ㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ POISONOUS FIGMENT OF SENTIENCE ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ Mortals are priggish, ensnared by
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ holier-than-thou complacency. (Not
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ true.) Yet they walk along the lines,
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ here to. beseech, fond of pledging.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ “Sun-gleam bleeds through their
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ sights while kismet strides.” ..(𖤓)..
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ────────────────────────
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ [ ..࿇.. ]
To bleed, to vow, to be tormented with every nightfall that devours my cherished firmament. THEY LAMENT (lament, lament) to the one unseen yet undeniably ever-present. A vast, enigmatic void from nowhere—still, faith is solemnly proclaimed. Some mortals invest in belief, while others fragment their souls like extinguished stars. In this dissonance, angels and demons vie to captivate those whose souls dangle by a thread, teeter on the brink. They shall opt for the sake of fleeting pleasure and solace, for they are continuously burdened by the weight of countless desires, hopelessly pleading for the dimmed sun to wane and the celestial gleam to blaze anew. Yet, those born of flames shall descend, lured by the ephemeral ecstasy that springs from unquenchable thirst. Believing eternal triumph rests within their grasp, they are tragically beguiled—sweetly ensnared, and their tongue slashed until no taste remains but the acrid, bitter essence of blood that courses unceasingly, perpetually, even beyond the veil of mortality. Mortals are faced with a choice between two portals: the terrestrial realm or the enigmatic afterlife—neither eternal nor previously beheld. Enshrouded within a cradle of mystery, akin to an interminable labyrinth, they are engulfed in tenebrous gloom and a visage marred by turmoil.
“BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL,
WHERE TO, DEAR MORTALS?”
(Declared: Book of Eternity, XVIII)
ㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ POISONOUS FIGMENT OF SENTIENCE ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ Mortals are priggish, ensnared by
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ holier-than-thou complacency. (Not
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ true.) Yet they walk along the lines,
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ here to. beseech, fond of pledging.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ “Sun-gleam bleeds through their
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ sights while kismet strides.” ..(𖤓)..
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ────────────────────────
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ [ ..࿇.. ]
To bleed, to vow, to be tormented with every nightfall that devours my cherished firmament. THEY LAMENT (lament, lament) to the one unseen yet undeniably ever-present. A vast, enigmatic void from nowhere—still, faith is solemnly proclaimed. Some mortals invest in belief, while others fragment their souls like extinguished stars. In this dissonance, angels and demons vie to captivate those whose souls dangle by a thread, teeter on the brink. They shall opt for the sake of fleeting pleasure and solace, for they are continuously burdened by the weight of countless desires, hopelessly pleading for the dimmed sun to wane and the celestial gleam to blaze anew. Yet, those born of flames shall descend, lured by the ephemeral ecstasy that springs from unquenchable thirst. Believing eternal triumph rests within their grasp, they are tragically beguiled—sweetly ensnared, and their tongue slashed until no taste remains but the acrid, bitter essence of blood that courses unceasingly, perpetually, even beyond the veil of mortality. Mortals are faced with a choice between two portals: the terrestrial realm or the enigmatic afterlife—neither eternal nor previously beheld. Enshrouded within a cradle of mystery, akin to an interminable labyrinth, they are engulfed in tenebrous gloom and a visage marred by turmoil.
“BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL,
WHERE TO, DEAR MORTALS?”
(Declared: Book of Eternity, XVIII)
ㅤ