Three of swords

A fortress in a desert of ash, where a family like no other lives, alone.

A staircase in the shape of a seashell takes up the whole palace, a door for each floor, but they cannot be opened; nothing lays beyond them.

Eyes shine behind its only window, looking down at the three children covered in cinder, who have been playing the same game since the beginning of time. They raise their bronze swords in unison, reflecting glowing sunlight in their eyes.

Black velvet capes with stories embroidered in starry threads, they know what’s coming. The storm arrives and their blades grow dull, but they don’t stop.

It wipes everything it comes across, as if it never existed. The fortress, the staircase, the family.

But the swords remain intact, covered in ash, sun rays, and fingerprints.