His shying hand, suspended over the deck, plucked the cards blankly like petals from a flower.
Her terse sigh shuffled the lingering gravestones.

The butterfly madame arose from the honeyed maw of the jaguar, blonde in dawning flit that silvered the eye. Blue did her wings burn, finding fugal solace akin the leopard's spotted perch; hibernation sometimes lasting months across the earth's frozen chrysalis, longsuffering the nacreous, leaf-thin span of her waking life in deciduous flight.

Elsewhence, a black butterfly danced within the oblique and eigengrau darkness of Sytry's pupil and vigil. Perhaps always there, glimpsed in life evermore ephemeral with its appearance, as green glowing moths in twilight-glancing windowsills- and vanishing even more suddenly yet.
There were a lifestream as it was, brisk in Alacritian passage to the waiting dates and sun-faced palms of Mortyl's oasis.

There were four chambers in Sytry's heart as it were, hallowing the overturned and turning over the hollowed to meet about face; his transverse gaze and osculation extending the roots of his rusted, river-whetted lineage as thereof his tarred lungs would draw in smoke before air to feed the organs' cloudchasing-respiration forthwith his own bloodstream flowing, and surmounting the macabre, jagged bolts of thought within his sooner obsidian skull.

What did it mean to live with ones' whole heart,
deserting all else to the fire-y brass and leprous sands of
Divine apathia, divine athambia, divine aphasia.. Sytry fathomed a lonelier, lovelier existence not,
and my cup overfloweth, 
and just perhaps enough to share,
Syph is the cruellest month.
[Image: PeJrlJp.png]
special shout out to everyone who has squinted thru all the eigengrau emotes so far
"The sleeper cries out like one condemned to die, until he awakens and discovers that reality is three times worse than dream. I ought to finish digging this grave with my tireless spade that it may be in readiness for tomorrow. To accomplish an important task one should not do two things at once."
- "The Songs of Maldoror" by Comte de Lautréamont
"tomorrow, and tomorrow,
and tomorrow . . ."

Fire - it burns yellow, blue, red, and finally upon collapsing quicker than those temperatures colligate, black. A spark in dancing consummation of color and consensus of waters and airs, Chireal orbits swifter than light that accelerate physical existence and occasionally entire forests when wild with ease, to their base and universal constituent, as ubiquitous as lifes' shadow cast; soot.

Not indifferently, does smoke burn.

Not indifferently, does mana burn.
Not indifferently do the stars burn, nor their waxing eclipse.
Not indifferently, do the sun and moon align with the planet
eye eloping after lifes' waning reflections. 

That vertiginous instant once again, the same moments over and over, 'always' and 'never' the same-and-different altogether, all at once.

"Two birds, one stone."

What new darkness should await the sun setting with horizons' bleeding yet?

Where did others find shy beauty within the pride of stars, whose truth could only be unveiled in the shade of moonlit night?

An other, to weigh and measure the space between those affected distances
to lose their light, heat, burning so
 just maybe, such shine would mean anything at all?

And so Sytry's eye was drawn to the rising smoke unto the night's star-bright radiance, and the elevation of those moon-gazing meditations.
And so his heart was drawn inward, a craterous plunge of an
ephemeral absence unto an others' light within.

". . . And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle.
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
that struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
then is heard no more.
It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."
- Act V, Scene V: "Macbeth" by William Shakespeare
"After I lay my hands onto you, you'll have gold, silver, and cobalt running through your veins. You'll see it next time you cut yourself."
- The Changeling, "Pathologic"

Your death was instant - you did not suffer, I was assured.
Yet long did I suffer, nonetheless, over mine unclaimed reprieve and those iniquitous forays private and public I've paid witness.
Perhaps too soon, perhaps long overdue... in the end, you afforded more than I that 'tis altogether crumbling dust - there must come a time, to depart from heavenly worship and paradise, so also come the time to depart from Eden respectively.
Six doubts, have you impressed me; tempered furthermore by and imparted forth an initiated and elect few, for sake of the advancement of humanity and elevation of the unmovable soul. Weight long did I carry, to a death which might sate a greater purpose or my own greater loathing extinguished.
And then, you left. It was only then, did the realization dawn upon me which I held most eagerly to share with you in deliberation, funny how that kind of thing works. And so comes such a time, to depart from our own world.

V. There is nothing more permanent or eternal, nothing stronger or more enduring, than for a shadow cast to meet ones' rest.

"Neither the sun nor death can be looked at without winking."
- Francois de La Rochefoucauld
Here lies the water; good.
Here stands the man; 
If the man go to
 this water and drown himself,
it is (will he, nill he)
 he goes; mark you that.
But if the water come to him 
and drown him, he drowns not himself.
, he that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.
Act V, Scene I: "Hamlet" by William Shakespeare

Thou bleedest too much. 

Do 't, and to bed, then.

I'll wake mine eyeballs out first.

Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death,
Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth,
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open,
And in despite I'll cram thee with more food.

"H i k e   s o f t l y ~"

. . .
And then, there you were.

How often I watched others, listening so that I might speak-
and with two words, your aloof and wandering gaze that obscured where we both found ourselves staring,
did you stir those very passions within my own very heart.
You told me not where, not when- but only whereupon and once upon-
And then, there you weren't.

This wasn't to be your exit. Not yet, not so soon.

She's still here. I can not express the disappointment I feel, that you will not pay witness to the great works we should've accomplished - alas, you were doomed to continue with your purpose, and I with mine.

Grace given, you sick errant.
Gravely kept, Arbeidd. I am blessed to have known your intercession within this life. May Caius warm the depths of your heart with a truer love, something stronger and more enduring than those fetters of eternity and fateful demise you've desperately raised to torment your mind and time.

Rest peacefully, sweet prince. You will be remembered, you will be 
Quote:I. There is no absolute or perfect love, and if there were, it would weigh more than any heart could possibly hope to carry.
Close your eyes, soldier. Count backwards from you-kn0w-which-number. No fair, no peeking!
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