I gaze upon my own reflection in the whirlpool. All twisted like what the fate had written for the wisp. All lost in the night's chamber with the key engulfed by the night hounds.
It's all oblique. My reflection I mean. I don't know. It's hard to see with all this whirling.
But nevermind. I'll plunge myself, hopefully I'll surface before dawn.
Enough is enough said Enid Blyton. Fairy tales may come true if you have talking dolls.
And wheels are circles, not round.
i like.
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