Impertinence is the one thing I cannot abide.
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"See me smiling? I'm dead serious".
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"Wormwood, basil, sage, aniseed… Cinnamon? You smell seriously like an apothecary’s shop."
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Caranthir Ar-Feiniel. Golden Child
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Mère-Lachaiselongue Cemetery. ~~
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Spiring ash down dreamy hills
past sparkling waters, Tir ná Lia drifts
slowly, softly, silently
into oblivion
Sage lips blacken, frosted bones quiver.
Before an ice-bound eye can blink
in distant skies I will watch your descent.
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" <...> Brick houses, cobbled main streets, a seaport, stores, shops, four watermills, slaughterhouses, sawmills, a large manufactory making beautiful slippers, and every conceivable guild and trade. A mint, eight banks and nineteen pawnbrokers. A castle and a guardhouse to take the breath away. And diversions: a scaffold, a gallows with a drop, thirty-five taverns, a theatre, a menagerie, a market and a dozen whorehouses. And I can't remember how many temples, but plenty."
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