Oh my god the people on the escalators is pure comedic gold . It ' s something out of a cartoon . And every single one of them managed to fall <| sep |> In my case , what could you put in Hiryuu ' s 3 plane slot ? I need a Taihou before the next event lol <| sep |> Not the one from your school , was it ? <| sep |> It ' s the third time I ' ve come to this spot since you vanished into the Glasswood . Just a wind ' s kiss from where those strange trees hang over the Volbrugg ' s far banks , where their sharplytwisting branches turn the horizon into a tangle . I said nothing good would come from venturing under that canopy , but I guess it ' s a little premature for toldyousos . Three years to the day since I watched you walk east into the trees at sundown , promising your return in the morning before the sun turned the place aboil . I waited all night , watched the moons dance , the starlight fracturing on the branches like rain over a knife . By midafternoon I ' d been called back to the shop , and no one ' s heard from you since . It ' s a wicked place , the Glasswood . Trees like pale sculptures , sharp enough to pierce your soul , beautiful enough to draw you close enough in the first place . Folk only go in after sundown the first lesson you learn living nearby is that daytime in the Glasswood means death . At least , mostly . It ' s why we call it wicked , the way the daytime heat cooks anything between the trees down to dirt and ash . Three years later I doubt there ' much of you left , even though the carrion feeders can ' t reach you . Beautiful sunrise , though , if you ' re willing to wake and greet it . There ' s a way the light flares up between the branches , almost makes you forget everything under the canopy ' ll get ashed before the clocks strike half over ten . But something keeps me coming back each morning , years after you last left . The others whisper about it , but I ' m not interested in their pity . Most of them have lost folk to the sunrise , but they ~~ didn ' t ~~ don ' t know you like I do . You were smart . You knew what you were doing . Nothing appears between the trunks the next morning . I wait , like I always do , until the sun leaves the Glasswood ' s cradle and the heat dries my eyes . A part of me expects to hear your voice call out as I turn away , but of course the only sound is the soft chime as the branches clink together , and the steam rising from the river banks .