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Filth. Muck-eating scum.
Light will filter through the mire, the smoke, the offal, the refuse. They stare, they stare, but I will not stop. Hesitation is for the weak, but never the pure.
The smell offends me. Sinks into the pores, a reek lingering in my nostrils. Every night my clothes are burned, torched in sacrifice.
tidbit, never you fear. Your master will close in on the secrets and then you'll be back where you belong. No one will be able to deny me then. Least of all the bloody squeaking bat.
Light will filter through the mire, the smoke, the offal, the refuse. They stare, they stare, but I will not stop. Hesitation is for the weak, but never the pure.
The smell offends me. Sinks into the pores, a reek lingering in my nostrils. Every night my clothes are burned, torched in sacrifice.
tidbit, never you fear. Your master will close in on the secrets and then you'll be back where you belong. No one will be able to deny me then. Least of all the bloody squeaking bat.
From:
Re: I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up to No Good