Page XVI

Fall of the Beatrice

Fatal embrace, immanence has deceives me. The mask of tragedy justified for an innocent heart; to Hell with the evasive and cliché explanation. Taste scorn as the spiral of transcendence is followed, exhausting every breath up to the very last. She I will find and the gates shall lay in lament, as I drag her back into existence.

Wake now valentine, with a slow augmented stretch. Heated fur from mornings light, the vast reach has been released; from cotton tomb arise. Dearly soft to the whiskers touch, you know a felines agenda was always gentle to occupy. Assuredly with purpose, for mice are far too stubborn to be caught on their own.

Lifeless still? Precarious how some wounds are harder to lick than others. Howbeit, never regret the unveiling of your fresh hiding spot; perhaps it has come time I shared upon you mine.

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