and doubts to them --- what would they think? 

some days, she didn't possess this state of mind --- almost as if she was enacting her day robotically, experiencing her life through a stranger's eyes. she felt detached, indifferent. other days, when she sees classmates walking out together after school with laughter and smiles, watching their looks of disappointment when she rejects offers to hang out among them, she wonders what would happen if she did join them, if she did say yes.

she feels as if the window of opportunity to take this step was gone. she feels as if changing her life style, her ways, was gone. she... felt as if perhaps she should try to pick up something in life, but she felt no passion, no desire to. all she felt in her heart aside from emptiness was envy. 

today was one of those days where she mused about her way of living, yet not enacting upon it, as she walked home from school. she has a lot of homework to work on, tests tomorrow to study for. she, unconsciously or not, strives to follow her non-official schedule. perhaps she'll try to watch more of that japanese drama influenced by a manga series the girls in her class were talking about while on break. perhaps it'll help her feel... something? to communicate with them? to not feel so... empty, forcing smiles, forcing interest?

however; one thing happened that snapped her normality out of its stupor --- a lone man, hair a shade of blonde --- dyed, perhaps? --- hunched against the pavement was blocking the path towards her home. her steps faltered as rinka was met with this anomaly. what... does she do? is he injured, fainted, or... heaven forbid, dead? she dropped her school books on the ground in her haste to check the stranger's condition, running as fast as possible --- an afterthought, but perhaps this was one of the rare times she's ever truly put effort into something --- to reach the hunched man, kneeling down on the floor before him, hands hovering awkwardly near his back as if she was afraid if she merely touched him his body would collapse,

"... are you all right?" she inquires, instead, somewhat lamely with her voice laced with hesitation. was she... getting herself involved with something that she had no right to? was she merely getting in the strangers way? perhaps he intentionally picked this sole spot in the sidewalk to hunch his body with? she was filled with uncertainty with her actions, believing that inquiring on his status was a mistake. it was her fault, she should leave now while she hasn't made a complete mess of things --- from the way his back was moving slightly it was obvious he was still breathing, not dead, she would just ---

however, despite her thoughts telling her she should just leave before she intrudes further, she found herself unable to move from her position. anxiety? perhaps. an attempt to take a stand and see this through for once? perhaps. she wasn't sure. she wasn't sure and the thought was...

... she was empty. what she thought didn't matter. he's probably okay, right? instead of asking more questions, she waited patiently for his response, even if she felt out of place in the process.

[kukiaji-blog]

Home, Hands, Photograph

one word prompts - always accepting!

he wasn’t the shikishima she’s grown to love in the afterlife.

she knows that, when she gazes at him. his long, tousled hair. red glasses that stood out. his attire was modernized, not stemming from the taisho era.

but he was his reincarnation. that’s what she firmly believed when she first gazed at him. his stance, posture reminiscing his own. his yellow hues, the warmth dancing in his eyes whenever he maintained eye contact with her. but, the thing that reminded her of her own shikishima — of natsuhisa — was his smile. it was vibrant, almost as if the sun itself was shining on her empty soul, supporting her, rooting her to reach the feelings she so desperately sought to obtain.

she remembers the first time she visited the exhibit to see the picture shikishima completed in his last moments. she remembers the passion she felt stemming from the artwork, observing each careful stroke as if the paint symbolized his feelings for her. the first, and last painting of his that she understands what he was conveying.

she cried so hard that day, standing in front of the painting as if she was gazing at something eternally precious to her, a significant part of her life that she’ll never be able to grasp again. but she was so, so happy for him for accomplishing his last wish, his last goal, and the evidence of the feat was right before her eyes. how could she not be proud? how could she not be overflowed with emotions he helped bloom in her heart?

she didn’t feel empty, staring at the painting. no, she was staring at an snippet of home — in the vibrant painting all she saw was of shikishima and her memories of their last moments together.

imagine her shock when she first met his reincarnation, looking surprised to see her but quick to change his stance, joking with her even if she was a mere stranger to him. her heart clenched with both pain and happiness. his name was haruhiko. he wasn’t her shikishima, but…

she can grow to love him as equally as the shikishima of NEVAEH. she believes this when she spends more time with him interning by his side. she believes this when she tags alongside him as he visits flower fields taking pictures of the sky, flowers, soil, bugs — everything was so beautiful to him, much like his past life. she believes this when they finally hold hands, his strong, big, firm grip reminding her so much of natsuhisa the thought brought her to tears. she believes this when he confesses to her in the sunflower fields matching the one in the painting natsuhisa created. she believes this when they kiss, hug, his lips so alike yet different from the man in the afterlife and she finds that she doesn’t mind, that she loves them both and, as cliche as it sounds, firmly believes she was born to love them both.

he gave her emotions, feelings, hope for a future, desire to change her life, find an ambition, passion.

it might of been a play of the sunlight, but she could have sworn when they parted lips she caught a glimpse of natsuhisa smiling down at her with eyes filled with absolute adoration.

she loves him. she loves him. regardless of which incarnation of shikishima enters her life, regardless of how different yet alike they are, regardless of anything else,

she loves them.

[wnq-writers]

She gives herself to everybody else. They see bright eyes, a wide smile and a full heart but nobody sees how empty she is inside.

penqwen  (via wnq-writers)

[obscure-sentence-starters]

Send In A Word, And I’ll Write A Drabble Or Starter Based On It

Or send in multiple words and I’ll attempt to work out a drabble around all of them!

Pale

Melody

Spiral

Whiskey

Broken

Shatter

Cards

Dawn

Dance

Crimson

Shadows

Flame

Freedom

Paint

Dishonesty

Envy

Run

Trapped

Blade

Command

Theatre

Disease

Dust

Soft

Animal

Coffee

Frost

Ocean

Imagination

Family

Home

Power

Sin

Steal

Hands

River

Prison

Ring

Gaze

Warm

End

Beginning

Time

Box

Youth

Sky

Blind

Magic

Edge

Glow

Mysterious

Alone

Masquerade

Sleep

Wings

Photograph

Worship

Storm

Wild

Sacrifice

Submission

Devotion

Life

[adventurelandia]

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)