Christmastide comes. All speak of it, surely all celebrate. Holy Rome keeps it's tradition herein. This city may not be all lost. I must seek out a priest to absolve me before the holiest night. I seek not the ear nor attention of Saint Nicholas especially. Juliet should tell her wishes. Mayhaps an elf will listen to carry the message to his master ( Read more... )

Guilt flows as richly as the very red rivers of our bodies. In streets, the humble stand awash in the blush of shame, dripping with outstretched arms so much like babes in hopes of being beheld and made clean. Why guilt? Why for? We live to die and thusly should live to ensure that  the cold touch of death does not approach so soon in the joyous ( Read more... )