//------------------------------// // pgs. 32, 47 // Story: Decadence, As Performed By Four Calling Birds // by WritingSpirit //------------------------------// . . . hereafter lies a mantra of the sixes. QUOTH~ /lib/ᛝ/bk/07713524-04404232/8:22 >> Behold, her descent. Her crown, a vivarium of stars. And the sun shivers in the dark; and the moon shrieks in immolation, for she casts her shadows upon them, infinitely. :23>> And the festering earth shall rejoice, for her blood runs rivers down her skin. And they soak the world in all her joy, all her pain. :24>> And the serpent lashed its tongue unto the world, Sing High, Bless the sinking Light: Clean us, saith the fractured voices below. Rid us of the dark. :25>> And the fire of the end burns. Woe to the blacker lights. :26>> And the new land wakes to the epiphany, and the waves crash upon its shores, ceaseless for sevenscore days and four. :27>> And I see us here, our hearts marked red, our eyes flowers: and the old land sleeps once more. i am reminded of the beasts the elder spoke. as i hear them in the distance from the campire, in the dark spaces beyond the burning effigies, i found myself wondering if they shared our thoughts, our beliefs. are we not so different after all? — — — — | . . . we make haste for the steppes due west. the elder points to a silhouette of a ruin, stark in the sun, and he speaks of the shrine, a manifold, hidden within. — — — | the travesties that run this interval remain steep. we had to bury some of the older ones along the way. cairns mark our solemn route. i pray they remain sparse henceforth. — — ||| partridge is better this day. the medicines we had procured in the hamlet prior were remarkable. she is fit enough to eat bread again, though her spells of vertigo were oft-returning. i must remain diligent a husband. — — | — | — HE breathes into me once more. speaks of the times that await us ahead. like perpetual fools, we tarry onward. . . . g. r. A. .