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THE END OF THE BEGINNING
My round table.
Huddled neath my beanstalk.
You are not mine, but you have become me.
Because in every great work, there is something of the author.
And through them, the author will always be immortal.
Huddled neath my beanstalk.
You are not mine, but you have become me.
Because in every great work, there is something of the author.
And through them, the author will always be immortal.
Some call themselves dogs.
Scarecrows.
Spiders.
Hatters.
Tin Men.
My Little Riding Hood.
My Briar Rose.
My Cheshire Cat.
And beyond them, the godsons of the Erlkonig; the one who gave me my muse.
Hatters.
Tin Men.
My Little Riding Hood.
My Briar Rose.
My Cheshire Cat.
And beyond them, the godsons of the Erlkonig; the one who gave me my muse.
Upon my left hand, a crow, Diavol, whose mysteries are still to be learned.
to my right, a nonsense bird - Jubjub, whose yolk is still unbroken.
In damnability alone do we share any qualities.
I look at them with their smiling faces.
Their talk of families. Of packs. Of loyalty's meaning above all.
Is there something missing in my heart, to have lost the tree for the forest?
I'm not doing it for them.
I'm not doing it for my people, anymore;
the Giants who have grown fat and indolent and are soft at the gills.
I look at them with their smiling faces.
Their talk of families. Of packs. Of loyalty's meaning above all.
Is there something missing in my heart, to have lost the tree for the forest?
I'm not doing it for them.
I'm not doing it for my people, anymore;
the Giants who have grown fat and indolent and are soft at the gills.
I'm not doing it for my oldest friend;
whose designs lay in the service and yolk of dark masters and ascension there-through.
Then who am I doing it for?
Is it my own vanity?
Or is it what I told you that night?
That Might isn't the strength of your arm.
But your strength to compel fate's hand by any means?
No: rather not. I do what I do because it entertains me, to see it all in motion.
Is it my own vanity?
Or is it what I told you that night?
That Might isn't the strength of your arm.
But your strength to compel fate's hand by any means?
No: rather not. I do what I do because it entertains me, to see it all in motion.
Our story has come alive, and I'm just here to watch it play to the next note.
The next time I'll have the time to write something like this, my world will be a much different place.
Goodbye, journal. I will be glad to be free of my aching hands.
The only lie I told you was my name.
I've always been Grimm, I reckon.
The only lie I told you was my name.
I've always been Grimm, I reckon.
And I am so much closer to reaching the moon.