A towering courage vanishes at midnight's passing.
The simple and childish stupor of a great lost god pretends to divine an answer.
She whispers to me with a soft and stifled breathe. "Should the storm come, the journey of masks will protect you."
I break and the thunderous loquacity of greek deities pray for my safe departure.
Cabin gods, slithered jesters, and the stem of a pyramid.
The night grew cold.
And her warm heart still dripping in my hand.
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