Sublime

‘Either we are all worthy of the Commons, dear Tamsin, or none of us are.’

insouciant

Above Yerin’s head, a pile of treasure appeared: scales of every color heaped over natural treasures, all shining with madra and aura in a chaotic rainbow.

She was the gatekeeper at the edge of the world. The final human hymn before all fell to wind and shadow and the strange creaking of stars. She was a pagan chorus. An older song.

The slow, low pulse of being alive kept making its demands, no matter what. However bad it was, however mind-breaking and strange and painful, the mundane insisted on its cut.

From where he was, the fear had stopped being an emotion and turned into an environment.

Marcus Aurelius

macabre.”