End day of Michaelmas and I wake up late with a deep sense of waste. I had strange dreams about labyrinths of feuds patterning the middle ages. Wyrgilds and pikes and the disintegration of old freunden illuminated my sleep. One man stood out, an alchemist bearing a poignard atop the broken bone house of his lover's brother. His name was Lorraine and he smelled the iron in the spots of blood and felt the black rose of decrepitude transmute longing into blue blossoms. This gross congealing traced the symbol of taurus as he stained his finger in the black wounds
 germanicus2 · Sat Dec 06, 2008 @ 11:49am · 0 Comments |
