Adiss, the knife, unrolled the belt, and her deep dark eyes did scatter. Finally, she seemed to calm, but took the runestone and hung it in the belt loop. Then with a glance at the door, dropped into her chair, at peace. "What was that..." one of them blurted out. As a matter of friendship, we three pore li'l whiskey shots whilst the ongoing lamp burns aside. Alone I stood beside my crude shorthand on the desk, punctuated dispassionately. Now I will tend to it, forcing round and blunt shapes across the page, if her ladyship pleases. A many full stops, much like life in all its contour; until I'm drawn out, losing muscle control, drinking now with these choice spirits. Until now, the comrades shall tell of The Ladder, followed by The Discarded Innocence. Tonight, however, a discussion of Sacrament & Judgment was ignited. Some irreverent zealots have hailed the Phalœnopsis, but a set of switchbacks in the conversation lead up to a forgotten ruin of conclusions, with odd mysterious pillars interspersed.
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