=>> BUY IT BEFORE LOSE IT: AMANDA GORMAN FOR THERE IS ALWAYS LIGHT FULL POEM POSTER
The blinding light blinded her for a minute. When she saw clearly, she found herself standing in the Prophet’s Room, seeing herself tied to a smoke-colored stone table. The scene of her body is Galbatorix: tall, broad-shouldered, her face is dark, and her red crown is like fire on her head. He turned back to where she stood and spread his gloved hand. Here, Nasuada, the daughter of Ajihad. Let go of self-esteem and swear loyalty to me. I will give you everything you want. She let out a mocking cry and aimed at him with her hand. Before she could tear his throat open, the king disappeared into a black mist. What I want is you die! AMANDA GORMAN FOR THERE IS ALWAYS LIGHT FULL POEM POSTER. She shouted into the cell. The room resounded Galbatorix from all directions: Then stay here until you realize your mistake. Nasuada opened his eyes. She was still on the stone table, her wrists and legs tied, the wounds gouged by the maggots ached incessantly. She frowned. Did she just pass out or talk to the king? She doesn’t know when. In the corner of the room, she saw a thick green vine growing on the shaped rocks, causing them to crack. More vines appear next to the first; they crawl all over the wall, on the floor like snakes. Nasuada smiled as he watched them crawl closer. Is this all he can think of? I dream these weird things every night.
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As if to answer her, the stone table melted, the ropes crawled over her, holding her tighter than chains. The thicker and thicker branches of the vines darkened her vision. She heard only the sounds of them crawling up together: as dry as the sound of sand flowing. The air around her was claustrophobic and hot. She found it hard to breathe. If she didn’t know that those vines were just illusions, she would be scared. But she just stared into the darkness, cursing Galbatorix’s name. Not once. And she probably won’t be the last time. But she couldn’t let him be contented by making her lose her balance. The light. The golden rays of sunlight water the hills, mingle with fields and vineyards. She was standing in the corner of a small courtyard, under a set of nets bathed in the morning rays. The vines gave her an unpleasant familiarity. She is wearing a beautiful yellow dress. In her right hand she held a crystal wine glass and on her tongue she tasted of cherry wine.
A gentle breeze blew from the west. The air is warm, comfortable and refreshing. Ah, here she is, there is a voice behind her. She turned around and Murtagh was striding close to her from the vast mansion. Like her, he was holding a glass of wine. He wore black tights and a crimson satin tunic with gold buttons. He wears a dagger set in jewels in the waistband. His hair is longer than she remembered. He seemed relaxed and confident in a way she had never seen. And the sunlight on his face made him breathtakingly handsome and even elegant. He and her stood under the trellis and placed their hands on her bare arms. AMANDA GORMAN FOR THERE IS ALWAYS LIGHT FULL POEM POSTER. That gesture is normal. Cunning girl, you dare to leave me with Lord Ferros and his long story. It took me half an hour to get out. Then he stopped talking and looked at her closer, with a hint of concern in his eyes. Are you sick? Her skin is too gray. She opened her mouth but said nothing. She did not know how to react. Murtagh frowned. Was she attacked again? I do not know. I can’t remember why I’m here, or. She said nothing when she saw the pain in Murtagh’s eyes. He quickly hid it. He slid his hand up her lung as he walked back, and she looked at the view of the rolling hills. Then, in a low voice, he said. I understand why she is confused. This is not the first time, but. He took a deep breath and lightly shook his head. What do you miss? Teirm? Aberon? Cithrí? Or did I give her last one night at Eoam?
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She did not understand more and more. Urubaen, she whispered. The Prophet’s Room, I can only remember that. Instantly, she felt his shaking hand. But his face showed nothing. Urû’baen, he repeated dryly. He looked at her. Nasuada has been eight years since we were at Urû’baen. No, she thought. Can not. But everything she saw and felt was too real. Murtagh’s hair was fluttering in the wind, the smell of the field, the dress touching her skin all looked real. But if she was really there, then why didn’t Murtagh comfort her by touching her thoughts like he did? Or did he forget? If eight years had passed, he might not remember his promise to her in the Prophet’s Chamber. She turned her head to look at a plump handmaiden rushing from the house, her apron fluttering. Lady, the maid said and curtsied. I’m sorry for bothering you, but the kids expect you to join them to play with the guests.