The Gospels of

The Seventh Kingdom burnt to ashes. To teach respect. Vicious is he. The wraith of the heartless, sprawling in a public display. Adopting the posture, the totality of an idea contorts the masses. Drifting away from the light, the Emperor washes his face of the stain. Order is gripped by way of the sword. The fearless lay naked in rows, bleeding out for their transgressions. Peering down the drain hole in the floor, the last of the bloodline gathers, victorious are the seeds of deception, messages transplanted before the death of the tree.

– Josh Fleming

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