Oct. 4th, 2012

sythyry: (sythyry-doomed)

Mirrored from Sythyry.

This being read for Tllith of Yirien, Princess of Septoulny Swamp, «Language»-mage. This being written by Cleiestis of Gemgaru. Layer of six fertilized eggs is she. Priestess of the third florescence is she, mistress of seven spells and three visible and four invisible potencies. Wife of Tomolrouc is she, who is the assistant administrator of flying insects to the Hoouthgala district. The hope from here is that you are in a state of delighted, and that three happinesses and four contentments are on you.

The room — an egg-chamber, a hatching-chamber, as safe as I could make it! The guards — many in number, both spidersen and couatl! The ways in — watched, blocked! The magical potencies — None that we could see! Myself — coiled around the eggs, holding each in my wings, all hours I am awake!

The hand — it returned! Emerging from beneath the new soil and sand of the new bowl! Impossible! Where is its arm? Yet real – actual!

The egg beneath my wing — grasped by the hand!

My strike — For this strike have I coiled and prepared two weeks! For this strike have I expected each second! For this strike did I strike, and strike true!

The hand — wearing a thick gauntlet of leather and metal chains! My fangs — entangled, caught!

The second hand — around my neck and lower head! Grasping, hard! Nearly a choke!

Myself — dragged into the bowl of sand and soil! Yet — where is the bottom? Where is the friction and stopping of the sand?

sythyry: (sythyry-doomed)

Mirrored from Sythyry.

This being read for Tllith of Yirien, Princess of Septoulny Swamp, «Language»-mage. This being written by Cleiestis of Gemgaru. Layer of six fertilized eggs is she. Priestess of the third florescence is she, mistress of seven spells and three visible and four invisible potencies. Wife of Tomolrouc is she, who is the assistant administrator of flying insects to the Hoouthgala district. The hope from here is that you are in a state of delighted, and that three happinesses and four contentments are on you.

The room — an egg-chamber, a hatching-chamber, as safe as I could make it! The guards — many in number, both spidersen and couatl! The ways in — watched, blocked! The magical potencies — None that we could see! Myself — coiled around the eggs, holding each in my wings, all hours I am awake!

The hand — it returned! Emerging from beneath the new soil and sand of the new bowl! Impossible! Where is its arm? Yet real – actual!

The egg beneath my wing — grasped by the hand!

My strike — For this strike have I coiled and prepared two weeks! For this strike have I expected each second! For this strike did I strike, and strike true!

The hand — wearing a thick gauntlet of leather and metal chains! My fangs — entangled, caught!

The second hand — around my neck and lower head! Grasping, hard! Nearly a choke!

Myself — dragged into the bowl of sand and soil! Yet — where is the bottom? Where is the friction and stopping of the sand?

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January 2013

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