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The bardess looks at the skies as colored deep lavender with the doves whiter than the angels wings gliding by the breeze, the eclipse of a woman's soul is now unconcealed for the higher art of all things, she feels the tension, fall, and rise of the stories of now and the ones yet to be written, searching for  messages and meanings that are as pieces of magic lingering as lighthouses in  the shades of her.

— The End —