It is a story of desperate times, from bygones to here and now. Scene set...
A storm thrashes the city with ripples of lighting, bearing fangs to those who didn't take shelter. For cries of ill-fated peasantry faded into the whirlwind. Concealed by the rubble of a wayfarer's house lies our remnant of a greyhound. Resembling an old man in his solitary confinement. Opening the inner heaviness of his heart to the wind. He had held a grisly vow in his hand, one that could not be severed oneself. The shade had stayed long in the somber dusk, then sun would eventually rise. Clasping hands in all togethernesses, he had finally reached the tip of the spire.
[CRACK].... A humming could be heard, [SNIP].... Slushes could be heard all around, [CONK].... Eyes widen in a glass chambe before anesthetics kick in and all becomes blurry. The deceased was delivered successfully to the otherworld, as an unusual specimen awakens.
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The Contrived Scholar
FantasyThe Doccumentation of the life of a person who lost their head. As we sewed it back on, and gave it a new life.
