Member-only story
Tessellation
Apocrypha
Resigned to revive old passions, autumnal melancholy masoned a tessellation of cobbles.
I flew kites in the wind that adorned mermaid scales with powdered bones and stygian embers.
Much have I seen, wandering through a waltz of wind and fire with hair unkempt.
Impregnable are the foreboding skies; dogs and angels: afar in crimson snow are sleeping wolves in undyed cloaks.
Amid tribulations have we built monuments on the spines of titans.
Strangers are we when we meet; strangers are we when we die, having known not the moth-eaten truths of decrepit vassals of self-abasement.
Akin to gravel on winding alleys of buffeting winds, weathering are the blood, bones, and ash of all that died in us.
Foolish man! This is your alchemy.
Your tale was indeed an apocrypha.
