Worth a read.
See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
Come! Let the burial rite be read, the funeral song be sung! –
Lenore, Edgar Allan Poe
I tell you of a hero, born on the day of Valor’s rites.
Bathed him, they. In perfumed holy oils mixed with the blood of the strongest swine.
In cradle he spoke, I am Valor’s might! Born to set demons and tempters alight!
To him they blessed the cursed sword. Little hero, little whore. –
The Unnamed, he knew the legend of it. The folklore that had been passed down generation to generation in oral tradition, since time immemorial. The memory of how he leant it was now much too painful to bring up. Despite of that he forced the reminiscences to resurface. Freed them from the hold he had maintained over them. Over her. And they flooded his…
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