and yet what truly escapes us at times like these is the soulful reckoning, when we forget ourselves and think only of the moonlit daemon hidden behind every word; which sneaks out in the middle of breaths
it is the consequence of prideful joy, these valleys, lurching and tumultuous...
it is the consequence of prideful joy, these valleys, lurching and tumultuous as any good ride; the goliath of the soul, and no more flags than six can ever hope but quench these dilapidated hearts. no more hearth for the fire has been doused, and smolder does the burnished bloodline, the end of a throne. the throne's end.
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