Gripped

[amillionkeys]

There is a certain death. I can sense my own self, I am seated within. Can you explain this waverling, this movement throughout my body which I call sound? The air visibility would explain shudder grip photons through miles per hour to mine optics and a sense of red spike, green spike, sandpaper sand and that which water would not deem to parch.

You can seize me by the ghost to die by the blade but I will not resist. No I would never, and take it twice to a place where hair is cake and whip and sponge, I could find myself here.