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[withyolk]

There are beads upon the glass she lay sewn, between her hips and thighs. Trinkets which were woven in tightly- bees that make no honey. Drones, we call them her male counterparts. Drones spin wildly around her tail ready to take hold- once we cried while the light parted, spinning cones of despair, failure in- the drone survives, succeeding- the

Comments

[withyolk]

why have we still not met

[withyolk]

and you stumbled upon mine