I have travailed over the foresight of previous decades where we balanced upon the brink of trauma.
The end is just the beginning.
Coal fires emit a wonderful fragrance and they cast flickering shadows where thought-provoking sexuality displays her wanton brilliance across the walls of contemporary debauchery, don’t you think?
As snowflakes fall across strata’s of lost innocence, let us contemplate echelons of depravity where solitary existence is characterised by gallant company in the English countryside of Georgian extravagance.
The female servants flutter their extended eyelashes at ******* gentry, whilst social mores dictate the silence of rage.
Prepare the horses, oh sanguine being of unspeakable beauty. You and me: we need to talk.