ㅤ
ㅤ
“Preamble, I.”
(𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐝𝐞, 𝟭𝟵𝟵𝟵.)

Schismatic tribe, born amongst death-dealing chamber holden by walls of cruelty. In blood lust, we crush against unbending patterns to enchain our veins with lump of forswear, slaying these beating pulse. O, Rotter! We are devoutly hating religious ties, blood surges freely through unblurred salvers. Cruelness roars and screams during tense nights. Curses ensue, condemning blasphemous souls. We sensed bloodline of ours were eternally sisters in disguise, whom understood ‘bout deathlike fondness, and even foreseen departure. Our seat was merely to compose thronged clamour whose seemed to settle someone in death, such impassioned unsteadiness. “Behold! At edge of passage.” The bloodied dots, flowing somewhere. Nonetheless—intrinsically, what we embrace here was daydreamer. Human beings whom unreservedly unpractical. When we jumped, perchance it shall soaring high, slaughtered itself. Hanged, drawn, and quartered. Uncounted funereal thought has been spoken over the years. Yet, we have nevermore found an answer. By fair means or foul matter regarding long-haul whose surrounded us, we couldn’t heard both beast summoning our being since we went to be alone frequently as-good-as nobody shan’t unearth hidden pieces ‘bout our bloodshed. Dear foster-mother! We had terminated ourselves upon dying woods, beneath manatees maimed by propellers as we surfaced to devour ungodly banquet from unholy sanctum. In the end, it wasn’t god-fearing death whom ambushed all beings, yet harshness of heathen life.


𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬,
𝐿𝑖𝑒𝑠𝑏𝑜𝑛 𝑆𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠. ⛲️

ㅤ
ㅤ