Sunday
Who out there noticed here?
Who out there notices that I have reached in here with my cursive fortunes and laid all I am among it's glare, no one dares mind. Manacled lace of sneers, he too often hopes a show of me, ragged over it's palm and nails, pinch gripped and synched, useless to a fangs-tyne, but all the same, note his molar's shuffle. The dragon cares for every bone broken, now does he not?
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