Masquerader Fact’s Invitation

I felt the cold and bloodied dagger slice through the emptiness of a soul bereft of feeling encased in a mortals flesh and moulded like soft butter about the razors keenly focused affection for its quarry. Once it pierced precisely my will aroused in dance to their screams of abandoned want, making my desire to prolong the act of forsaken exposure to its song carried on stale and forgotten streams, buried within a shallowed chamber reflecting the hidden egos, theirs and mine, amongst the carefully lain and adorned representations of a clumsy evolving past, finding fruition in late blooms of a Winter’s night, below and above an exalted elated blossom, before dead eyes, sharing their final frame of lives taken by the daggers deft manoeuvre through to the seated soul, and draws like smoke caught upon my breath to maintain the evolution of me.

Whispered secrets snake through depths of hallowed gallows shadowed moans, upon the sacred soils destined path, with one and all intertwine the Grandmaster’s craft, moulded with happenstance and synchroneity of a destiny predefined, the Grandmaster’s and mine. A pool of souls grows from my touch, my becoming and they feel, sense, the magnificent creature I am. So near, without fear or restraints harnessed to the universe’s all.

I am!

I was!

I ever shall be!

You felt my gestation within the universal womb and knew I was near. I crushed the seated soul because all roads have led to this time, for I am the now, the taker, decimator, creator, of death!

By Fact

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