Ella is Babylon's daughter.
The sun makes its first approaches over the warkissed fields of steel bars and glass sprouting from the ash; she smiles into the warmth spreading across her face.
Her home is found in devastation.
A glance is thrown westward; the helicopter is crumpled into the earth, yet the blades still spin.
Screams drift by, so tangible that Ella wishes, briefly, to pluck them from the air and hold them in her hands.
She instead rises, cradles her Winchester to her chest, and moves westward towards the beauty.
Her home is found in the drop of empty shells.
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you pretty much painted something here that i would frame up.
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okay you need to make your 101's a little less epic because they make me wish they were books.
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