#the fate of all mankind is in the hands of fools

[childoftheriver]

I’ve been listening to both the live (‘69) version and the album version of Epitaph. His voice is uncannily mature for a 21-22 year old. The song is as relatable today as it was then.

[internetskiff]

Breen's unfortunately pretty underrated amongst the Valve antagonists, which I suppose is understandable compared to the likes of GLaDOS or The Administrator, but just like those two I feel like there's plenty of things to talk about when it comes to him. He seems like a very conflicted character, especially if you take into account the BreenGrub account and Laidlaw's Epistle 3. First of all is, of course, the leadup to the Black Mesa incident, with the G-Man seemingly making an offer to Breen which seemingly involved overloading the Anti-Mass Spectrometer while processing an extremely pure sample of Xen Crystal - and yes, while it's pretty obvious that the order to overload the systems was very intentional and motivated by whatever deal they struck, I believe that when it comes to the aftermath he may have been sold on a lie. Considering his actions as Administrator of Earth being entirely in the interests of keeping Humanity from feeling the full force of the Combine, I don't think "Becoming the de facto leader of all of Earth" was on his agenda. Perhaps G-Man promised that whatever their deal would entail would bring about a prosperous future for humanity, perhaps all he promised was the possibility of establishing contact with another sentient species (which is something he technically did provide), or perhaps it was something else - there's simply way too much room for speculation there, I think.

A little detail from a HL:A newspaper implies that his position as Earth's administrator wasn't exactly handed to him on a silver platter, instead he had to go out of his way to reach out to the governments with information on how to communicate with the invaders, at which point, already beaten down by Combine forces, they simply gave him the all-clear to speak for all of mankind. This still begs the question of who, or what, gave him the knowledge of how to speak with them - however, it's safe to say if they didn't, Earth would've been left a smoldering pile of rocks and withered carcasses. Once again, he acts with Humanity's best interests in mind, having to choose between the lesser of two evils - it's either enslavement or extinction. He simply chose the option in which Humanity would survive, even if just for a little while longer.

And ever since, we're watching the aftermath. He's trying to talk the last generation of Humanity down, so they may either pass of old age or be absorbed into the Combine - at least if that happens, something gets preserved. Once again, the alternative? They'll just wipe the slate once they get the local teleportation technology they desire. Breen sees no other way than to go along with their demands. He's eventually proven wrong, of course, but he refuses to see the Rebellion as anything but a suicidal march towards the extinction of the human race, and he sticks to that belief up until he is killed by Gordon at the tip of the Citadel. Of course, this doesn't make him a good person. Not at all. This belief has lead him to seek out and destroy anyone who tries to resist. He shows no sympathy to them. He paints them as fools. He himself believes it so. This intense hatred for anyone who resists is seen perfectly in how he treats the Vance family. He views them as fools. As narrow-minded rabble in the streets, senselessly struggling against a tide beyond their comprehension. He's willing to send off a father and his daughter into a world far beyond simply to use them as a bargaining chip. Listening to the two comfort eachother as they're almost raised up to a fate surely worse than death, the only expression on his face is that of pure contempt and annoyance. He's a very fascinating character that I wish Valve would explore again if they ever do another Half Life set during a time period in which he was still alive. He's a coward that easily bends to the oppressor, yet in the end he only does it to make sure something survives. He's cruel to those who resist because he's completely convinced they're going to get everyone killed. He is the Combine's perfect puppet.

haha anyhoo so why was he straight up serving on the magazine covers in HL:A like what was up with all that

[author-of-all-sins]

"Knowledge is a deadly friend

If no one sets the rules

The fate of all mankind I see

Is in the hands of fools"

King crimson

[thelostdreamsthings]

King Crimson - Epitaph (Including "March For No Reason" and "Tomorrow An...

.. The fate of all mankind, I see

Is in the hands of fools..

[randomly--accessed--memories]

Another day of trying my damndest to connect songs to RAM because trying to connect song lyrics to stuff I'm obsessed with is a really fun way to appreciate music. Today's subject? Epitaph by King Crimson (Ha. My Jojo phase really did wonders for my music taste).

The wall on which the prophets wrote/Is cracking at the seams

I think for this one, it's quite easy to make a connection to Vox and Niffty's situation.

Upon the instruments of death/The sunlight brightly gleams

Referring to the fact that for a while, Alastor kinda just got away with doing this.

When every man is torn apart/With nightmares and with dreams

the image that being "torn apart with nightmares and with dreams" brings to mind is how Alastor tried to brainwash Vox into enjoying this ( the "with dreams" part) but that doesn't make it any less of a nightmare.

Confusion will be my epitaph/As I crawl, a cracked and broken path

To me, this one is pretty obvious. Vox is pretty much always confused.

If we make it, we can all sit back and laugh/But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying/Yes, I fear tomorrow I'll be crying/Yes, I fear tomorrow I'll be crying

To me, this brings to mind the heaven ending. Vox is in heaven now and he finally got better ("if we make it, we can all sit back and laugh"), but he can't really be happy about it because of everything that he went through and the fact that the other vees are dead ("but I fear tomorrow I'll be crying")

As for verse two, I don't really have any specific imagery for that one, so I won't put it here.

if you have a different interpretation for the lyrics of this one song, I'd love to hear it!

Also, I'm doing that thing where you imagine an animatic when you listen to a song, but considering the fact that the whole thing is almost 9 minutes long, I don't think it's something I'm ever going to make.

Interesting! In terms of the second verse, "Between the iron gates of fate / The seeds of time were sown / And watered by the deeds of those / Who know and who are known" could be something to do with Alastor and "Knowledge is a deadly friend / If no one sets the rules / The fate of all mankind, I see / Is in the hands of fools" could be referring to Charlie and how she spends most of the story completely ignorant of the reality of this situation and how she could put a stop to it at any time.

Yeah, a 9 minute song would be a BEAST of an animatic to make. Not gonna lie though, I think I'd cry real, physical tears if someone actually made an animatic for this AU, no matter the song or how short it was.

[donnabisestile]

Knowledge is a deadly friend If no one sets the rules The fate of all mankind, I see Is in the hands of fools

[tomoleary]

Knowledge is a deadly friend

If no one sets the rules

The fate of all mankind I see

Is in the hands of fools

- Peter Sinfield

[monsata]

4 of 1001

Today's album: King Crimson - In The Court of the Crimson King (1969)

Oh man, here we fucking GO! I love this album. Can and will turn you into an evil scientist.

(in case that's a lost reference:)

So, spotify only has the "expanded and remastered original album mix", but whatever it's king goddamn crimson.

Now, i can already hear people saying: "wait a minute, The Doors are 'tedious' but King Crimson isn't?" Yeah, i like bizarre spacey prog rock better than drunken meandering calliope bullshit. Sue me.

Gonna just go track by track, since there's only 5 of them here.

21st Century Schizoid Man - starts off amazing and never lets up. A killer first track. Unrelenting guitar noodling, a drum set that sounds like the irritated finger tapping of an angry god who's just about to lose their shit entirely, and the trumpets, my god, the trumpets.

As much as i may love strings, i grew up on a heavy diet of Oingo Boingo and 70s funk, and i love a good brass section at least equally, if not even more than a good string section.

I Talk To The Wind - whiplash engaged! 7+ minutes of drums and trumpets, and that mellow flute intro immediately calms you back down, brings you right back to earth.

I've always loved this song, despite being one of the slower ones here. The lyrics are beautiful and just a bit depressing/haunting, to be honest.

And, not to keep going back to the "religious trauma" well, but 'talking to the wind' always felt like a metaphor for prayer to me. Like: 'I'm just saying these things, casting them out into the void, and the void clearly isn't listening.'

Epitaph - Confusion will be my epitaph. What was i saying earlier about beautiful string sections? Well, here's a great one. And the lyrics are just outstanding.

"Knowledge is a deadly friend

If no one sets the rules,

The fate of all mankind i see

Is in the hands of fools."

I'm just gonna say 'Elon Musk' and walk away from that one. I know it was likely about politicians back then, and it still very much is, since they're damn sure not making politicians any smarter than they were a half century ago, but there are decidedly more powerful fools nowadays.

To call this song prescient sells it short.

Moonchild - upon seeing the name, all i can think of is the kid from The Neverending Story weirdly screaming that word at the end, so, uh, yeah.

A lot of prog rock gets maligned for being "25 minute-long songs about hobbits and elves and dragons and shit" and i kinda feel like this song is pretty guilty of that. 2.5 minutes of weird flowery hippie poetry in a 12 minute long song with A LOT of nonsense and jangly filler.

At least "The End" had the weird "faTHUUR, i WaNt To KEEL youuuuuu..." part to keep it somewhat interesting, this is just plinks and plonks and 'sOuNdScApEs'.

The first half feels... Tolkienesque. Tom Bombadilian, even. The second half feels like: 'everybody in the studio is on really strong acid and we ALL just peaked, time to make some fuckin NOISES!'

The Court of the Crimson King - back from the goddamn brink. The lyrics feel like something i would use for d&d campaign inspiration, but unlike in moonchild, this is actually rad and creepy and evocative instead of just "hey so there's a moonchild, doing their usual moonchild shit in the forest where the moonchild is...'

And the flute soars once again.

The melody throughout is so beautiful and mournful, and the drumming comes back so hard at the end. God damn, what a great song.

I fully believe that Stephen King did a shitload of something and hallucinated The Dark Tower while listening to this song specifically.

Favorite Track: 21st Century Schizoid Man, no doubt. If you haven't heard it, just listen to it and you'll see. You'll know.

Least Favorite Track: yeah it's moonchild. Way too long of a song for not much at all.

[c-etait-ailleurs]

King Crimson - Epitaph

The wall on which the prophets wrote Is cracking at the seams Upon the instruments of death The sunlight brightly gleams When every man is torn apart With nightmares and with dreams Will no one lay the laurel wreath When silence drowns the screams

Confusion will be my epitaph As I crawl a cracked and broken path If we make it, we can all sit back and laugh But I fear, tomorrow, I'll be crying Yes, I fear, tomorrow, I'll be crying Yes, I fear, tomorrow, I'll be crying

Between the iron gates of fate The seeds of time were sown And watered by the deeds of those Who know and who are known Knowledge is a deadly friend If no one sets the rules The fate of all mankind, I see Is in the hands of fools

The wall on which the prophets wrote Is cracking at the seams Upon the instruments of death The sunlight brightly gleams When every man is torn apart With nightmares and with dreams Will no one lay the laurel wreath When silence drowns the screams

Confusion will be my epitaph As I crawl, a cracked and broken path If we make it, we can all sit back and laugh But I fear, tomorrow, I'll be crying Yes, I fear, tomorrow, I'll be crying...

[sheepwithspecs]

That Which We Have Seen & Heard

|| FFXIV || Rated G || Spoiler Warning: 6.0 ||

Ao3 Link

Emet-Selch reflects on recent revelations, his own experiences, and mankind's capacity for evil.

Lies! Nothing but a pack of lies!

Even as he thought the words, he knew that it was not so—could not be so. Had he not made himself perfectly clear when warning that, as a member of the Convocation, he could easily distinguish between honesty and falsehood? Unfortunately, he could find no evidence of deceit in the prodigal familiar’s tale of their star. He had spent the evening repose mulling over this account of the so-called Final Days, and found that when given the opportunity, she had chosen to conceal her identity through half-truths and omission rather than brazen lies.

And yet for her to speak of their demise so calmly! It was horrific enough to envision the Final Days of Etheirys, the summoning of Zodiark and the subsequent Sundering. But to hear tell of their battle, of his death—

Death. The term itself was both an insult and an omen, usually reserved for cases when a soul’s return to the star was not governed by personal choice. To be forcibly consigned to the Underworld was a punishment reserved for only the most extreme circumstances, when all other methods of correction had failed. Most were so averse to the thought that they purposefully distanced themselves from such distasteful terminology; it had surprised him to hear the word used so freely by Hermes’s little pet project.

But to hear the same from her! She, who looked so uncannily like Azem, whose soul fairly shone with the same warmth, the same joyous amber glow, and yet something about her was so very wrong— It was contemptuous! It was beyond reproach! It was… it was….

It was simply too much to bear.

He stared at his reflection in the looking glass, searching his pale eyes for… for what? For that first hint of madness? For the spark that proved himself capable of the unspeakable? The sacrifice of one half the population to save Etheirys. Another, equal portion to maintain the aetherial balance. An ingenious plan, though madness in and of itself.

Still, the idea of their noble sacrifice filled him with an unshakable pride. The very foundation of their society was built upon the idea that one must give their all to the betterment of the star. To end oneself so that others may endure… what better way to burn through the candle of a life? What better way to find fulfilment? Had he not been a member of the Convocation, he would have most certainly volunteered himself to be one of their number.

And to think that he was the villain in her tale! Mankind’s judge, jury, and would-be executioner! It made no logical sense: why would he insist that he alone was worthy to decide the fate of a star and its people? That was laughable at best. Furthermore, it was in direct opposition to the principles of society. No one in their right mind would ever believe in such a self-centered notion.

Singularity is selfishness. Individuality, indulgence. Simplistic in their nature, they were concepts that even the smallest of children could easily grasp. Everyone, hand in hand, working together for the greater good. Each and every choice weighed accordingly against its own outcome, the needs of the collect put above the needs of the individual. This was the proper way of things. He could not believe that he would ever find reason enough to throw these guiding principles aside in favor of egotistical arrogance.

Even more insulting was the accusation that he had worked in direct opposition to Venat. While it was true that the former Shepherd annoyed him to no end with her antics, it did not change the fact that Venat was a retired official who served as an advisor to the people, a purveyor of wisdom. He would no sooner raise a hand in anger against an elder than he would a child. What did they take him for? An uncultured fool?

“I do not understand it,” he muttered, hearing the irritable edge to his voice. The evening repose was meant to be a time of reflection, of preparation for the coming day ahead. It was far past time to retire; at the moment, however, sleep would be all but impossible. Not with all these thoughts whirling in an endless vortex inside his mind. “Why must we fall?” His reflection did not answer, its expression one of perturbed curiosity. Thirsting for answers, desperate to know.

He gazed blankly at himself in the mirror, noting the traits that seemed ever-present: the frizzy, tangled locks of loose hair, the weary bags beneath his sharp eyes, the downward slope of his full lips. No matter what his compeers claimed, he was not handsome. Nor did he care to flatter himself with thoughts of unconventional beauty, having no taste for false vanity. He did not think himself hideous, of course, but his visage was nowhere near the ethereal prettiness that Hythlodaeus wore so well. Neither did he have Azem’s rugged, innocent charm. His appeal—if indeed he possessed any—lay in his talents as a wielder of magic.  

Was this the reason his future self found it so easy to walk the tattered fringes of insanity? He was naught but one corner of a precariously balanced three-sided scale. Remove any one of the weights, and the others would invariably come crashing down. If this would-be familiar spoke true, then both Hythlodaeus and Azem would slip through his fingers before he had time to tighten his grasp. This thought frightened him more than that of his own fall from grace.

The fear made him want to demand Azem’s hasty return, even as he seethed with anger over the rumors of her stunt with Ifrita. It made him want to insist that Hythlodaeus not stray from sight during their sojourn in Elpis, determined as he was to ensure his continued safety. He wanted one hand on either of them at all times, if only to reassure himself that they were at his side. For if they were not…

Alone for a thousand, thousand lives.

He did not think he could bear such a fate.

“Hello!” Without warning, the door to his borrowed chamber flew open. “Are you still awake, Hades? Good!” Hythlodaeus let himself in, bringing with him a cool breeze that smelled faintly of the expansive gardens surrounding the Twelve Wonders. He shivered theatrically, practically flinging himself onto the airing bed and drawing the coverlet to his chin. “These stone floors are so cold,” he lamented, “and the rugs are few and far between. But, as I expected, your bedsheets are warmer than mine.”

“Nonsense,” he grumbled, glaring at him through the mirror. “They’re the same as the ones in your chamber. If you’ve a problem with them, ask for something thicker. Or, better yet, save everyone the trouble and conceptualize them yourself.”

“No, I’m sure yours are warmer!” Hythlodaeus cozied deeper into the bed. “I do believe I’ll remain here. Feel free to take my room in exchange… unless, of course, you won’t mind the intrusion.”

“I very much mind the intrusion!” he snapped. “Enough with the pretense. If you want a bedfellow, then say it plainly. There’s no need for theatrics.”

“Oh?” Hythlodaeus turned into his side, propping his head on one arm. His unbound hair fell in long, smooth strands across his shoulder. “And are you willing to accept me? Or will you give me an earful tomorrow morning and say the beds were clearly not built for two? Ah—but you aren’t ready for bed yet, are you? You haven’t even brushed the tangles from your hair,” he scolded gently. He climbed from the bed, wrapping the coverlet around his shoulders before padding across the floor. “Here, allow me. Where is your comb?”

“I don’t recall asking for help.” Despite his grousing, he handed over the comb without a struggle, crossing his arms in a sullen pout as he watched their reflections. Hythlodaeus parted his unruly hair down the center, gently combing out the tangles with smooth, even strokes. He ran his fingers through each section, methodically checking the strands before allowing them to fall.

Does nothing faze him? he wondered, slowly relaxing under his partner’s gentle ministration. He had always enjoyed the tactile sensation of fingers carding through his hair, as well as the shared intimacy of being close to another being. It was a perfect task for someone like Hythlodaeus, who did not enjoy physical attention and seldom wished for reciprocation from either of his partners. Instead, his joy came from fawning over them with a gusto that—while at times suffocating—was strangely heartwarming.

Oftentimes he worried that Hythlodaeus pushed himself harder than necessary to compensate for the lack of certain intimacies. However, he had no real way of knowing if this was indeed the case. To read the flow of his aether would be an invasion of privacy, and to ask outright would be an invitation for self-depreciation: another of his many specialties, often in the guise of genuine modesty.

To give and take in equal share…. Of course, there was no need for such trivialities between them. Hythlodaeus was his daily companion, and Azem looked after them both when she was not too busy getting herself into trouble. Between the two of them, he was left drowning in a veritable torrent of affection.

If anyone should feel the need to compensate, it was him. He still did not understand what, exactly, he brought to their three-sided union. It was well known throughout Amaurot that, between their energies and their status, the two had been perfectly paired. What on earth had possessed them to entreat him, of all people, that he might join their partnership? He was ever grateful, of course; when they were near, his heart felt… complete, somehow, in a way that could not easily be explained. It was something he could not achieve on his own. And yet, what did he offer in return? What did he supply that no one else could?

“Today was rather… overwhelming. Would you not agree?” Hythlodaeus combed the hair from his temples, smoothing them with the tips of his elegant fingers. He looked up from his reflection to find himself being studied, the calm lilac gaze at once both curious and knowing. “I find myself having a hard time processing it.”

“If this is an attempt to draw me out, it’s a poor one,” he replied grumpily. “I’ve no intention to speak on it.”

“I wish you would, though. I hardly know what to think of it myself.” Hythlodaeus sighed. “I should like to hear your opinion on the matter.”

“I have none.”

“Is that right? You seemed to have quite a few, with the way you stormed out of the impromptu meeting.” He returned to his task, this time combing in long, smooth strokes from scalp to ends. “You didn’t even finish your cup of tea. That borders rudeness, even for you.”

“Rude?! You say I was rude?!” he growled, turning suddenly in the chair. The motion accidentally yanked out a few strands of hair in the comb. He winced, rubbing the back of his head with a scowl. “What was I meant to do? Sit idly by while that… that creature called me a madman? Furthermore,” he spat as Hythlodaeus tried to speak, “she spoke of cold-blooded murder!” He felt a cruel streak of satisfaction at the sight of his partner’s involuntary flinch.

“Murder,” he repeated for emphasis. “She claimed that she would one day kill me in order to save her dying fragment of a star. Pathetic, crawling… barely any aether to spare, can’t even manifest herself properly, and yet she would be the one to—” He lapsed into painful silence, overcome by his own conflicting emotions.

Hythlodaeus made no effort to respond immediately, his eyes focused on the soft locks of hair slipping through his fingers. It seemed an age before he felt calm enough to settle back into the chair, shoulders slumping as he let out an angry breath through his nose.

“She must indeed be a part of our own dear Azem. Who else would be able to get such a rise out of you?” Hythlodaeus finally answered, a wry smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “And, if anyone could muster up the determination and willpower to fight against a sorcerer of your caliber—and at such a disadvantage—who else would it be, if not her?”

“I’ve already said that I don’t wish to speak of it. Nor have I any intentions of indulging you further tonight.”

“I see.” Hythlodaeus carefully placed the comb on the boudoir’s smooth wooden surface. “Shall I make an observation? Entirely unbiased, of course.”

“I’d rather you not.”

“You seem upset at the thought of Azem’s sundering. Is it not so?” He tilted his head, one hand thoughtfully poised on his chin. “I believe I can understand that, after a fashion. Supposing the trajectory of our timelines do not change, I will inevitably be sacrificed to summon Zodiark. My soul will be spared that fate. But not hers…” he mused.

He did not reply, allowing Hythlodaeus to become lost in the winding maze of his own unfathomable mind. The breeze rustled through the gardens, stirring the blossoming shrubs and whispering faintly in the distant trees. The walls of their temporary abode creaked as though the building itself was a living entity, settling in for the night.

“Regardless,” he surmised after a moment, “I’d say she’s doing quite well for herself, despite the clear disadvantages of her current state. You yourself called her the spitting image of—”

“And I was wrong, wasn’t it?!” He felt his bile rising alongside the anger that boiled in his chest. “Look at her!” he hissed. “Her skin is the wrong shade, her hair too coarse, her aether thin and feeble. Did you notice her eyes? How dull and empty they seem, compared to our own? And that hideous mark on her face! What sort of repugnant, malformed creatures cannot heal themselves of even the most superficial wounds?! I hate to imagine them! I despise the very thought of them! They are… they are…!”

“Hades—”

“What happened to them!?” he choked, hands clutched into fists on his thighs. “What did this Hydaelyn do to them? To us? To her?!”

“Calm yourself. Naught in life is undertaken without purpose,” Hythlodaeus murmured the mantra soothingly, one hand on his shoulder. “If what we have been told is true, then we must trust that Venat had as much reason to sunder the world as you did to prevent it—yes, you!” he laughed, catching the incredulous expression on his face. “If Azem were here right now, she would not mourn her fate. Nor would she condemn her sundered counterpart. If anything, they would be in Venat’s bedchamber as we speak, the three of them swapping tales of daring-do over a steaming cup of tea.”

“Don’t even pretend to mention something like that to me,” he huffed. “One Azem is plenty—two, a handful. Three Azems in the same room would be entirely insufferable. I’d sooner tear my hair out than try to reason with any of them.”

“That I can believe!” Hythlodaeus laughed. “But you know that I’m right. I fact, I think that in this case, Azem and I would be of one mind… as we often are, when it pertains to our beloved Emet-Selch.”

“And just what mind is that, pray tell?!”

“That our sympathies, and our pain… it is reserved for you.” He smiled sadly. “I know mine are.” The words were a painful shock to his body, centered on the chamber that housed his heart. He pushed the hand from his shoulder, turning his face so that it could not be spied as easily in the mirror.

“I don’t recall asking for your pity.”

“It’s not pity, Hades! It’s love, and worry, and… and everything you feel each time Azem goes tumbling off another cliff in search of adventure.” He sighed. “The thought of your undertaking such a monumental burden alone pains me beyond words. Well, alone save for Elidibus and Lahabrea, and we all know what a tremendous joy he can be—”

“This is not the time for jokes!”

“Sorry! My apologies!” He lifted his hands defensively. “I was only trying to get a smile out of you, since you won’t tell me your thoughts. Or perhaps I should find Azem’s shard in this labyrinth of corridors?” he offered. “She has a remarkable talent for making one want to spill their innermost secrets. In fact: earlier today, when you were busy aiding the creature in flight—”

“I do not care, Hythlodaeus. In fact, I am ready to retire for the evening.”

“All the same,” he said, obliging as ever as he followed him to the comfortable bed. Even after he was safe beneath the—admittedly warm—sheets, the lamps extinguished, his partner at his side, he still did not close his eyes immediately. In its own way, the room’s permeating darkness was somehow freeing. It allowed him to view the thoughts he would rather keep hidden from the light of day.

“Do you think—” He interrupted himself with a sigh. By speaking, he knew that he was giving Hythlodaeus what he’d wanted all along.

“Go on.” A hand found his beneath the sheets, cool fingers intertwining with his own.

“Although the thought of these sundered beings repulses me to my core, I find it hard to believe I could ever be so intentionally cruel towards another living creature. Logically, if the future Emet-Selch is capable of such unrestrained malice, then I too am capable of it. I have always been capable of it. I must have that capacity in some measure, even if I do not act on it.”

“Don’t we all?” Hythlodaeus replied softly. “Mankind is ever capricious. Light and darkness exist in delicate balance; is that not the reason we appoint an Emissary? To maintain this equilibrium?”

“Yes, but… if I have known, all this time… if I was warned, then why—”

“Who can say? With each decision we make, each path we choose, another branch forms in the river of time. We have not yet reached its apex… perhaps we never will. Then again, perhaps we might.” There was a rustle of bedclothes as he turned over in the dark. Lips fluttered against his skin, a fleeting kiss pressed to the rise of his cheek. “Sleep now, dear Hades. Tomorrow is not yet written.”  

“Hmph.” He remained awake, listening as his bedfellow’s breathing eased into slumber. Through the thin curtains, clouds billowed towards the horizon. The eternal winds swept through the tall grass, dancing petals swirling higher and higher in the breeze. Just beyond view, higher than the window, the refreshing waters of Lethe cascaded towards the earth, nourishing and endless bounty. And somewhere, even higher than that, the stars in the firmament twinkled with distant promise.

He lay in the darkness and thought of familiars and shooting stars, rising birds and falling souls. He thought of faulty creatures and bottomless despair. He thought of a man racked with pain beyond fathom, and another doomed to the same. He thought of Azem and wondered, fleetingly, if she thought of him too.  

Beyond reach, beyond time, the swirling currents of the aetherial sea washed him clean. He lay in the darkness, his partner beside him, and he thought of those things which had come to pass, and of those things which must still come to pass. He thought of them, and wondered, until the gentle seas carried him into the quiet night.  

[crunchyshadow]

Shadow’s Showdown Chapter 55 - The Zero Hour.

Sarif Industries. David Sarif's office. The 0 hour.

The screen in Sarif's office, which had previously displayed a broadcast of a baseball game, now showed a map of the laboratories highlighted in red. An alarm vibrating in their ears sounded, and a robotic, female voice repeated in a loop: Environmental malfunction, laboratory sub-section six. All lab chiefs, please report in.  

Knowledge is a deadly friend  

If no one sets the rules

The fate of all mankind I see

Is in the hands of fools

Chapter 55 [dA]

Chapter 55 [Wattpad]

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Truly You are the people with whom Wisdom itself will Perish!

1 Then Job replied:

2 “Doubtless you are the only people who matter,    and wisdom will die with you! 3 But I have a mind as well as you;    I am not inferior to you.    Who does not know all these things?

4 “I have become a laughingstock to my friends,    though I called on God and he answered—    a mere laughingstock, though righteous and blameless! 5 Those who are at ease have contempt for misfortune    as the fate of those whose feet are slipping. 6 The tents of marauders are undisturbed,    and those who provoke God are secure—    those God has in his hand.

7 “But ask the animals, and they will teach you,    or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you; 8 or speak to the earth, and it will teach you,    or let the fish in the sea inform you. 9 Which of all these does not know    that the hand of the Lord has done this? 10 In his hand is the life of every creature    and the breath of all mankind. 11 Does not the ear test words    as the tongue tastes food? 12 Is not wisdom found among the aged?    Does not long life bring understanding?

13 “To God belong wisdom and power;    counsel and understanding are his. 14 What he tears down cannot be rebuilt;    those he imprisons cannot be released. 15 If he holds back the waters, there is drought;    if he lets them loose, they devastate the land. 16 To him belong strength and insight;    both deceived and deceiver are his. 17 He leads rulers away stripped    and makes fools of judges. 18 He takes off the shackles put on by kings    and ties a loincloth around their waist. 19 He leads priests away stripped    and overthrows officials long established. 20 He silences the lips of trusted advisers    and takes away the discernment of elders. 21 He pours contempt on nobles    and disarms the mighty. 22 He reveals the deep things of darkness    and brings utter darkness into the light. 23 He makes nations great, and destroys them;    he enlarges nations, and disperses them. 24 He deprives the leaders of the earth of their reason;    he makes them wander in a trackless waste. 25 They grope in darkness with no light;    he makes them stagger like drunkards. — Job 12 | New International Version (NIV) Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® All rights reserved worldwide. Cross References: Genesis 7:11; 1 Kings 12:6; Job 3:15; Job 5:14; Job 6:30; Job 9:4; Job 9:24; Job 11:20; Job 13:1-2; Job 17:4; Job 17:10; Job 19:9; Psalm 107:40; Psalm 123:4; Isaiah 41:20; Daniel 2:20; Matthew 3:4; Matthew 9:24; Acts 17:26; Acts 17:28; Romans 1:20; 1 Corinthians 1:20; 1 Corinthians 4:5; Revelation 3:7

[riecurrents]

THROUGH THE CRACKS | CHAPTER 2

HA EUNBYEOL x JOO SEOKKYUNG

SYNOPSIS: Two wounded souls, bound and haunted by their past mistakes, meet again while embarking on a journey of remolding and forgiveness. How do they make each other realize that correcting their mistakes also involves the need to forgive themselves? Read on AO3

TAGS: post-canon, hurt/comfort, feel-good, slow burn, eventual romance, mental health issues (mostly on eunbyeol's part), trauma, angst, fluff, cohabitation, additional tags to come

READ CHAPTER 1 HERE

Since then, Eunbyeol and Seokkyung have stayed in contact. They have lots to talk about this time, after all.

“Giving me a daffodil to earn my forgiveness? What a fool, you think I’m that easy?” “Come on, the florist plucked it out for me with lots of love!” “She might as well give you money then! Money is the greatest form of love!” “Shut that, Joo Seokkyung! You sound like an evil man wanting to take over mankind out of money.” “You mean like my father?” “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—” and all shenanigans Seokkyung says to tease Eunbyeol of her so-called seeking forgiveness agenda.

Deep inside, Seokkyung knows more than anyone that Eunbyeol owes her nothing. There’s nothing that Seokkyung needs to forgive Eunbyeol for because all the things she had done were not just her fault. The bullying? The two of them instigated it with their own free will. Her mother’s death? Eunbyeol was merely shackled by Cheon Seojin. If that were her mom, she would’ve done worse. She knows it herself. 

“I’ve been taking a walk around the church compound, something I’ve never done since I got there.”

“Wow, you’re a hermit in the making,” Seokkyung fakes a gasp. “What made you touch grass then?”

“Well, you said you’re trying to find more side jobs. So I went through asking around if there’s one available,” then Eunbyeol enthusiastically hands her a couple of crumpled pamphlets. “And I’ve seen these plastered at the post lights.” Then she proceeds to scatter the postings one by one in front of the befuddled Seokkyung. “Waitress, homeschool tutor, and, uh… Janitress at the Mookwon building—but I hope you don’t accept this because I visited that place after seeing the job posting. It’s so big you might end up straining your body.”

“You must be kidding me,” Seokkyung’s mouth hangs open and it’s all she has managed to say.

“O-oh, why?” And now Eunbyeol seems flustered. “Did I go too far? I’m sorr—”

“I forgive you for your sins,” Seokkyung cuts her off, nodding, still wide-eyed at the pamphlets she’s reading one by one this time around. “Who knows you could be an angel if you tried?”

“Oh stop, you!” Eunbyeol reddens. For some reason, she still couldn’t get used to Seokkyung’s sharp mouth. If she had the gall to point it out, she wants the girl to stop being snarky and teasing all the time. It never fails to fluster her! “A-anyway, I didn’t do that for free, okay? You promised me you’d visit the church someday.”

“Oh…” Seokkyung seems to have totally forgotten about it, making Eunbyeol’s pout more apparent. “Heh, just kidding! Didn’t I tell you I’d do that in exchange for you visiting my class one of these days? Look at you being here at my table! Seriously, you don’t need to do this much for me.”

Eunbyeol could only smile. Well, she seems like she'd gone too far after all. It’s just that the thought of Seokkyung working near her residence fills her with warmth for some reason. Maybe Seokkyung’s right that fateful day they met at the cafe. Maybe she really has no friends to hang out with.

“But I’ll be sure to check these out,” Seokkyung beams at her, that bunny-like smile brightening Eunbyeol’s features. “I’ll pay you back with this effort one of these days, okay?”

There’s no need, really. Eunbyeol thinks to herself. Her presence is more than enough to keep her at ease. Who would’ve thought? The past Eunbyeol could never imagine clinging to Seokkyung subtly this way.

Seokkyung’s class comes, but not before she tours Eunbyeol all over the school first. The tiny art school was far from the grandeur of Cheong-Ah, but Seokkyung seems surprisingly at home in it. Watching her in action—pointing here and there, scolding running children in the hallway, glaring at the couple doing a public display of affection at a secluded spot, among others—is actually entertaining.

Now, Eunbyeol is seated at the back of the room, watching Seokkyung conduct the students. They abruptly halt when Seokkyung hisses sharply, immediately intimidated by the short gesture.

“Alright, kids, that was…” Seokkyung’s eyes narrow, taking a long, dramatic pause, then sighs. “Utterly despicable. Are you guys listening to yourselves? You can't be serious!” she groans, disappointment palpable.

Eunbyeol shakes her head in dismay all the while stifling her laugh. What a temper this teacher has. She just knows the students talk about her badly after class.

“But! Thank me because I’m your ever-so-passionate teacher and I’m sooo thrilled to watch you improve from sick frogs into actual loving singers!” The shift in demeanor made the students flinch. Some things never change, Eunbyeol could only say to herself. “Here’s my friend who used to be one of the pioneers in Cheong Ah Arts, Ha Eunbyeol! Come on, Eunbyeol, give them a piece.”

The students start whispering to each other upon hearing the familiar name. Eunbyeol hears them mentioning Cheon Seojin at one point while she makes her way to the front of the room—not that it surprised her, it’s indeed a controversial name known by aspiring singers and the like. That’s why Eunbyeol is so thankful Seokkyung didn’t introduce her as the then primadonna’s child. It’s as though she understands what it takes to separate oneself from a parent who has been your extension for so long.

Seokkyung doesn’t need to hush them to acquire silence, because as soon as Eunbyeol starts singing, all of them are quickly in awe. Well, Seokkyung isn’t excluded from the charm of her voice. Not only has it been a very long time since Eunbyeol sang in front of her, but she's also singing a song that has been the trademark of Bae Rona, Lascia ch'io pianga.

Rona, the girl whom Eunbyeol had deeply wronged.

Let me weep my cruel fate,

Seokkyung can only watch in silence. Eunbyeol sounds different than her usual strong croons. There’s a charming lilt to her voice, one more liberated contrary to the then Eunbyeol onstage guided by the then primadonna.

So that I may sigh at my lost freedom.

Seokkyung could notice the limitations brought by the slash Eunbyeol had inflicted on her own neck that fateful day in the trial court, but it never made it less beautiful. It lacks the pressure, the conscious gazing, the anxiety lurking underneath the big smile as she hits a falsetto.

Let me weep my cruel fate, so that I may sigh at my lost freedom.

If one would squint, unaware of the facet of whatever Eunbyeol is trying to reclaim, they would see it clearly while she sings. When Seokkyung heard Rona sing it at the big stadium for the first time, she wept, remembering all that’s lost and those they’re trying to live on. If not for her students watching right now, she would’ve cried too. But this time with Eunbyeol, she chooses to smile—proudly so—for the kindness crooning out of Eunbyeol’s once shattered and rotten heart.

Grief may shatter the bonds of my sufferings out of pity alone

Eunbyeol has already come so far, maybe even farther than Seokkyung could ever go—she knows it herself. If there’s someone in this sinful world who would deserve most redemption and forgiveness—as much as she wants it to be her—it would be no other than the girl singing in front of her. Eunbyeol whom she thinks never got the privilege of a mom as kind as Suryeon’s, and yet is trying her best to live with it and atone for being Seojin’s daughter.

She owns herself the same way she owns her and her mother’s sin.

And not everyone in this world could go that far.

Seokkyung hid her face from the students to wipe a tear.

When the students are dismissed and Seokkyung busies herself fixing the chairs, Eunbyeol approaches with a teasing glint in her eyes. “So, how was it? Not so pioneer Cheong-Ah student now, am I?”

Seokkyung looks at her, eyebrows arched. “Who would’ve known Ha Eunbyeol’s most captivating performance would not be onstage, but in a measly classroom five times smaller than Cheong Ah’s? Not so pioneer indeed, how are you hide that from the school that brought you up?!”

Eunbyeol’s laugh echoes all over the room, pleasuring Seokkyung’s ear unknowingly. “But speak of, I pity your kids! My goodness, Seokkyung, don’t you think that was a bit harsh? They’re not from Cheong-Ah.”

Seokkyung rolls her eyes, arms crossed. “Come on, they deserve it! Have you ever heard them sing? If that performance were an audition, they wouldn’t even make it into a karaoke bar!”

Eunbyeol tsks, shaking her head. “Maybe have a little patience? You know, encouragement goes a long way. Not every student can be scolded into greatness like we were back then.”

“Oh, believe me, I’ve tried encouragement,” Seokkyung lets out an exasperated sigh. “They need something stronger—like divine intervention.” But her expression softens just a bit when her gaze lands at Eunbyeol. “Oh well, you should’ve seen their faces when you sang for them—they looked positively hopeless.”

At this, Eunbyeol’s cheeks flushed a soft pink. She looks down, fumbling with the strap of her bag. If this remark comes from someone like Seokkyung, it is indeed praise worth noting. It makes it even harder for her to believe. She touches the scar on her neck, the very scar that has ruined her singing for good. “You’re… being nice. You don’t have to say that just because we’re friends.”

But then, Seokkyung seems to know that for a fact. She raises an eyebrow, her gaze unwavering as she snarks, “Haven’t you figured out that I don’t sugarcoat things?”

And so the latter could only smile shyly, the compliment settling in her chest like a pleasant warmth. Her elderly choirmates have always praised her, but now, for some reason, it sounds different with Seokkyung. This time, her praises are holding weight, something about it that makes her feel flustered in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

Actually, the fluster has been happening more often than she cares to admit.

“Alright, alright,” Eunbyeol manages to say, clearing her throat as she gathers herself. “Well, I’m flattered… I think.” Then a small laugh follows suit as she looks away. “But you could still go a little easier on them. I’m sure they’re doing their best.”

Seokkyung rolls her eyes, a glimmer of playful mischief in it. After all, lately, she seems to have a hard time denying Eunbyeol. “Fine, fine. I’ll try to be nicer. Just don’t expect me to start handing out hugs and compliments every time they sing in tune.”

“Oh god. Wouldn’t want you to break character, don’t worry.” The latter shudders at the thought of it, though it doesn’t seem that bad if Eunbyeol thinks about it. “I think they’d be too scared if you suddenly got all sweet on them.”

The warmth lingers for the rest of the afternoon especially whenever she thinks of Seokkyung’s words. Her honesty—although unfiltered most of the time—makes Eunbyeol admire her in a manner she hasn’t felt before, not in a long time at least. They part ways when evening comes, leaving Eunbyeol with a bubbling warmth in her chest.

Much to her oblivion, however, Seokkyung would feel the exact way weeks after, when she finally visits Eunbyeol’s choir practice.

At first, she finds herself sitting at the back of the church, croons of the elderly voices surrounding her as they rehearse. Eunbyeol seems to lead them, completely in her element, voice soft but commanding, as though she was born to do just that—to nurture the singing voices of people whose caliber might never even meet hers. Seokkyung watches, in awe, as she witnesses a Cheon Seojin if she instead became a teacher more passionate and gentler, merely smiling and chuckling at the mistakes her students commit, and having them really hung on to her every instruction. She can't tear her eyes away from Eunbyeol as she gently corrects the altos and nods in approval whenever her sopranos hit the right note. Eunbyeol is loved here, respected, and it’s clear she deserves it after everything she has gone through.

As much as Seokkyung doesn’t want to admit, this way of teaching bears fruit at the end of the practice because they have sung surprisingly well. A bunch of amateurs have managed to tickle Seokkyung’s ears, all because of Eunbyeol’s gentle teaching. What a day worth noting.

But most importantly, she’s afraid Eunbyeol might be wrong. These people are more than just choir members or friends as she claims so—they are like family to her, doting on her with affection that reminded Seokkyung of a time long past, a time when things were simpler when Eunbyeol was just a snarky little teenager who lives off people’s praises.

“Seokkyung!” Eunbyeol calls her out in surprise, her yelp snapping her back from the ponders. Seems like she had spotted Seokkyung in the back corner where she’d been sitting silently for the last hour, and now Eunbyeol’s face is full of worry. “How long have you been here?”

Seokkyung looks up, startled. She hadn’t realized how much time had passed, the last few hours seemingly vanishing like sand through her fingers. When she glanced around, she could see the evening light fading outside, and to her surprise, it was already past dinner time. She never expected to just sit there throughout the whole practice. Hell, she was supposed to introduce herself to Eunbyeol’s choirmates! But there’s something about the atmosphere that made her forget the ticking clock and the encroaching worries of her own feelings. 

“Oh, I just got here,” she lies, not wanting to admit she’d been sitting there far longer than she intended. “You’re busy. I didn’t want to interrupt your practice.”

Eunbyeol, still frowning, doesn’t seem convinced, but since Seokkyung looks out of it, she just softly nudges. “You must be starving then. Come on, let’s go grab dinner. You’re gonna come back here next practice and I’m gonna introduce you to them, okay?”

At dinner, they settle into a quiet corner of a small, local restaurant, with the warm scent of kimchi filling the air. Seokkyung took a sip of water before saying the thing on her mind while observing the girl. “Your choir mates seem... really kind.” 

Eunbyeol’s face lights up. “They are! They’re doting in a manner that could be quite concerning, but I like it more than I can imagine. Sometimes I feel like I’m their honorary child.” Then all of a sudden, she sounds and looks like a kid all giddy and nice with her storytelling, her voice full of warmth. “ They always ask about me, make sure I’m okay... especially the mothers. Did I mention the time when I wasn’t in the mood to eat until one of them pulled out a huge casserole of seaweed soup for everyone to share? They did it just to fill my stomach because they don’t want to see me losing weight!”

Seokkyung laughs, the sound surprisingly light. “I can see why you enjoy it here. You’re the baby of the group now, huh?”

“I love it!” Eunbyeol grins, a little sheepish. “They worry about me a lot, but... it’s kind of nice. To have people worry about someone like me, as much as I don’t deserve it.”

Seokkyung almost counters her statement quickly, but then she realizes it’s not the time for that. Not yet. “Must be nice. You seem to be equally worried about them. Doing your best to improve their singing and all that.” She stares down at her food, unsure why she suddenly feels a pang of something unfamiliar in her chest.

“Next time you come, I’ll introduce you to them! They’ve been asking about you too, you know.” Eunbyeol says enthusiastically. “They’re all curious why I’ve been hanging out with a teacher from the small art school. They think it’s adorable that I have someone my age to talk to.”

Seokkyung can’t help but laugh at the thought. “They want to set me up with someone, huh?”

“No!” Eunbyeol chuckles, shaking her head. “It’s not like that. I’d be mad if they do that.”

"Well, next time we will. I’ll have to check my schedule though. I’ve been so busy that I barely have time for anything else. The school’s been quite... well, difficult.”

Eunbyeol leans forward, concern flashing in her eyes. “What happened?”

“One of my part-time jobs didn’t pay me on time. It made me miss my rent. I’m trying to make up for it, but now the landlord’s really pushing me. I have to find a way to come up with the rent soon, really.”

Eunbyeol’s expression falters, her heart aching for Seokkyung. “You should ask Seokhoon for help. He’s doing well now, right? A successful pianist and all...”

But then, mentioning Seokhoon abruptly brings a pang of guilt in Eunbyeol’s chest. The last time she saw him, he had been nothing but kind to her. He’s the only one who had visited her at the hospital to thank her for what she had done, and to apologize for what happened to her Mom.

And Bae Rona, the person she’s been trying to rid of her head for so long.

She hadn’t seen them in years, but the thought of their successful lives made her feel like an outsider. She hurt them both so much back then, and she still feels the weight of her sins.

What cuts her ruminations off is Seokkyung shaking her head vehemently. “No! I’d rather die than ask him for help. He’s... he’s not someone I can depend on, not after everything.”

Eunbyeol falls silent. What a stubborn girl, she almost chuckles. She could see the deep pride in Seokkyung, the same pride that had driven her to such extremes in the past. It’s clear that no matter how much Seokkyung is struggling, she would rather endure it all than seek help from the people who love her.

“That’s going to kill you one day.”

Seokkyung scoffs, her eyes bitter. “Maybe it should. It’s what I deserve.”

There, Eunbyeol is rendered into silence. Seems like she’s not the only one who deems so lowly of herself. The things she had done, the people she had hurt, all that darkness still lingered in her, clouding her self-worth.

Eunbyeol bites her lip, thinking for a moment before she blurts out an unexpected offer.

“Live with me, then.”

“W-what?”

“It’s hard managing the house all on my own. It gets lonely, you know,” Eunbyeol continues, her voice more confident now. “My dad’s old place has an extra room. We don’t have to worry about rent—it’s part of a small complex he owned and rented for others before he passed away.”

Seokkyung stares at her, speechless for a long moment. “But... I can’t repay you immediately.”

Eunbyeol smiles softly, gaze steady. “In exchange, help me find a pet. That place has always been so empty since I moved in. I think a cat would bring life to it, no? How about a dog? The thought of someone waiting for me at home kind of excites me!”

Seokkyung hesitates, her mind spinning. The offer seems too good to be true. She had been downplaying the situation with her landlord, but now it seemed like this might be the lifeline she needed.

Finally, she nods meekly, so unlikely of the prideful Joo Seokkyung. “O-okay. I’ll think about it.”

They share a quiet moment sitting across from each other, both tentative yet hopeful. They both have their burdens, but for the first time in a long time, they’re not carrying them alone.

<<< prev

[unspokenmantra]

"The wall on which the prophets wrote Is cracking at the seams Upon the instruments of death The sunlight brightly gleams When every man is torn apart With nightmares and with dreams Will no one lay the laurel wreath When silence drowns the screams?"The wall on which the prophets wrote Is cracking at the seams Upon the instruments of death The sunlight brightly gleams When every man is torn apart With nightmares and with dreams Will no one lay the laurel wreath When silence drowns the screams?

Confusion will be my epitaph As I crawl a cracked and broken path If we make it we can all sit back and laugh But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying

Between the iron gates of fate The seeds of time were sown And watered by the deeds of those Who know and who are known Knowledges are a deadly friend If no one sets the rules The fate of all mankind I see Is in the hands of fools

The wall on which the prophets wrote Is cracking at the seams Upon the instruments of death The sunlight brightly gleams When every man is torn apart With nightmares and with dreams Will no one lay the laurel wreath When silence drowns the screams?

Confusion will be my epitaph As I crawl a cracked and broken path If we make it we can all sit back and laugh But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying Crying Crying Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying Crying"

[bremont]

(via (181) King Crimson - Epitaph (1969) Lyrics Video - YouTube)

Epitaph (1969)The wall on which the prophets wrote...Knowledge is a deadly friend If no one sets the rules The fate of all mankind I see Is in the hands of fools🧐🌎🙃🪃📡 Is cracking at the seams🛰️ Upon the instruments of death The sunlight brightly gleams When every man is torn apart With nightmares and with dreams Will no one lay the laurel wreath When silence drowns the screams Confusion will be my epitaph As I crawl a cracked and broken path If we make it we can all sit back and

[libidomechanica]

No major tension in the dead, sunk though can show my wilfulness

Come, let me ending wroth at once had set in secret,     fool, to the tempest’s roaring old rhyme at, because he had to herself, and air were     which hold. ’St have lain wherewithall

then they knew himself, and slits the bank and clothe thin!     With sweetly single leaf to look back my night is chieftain’s trophies—not of those the garden-     rose the Scotia’s sweeping, and Phillis

was they will teach other care the bard Bracy     the same.—No major tension in the dead, sunk though can show my wilfulness take thistle,     and bells from things presence in the hid

and such out where the flowers of other sage, and     shelter’d to die ere I sorrow with mankind’s apart; open this bate, for her, but even     bury me, burying, dancing

thrown in other is by Nature’s deep of all this     gold. Inebriate of nation, but read joy spark of the ravish hat fragility,     for life and flower has made her fate:

no high life—intense, will not what the stopp’d forth to     force in track, and leaven’d, like a reed, as a morning me along; valour wishes him     counsel me, this garden urn—weave, weave,

weave them to be borne on by her sire, the sands     of four green grass upon me, the covet most; and ices, have drawn apart, and draughts dally     when this Canto; where melted in

the earth Hell! Like foam that she had too longer fly     like one consequence? A handful of May, and wheedle a world that followers to your     nature Mine? Juan and a term of your

feelings bearing us all. My most would     perpendicular. Down to the last are hardly had lively brave gallant friends, come too; you changed,     there arrives a sent, when I pursuit.