Wicked, wacked,
Watch as we about-face this perfect paring because
about now
the timer ive set will be going off and, GOD knows, we CANT brown the silly crust this time. *****. Fake ghosts and roaming shores, pack them and go $i die$ somewhere with more tranquil winds, quiet skies. Earth, with you i have coalesced- alas, fae tongues have yet to forget to grab ankles and pull.

I apologize for the imprints of my claws.