⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⭒❊✿❊⭒∘∙⊱⋅•
The jet landed smoothly, barely bumping the ground, the tires almost delicately touching the tarmac as if they were afraid to disturb it. From my oval window, I took in the sight of Hayseville below—an endless stretch of desert punctuated by a dazzling display of neon and glass that looked like someone had tossed a bunch of jewels across the sand.
Even in the daylight, the city seemed alive, lights flashing in vibrant pinks and electric blues, hotels shaped like pyramids and golden spheres rising as if to compete with the sky itself.
Pressing my face against the glass as we taxied, I felt my heart do a little flip, a feeling that had nothing to do with flying. Willow Haven had its own charm...quiet streets, familiar faces, kinda had that cozy small-town vibe that made you feel secure, but this?
