Sublime

ne plus ultra.

“Toward whom?” “Why should it matter?” “Because,” he said, “I like to know the names of the people I despise. I keep them in a little book and pore over it from time to time, whilst sipping brandy and indulging in throaty, ominous laughter.”

She’d never strayed far from this enormous manor house, tucked into the quiet Essex countryside two days’ walk northeast of London, where rolling green hills turned to wheat as autumn crept across the land.

my head in the rainclouds, my heart in the sky.

triumvirate.

ether