Aerials of Welkin: 4 of 7
'He is mortal. Your son is mortal. The child is mortal.'(The child is a portal.) The Stranger dreams of a battlefield: Morphing blackness, and a tattered shield. Dotted with milky stars, Chained and crossed like prison bars, Steppes up He to the First Door; He has no Key (Where's the key?), but knows there's more.
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J. Maw
I care not so much what I am to others as what I am to myself. Michel de Montaigne
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