If you were water flowering into wine I could flow through you like a butterfly; flitting over an endless ocean of rotting flowers, effusing their death unto the air like the songs of Sirens. Harpies crushing and rending, bitterly ravaging. The cadence a sweet-sour mourning song; the rending of flesh, the crushing of bone, the spurting gushes of arterial life sprayed into the sky and flowing from their necks - fountain of life.
Gamers: Know Your Rights
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