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To Weep Blood From Rock


DISCOLIQUID
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She shed her veil of cerulean blue; shed the veil of the world soon after.

In cavities so low no light gleaned truths, flickering shadows alit with ultramarine crackles of light.

Stone & entropy.

Hunger & order.

 

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They cleaved each other, and silvery Old Moons howled at the Earth.

A feast was made of bismuth. Esoteric truths. Seven Angels wept blood from rock. 

 

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And blood-black nothingness began to spin. 

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And blood-black nothingness began to spin. 

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And blood-black nothingness began to spin. 

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A certain Dwarf didn't have anything cool or poetic to say, and she wasn't privy to the catchphrases of vampires either. She did, however, participate in the event and was proud of having been a major contributor to its success.

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On high, the unobservant and perceptive alike, saw naught in that yawning abyss dotted with light.

Save for a single soul coiled around Astrolabian technology, having foreseen ill portents ahead.

A trembling hand wrote brief and illegible scribbles upon some old and dusty tome; thicker than a forearm.

Notes, charts, and graphs recorded as intricately drawn double page spreads, many of which had notes - corrections, specifically, in the margins.

It was to page four-hundred and fifty-three that they turned, and made yet another correction in the tome.

"A light has gone out."

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A sable-haired dame nursed a familiar old drinking flask, within it ran bismuth-blood. "One victory among many to come, my love" she'd lift her flask to the heavens, but it seems she was alone. Her eccentric companion had disappeared. The old archivist drew to a slow stand to toil away at her papers and records. The vampire wrote a name upon the list above her bed, and proceeded to cross it off, perhaps out of habit "dormi adânc"

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