Twenty Four Duels
Twice damned am I. Looking out in to the short evenings, the illumination from square windows framing scenes beyond my reach and not my sight. Moving pictures of stories come to life. None but the omnipresent eyes of God perched on his throne see me now, observing raptly as I do them.
The Bast progeny hath not yet accepted their orphaned state. Methinks I have not myself. I wake these says not to soft breathing. Tis a choir of rumbling purrs of contentment which has become a stranger.
Toiling behind the counter, cleaning and dispensing spirits provides reprieve. Fate hath once more reshuffled her cards. Where hath that bright, shining star above my blessed name gone? Be it scattered among the tips or worse fallen to the floor while the other fifty and one continue in the play?
The Bast progeny hath not yet accepted their orphaned state. Methinks I have not myself. I wake these says not to soft breathing. Tis a choir of rumbling purrs of contentment which has become a stranger.
Toiling behind the counter, cleaning and dispensing spirits provides reprieve. Fate hath once more reshuffled her cards. Where hath that bright, shining star above my blessed name gone? Be it scattered among the tips or worse fallen to the floor while the other fifty and one continue in the play?