The light of day dimmed.
Autumn is always a desolate season.
Sam loved the fervor of summer, the gentle warmth of spring.
Yet he couldn't say he disliked autumn or hated winter. Each season has its own character and charm, and being in the midst of them, one is always immersed in different atmospheres. But the odd thing is, people always seem to yearn for what has passed at different times.
The scorching sun and the heat that had not long disappeared.
And he begin to look forward to things far from arrival.
Like the heavy snow yet to fall and the tulips yet to bloom.
The path to Celeste's room wasn't far, hardly a long journey. Angel's house was indeed large, but not to the extent of getting lost, especially since Angel had already told Sam which way to go.
But his mood was far from light.
Standing before the ordinary-looking door to her room, Sam paused.
