Noctisardor Bypass laufen

a boy, yes that's what he was. his first twelvemonth, a protracted footrace versus whatever sadistic fates out there. once he was a devil-may-cry type of child, but he was reduced to fissured damascus steel. thankfully, he could still quirk his lips at the way his father rolled his w’s & his sentences forever decorated by rejoinders. the silently nodded at mahler’s reflections, he trusted whatever weight they held, but he was at a lost at what pity has made of him. “and what of the things you saw? i still doubt i have as much wisdom as you,” he smiles.