.:XIX:. In remembrance of your sweet blood
[Private to Self]
Coming back to you was shrilling. The way ink dries on this parchment-- finest blends, African. Perhaps sequoia. Under the large sequoia (no, it was a sycamore), I stood, listening to the drum-roll of a winter rain, over the frozen fields. Mathieu was in my mind.
Sometimes I think, when I have nothing better to do: like blotching pages after pages of my dreadful journal - I think, not all Muggles should be destroyed. Why such waste? Mathieu is a fine example. We must leave the more talented ones as toys. Artists and artisans, musicians. Mathematicians, perhaps. Philosophers - definitely. I would allot them a plot of land myself, wherein they could spawn, when needed. And the stylish comeback of eugenics, as we drink champagne.
My hopes rose from their stenchy pits.
[/Private to Self]
Oh, but how dreadful. (What a black and cruel world indeed.)
Coming back to you was shrilling. The way ink dries on this parchment-- finest blends, African. Perhaps sequoia. Under the large sequoia (no, it was a sycamore), I stood, listening to the drum-roll of a winter rain, over the frozen fields. Mathieu was in my mind.
Sometimes I think, when I have nothing better to do: like blotching pages after pages of my dreadful journal - I think, not all Muggles should be destroyed. Why such waste? Mathieu is a fine example. We must leave the more talented ones as toys. Artists and artisans, musicians. Mathematicians, perhaps. Philosophers - definitely. I would allot them a plot of land myself, wherein they could spawn, when needed. And the stylish comeback of eugenics, as we drink champagne.
My hopes rose from their stenchy pits.
[/Private to Self]
Oh, but how dreadful. (What a black and cruel world indeed.)