(no subject)
The House of Dream in waiting, and Dream himself unseen.
So be it.
My Lord reeks his charm, his mirrors broken. And a City to weep for every little shard, though none of you shall. You’ve eyes for naught - and owed to me, perhaps, for it.
Visit him. Shall I ask your favour for the great service of advertisement, Star of the Morning? And then they say that we of Heaven do nearly not-nothing for they beneath.Beauty, my Prince, my Little Lord, my wonder. Privilege.
Sick-sickening, and silks and stones and cloth-of-the-gold, and coins. A need for the men of their trade. Present yourselves. Now.
And doc~tors, naturally, thinly, delightfully, beautifully - not you, and never, forever, and a day.
Ci~ty…?
Grant an ever-so-poor angel your b o o n.
[ooc: …I’m sorry, college ate me. With mayonnaise. And lettuce. The sparkly sort. Yum-yum? ._.v! The very Lord Protector’s blood on that print, so help us, OLD SCHOOL.]