life’s weary taste is unknown

Anticipating the eventuate fall, relying on the echo of sequence, she curves over the railing, peering down at the wet pile of leaves, the slivers of porcelain shiny in abolition. There are many fortunes laying amidst the carnage, drinkers of the transmundane tea for two. Behind her surprise guise she smirks, hosting havoc at noon. Would you pass the sugar, dear?

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