The Roun d
alight when ablaze yet the fire turns to ice in the ravaged chaos of the crow’s feast. A rancid stench emanated from the room. A labyrinth of timeless injustices, the cries of the strong crippled under the weight of false mercy, the silence of the weak sealed the fate of the mistaken route. Anaemic laughter rattled the dormant pathways, an acrimonious derision of exposed veins directing the persecutor through a rough city plan of human deception. The impenetrable jigsaw consisted of pieces that did not correspond, the single solution to defile every piece into a forced union of incongruous splinters. Each erosion with the glass file betraying the concealed malice of the price for a damned perfection.
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